by Lexi Ryan
He smiles, and his eyes crinkle in the corners. My mind goes to Sam. Will he age like this? The distinguished salt-and-pepper hair, the deep voice that gets huskier with age? Suddenly, I’m struck with the image of waking next to Sam when we’re in our fifties, and my heart squeezes a little.
Stop making him out to be something he’s not, I warn myself, but I’ve been getting a lot of those thoughts lately. I’ve been catching myself thinking of him in relationship terms, which is absurd, since he hates my guts. It’s just everything with River makes me think maybe Sam might . . .
No. Nothing but hurt down that road.
“Della said you resigned from your position at the preschool,” he says. “I hope she wasn’t the reason.”
I stiffen a little, but hopefully he can’t tell. “Of course not,” I lie. “It really wasn’t my thing. I wanted it to be, but the truth is I still don’t know what I want to be when I grow up. I need to find that thing I’m good at, I guess.”
“Sam tells me you helped write the grants for the preschool and the new playground equipment.”
Sam told him that? “That’s true.”
“Well, I was on the committee that selected the recipients, and your application was far and away the best we received.” He studies me for a minute, then shifts. “You know, when you volunteered at the office last spring, I always admired the perspective you brought to getting my message out to the public. I was sorry not to see more of you.”
“Oh, I’ve just been busy.” I made myself scarce after the Super Summer Screw-Up, but since we all agreed to keep it quiet, Mr. Bradshaw doesn’t know why I stopped volunteering.
“Well, it takes a village to run a gubernatorial campaign. I’ll tell you what,” he says. “Come by headquarters if you’re interested. We’ll put you to work and see if you’re a good fit.”
It surprises me that he thinks I might make a positive contribution to his campaign. Everyone assumes I’m ditzy, but this respected politician thinks I’m good enough to be part of his team. “I would love that.” Seriously. Just like that, my day goes from meh to amazing.
“Great,” he says, giving that charming politician grin. “You’ll be working with my son-in-law. You know Connor, right?”
Chapter Four
Sam
I’m twenty-seven years old and still intimidated by my old man. Facing him for the first time since Asia walked in my door and threatened to destroy his campaign, I feel like the little boy who shattered a window with a baseball. Only worse. Because I don’t have ten grand, and if I want to get Asia off my back, I’m going to have to get the money from my father.
I’d stand in line to get punched in the nuts before volunteering to have this conversation.
“You wanted to talk?” Dad asks when I step into his office.
I close the door behind me. My father pours us each two fingers of brandy and hands me one before sitting down.
“Thanks.” He has no idea how much I need this. I take the seat across from him and swallow half of mine down, while he messes with his phone. “I have a problem.”
If he was distracted before, I have my father’s full attention now. He’s that kind of dad. He might have one hundred and ten too many obligations on his plate at any given moment, but any time one of us kids has a problem, we get his absolute attention. Normally, I’m grateful for that, but right about now I’d like to be invisible while I confess what I’ve done.
“What is it?”
I roll back my shoulders, preparing for battle. Might as well rip off the Band-Aid. “A couple of years ago, I got a girl pregnant.”
Dad stills and his face goes serious. “Didn’t I teach you to always, always wear a condom?”
“Yes, sir.” As much as I want to look at my feet or my drink, or anything but the disappointment in his eyes, I hold his gaze. He did teach me the importance of wearing a condom. And he taught me to hold a man’s gaze while speaking. So I do. “I was drunk and maybe it broke, or maybe I forgot. I honestly don’t know. I don’t . . . remember.”
“I suppose she’s back to collect money for the baby now, huh? Jesus. Why didn’t you tell me sooner? We could have had this taken care of.”
I’m not sure what he means by that—not sure I want to know what he means. “There is no baby. She got an abortion.”
He closes his eyes and exhales, muttering something that sounds a lot like Thank God. Not exactly a moment potential voters would find charming. Then again, I’m not a potential voter. I’m his son.
I make myself breathe. I inhale and clench my hands into fists, exhale and release them. It’s all I can do not to jump out of my chair and start shouting, but my father isn’t the enemy. I know he’s only thinking of me.
“I didn’t want her to get an abortion,” I finally say when I have my anger under control. “I begged her to keep the baby. I told her I’d take care of her. And at one point, I thought she was going to. She told me she would. But she ended up getting the abortion anyway, and now she’s threatening to go to the media and tell them that I forced her to do it, that I coerced and threatened her. None of it’s true, but she knows about your campaign and she wants money.”
“Who is this woman? Someone local?”
Now it’s harder to hold his gaze. “A stripper from Indy.”
Dad’s face hardens with sharp but fragile lines of disappointment. “You fucked a stripper and got her pregnant.”
My throat is thick. There’s nothing worse than disappointing my father.
“How much does she want?”
“Ten thousand dollars.”
Dad settles his elbows on his desk and rests his head in his hands. I finish my brandy and stand to pour myself more.
“I’m sorry, Dad.” I study the amber liquid. “I never thought my mistake could come back on you like this, but I should have known.”
“We’ll take care of it. I’ll get my guys on it. We need to find out some facts first—was she really pregnant, was an abortion actually performed? She can’t prove much, and with a woman like that, there’s a good chance it wasn’t even your baby, but she knows this will look bad, even if we can’t prove a thing.”
I nod.
“In the meantime, don’t talk to her. Don’t take her calls and don’t let her get you alone. Give her information to Connor, and we’ll damage-control this situation as best we can.” He downs the rest of his brandy and studies me. “Is there anything else you need to tell me? Any other skeletons in your closet I should be prepared to have jump out at me?”
“No, sir.”
“I’ll see you at the house tonight. Your mom wants all her kids there for dinner.”
I nod in agreement and leave his office, ready to put this shit day behind me.
* * *
Liz
“Weddings make me horny.”
My younger sister Maggie chokes on her beer, and my friend Cally giggles into her martini. A few middle-aged women at the table behind us turn to cast disapproving looks in my direction. Screw them. Weddings probably make them horny too, but after years of granny panties and stool softeners, they’re too insecure to admit it.
We’re at The Wire, where Mom invited all the out-of-town guests for cocktails. Tomorrow we’ll caravan to Brown County for the wedding weekend.
Tonight, it’s more than my sister’s upcoming vows that are doing a number on me. That would be enough—there’s something about one man promising forever to one woman that leaves me craving smexy times with the nearest male. But tonight, the general go-get-’em attitude of my sex drive has less to do with marriage vows and more to do with the promises made to me by a complete stranger. Last night’s chat with River was cut too short for my liking, leaving me all tense and wound-up and needy. My body was disappointed when it had to settle for my hand to take care of business when my brain had been weaving all kinds of fantasies promising . . . Sam.
“What?” I say when my friends and sisters keep staring at me. “It’s been a while.
I’m glad I can still get horny. If I go much longer, my coochie is in danger of drying up.”
“A while? Really?” Nix cocks an eyebrow in disbelief. “How long?”
I bite my lip and study her. She doesn’t believe I’ve actually been abstaining. “A few months,” I say.
She lifts a brow. “You had sex a few months ago and you’re looking for sympathy from me?”
“You have my sympathies,” Maggie says.
Cally chimes in with, “Mine too.”
I scowl. I don’t want to talk about this. Not really. Not when Cally, Maggie, and my own freaking twin are on their men like marathon bull riders. “Eight months.” That’s how long it’s been since my Super Summer Screw-Up. “If we’re talking actual peen-meets-vag sex, longer.”
Nix taps her foot. No sympathy. “How long?” she repeats.
“Fourteen months,” I say under my breath.
Maggie and Cally’s jaws drop.
“Lizzy!” Nix screeches. “You’re saying you haven’t had sex since you hooked up with Sam at Will and Cally’s wedding?”
“Quiet down!” I grind between my teeth, but Club Disapproval at the next table is shooting me evil looks again. “Your math skills are remarkable,” I mutter to Nix.
“Jesus,” she says. “Even I’ve had sex more recently than that. Are you sure you aren’t forgetting a hookup?”
“I haven’t had sex in I’m-at-risk-of-growing-a-new-hymen months, Nix. Trust me. I wouldn’t forget.”
Maggie snorts. “I think abstinence is starting to get to her too,” she says to Nix. “Yesterday, I caught her eyeing the bratwurst in my fridge.”
“It was a really nice bratwurst,” I say, “and I was . . . hungry. Who am I kidding? Sex. I need some.”
“Take your pick,” Nix says, motioning to the various men hanging around the bar. “There are any number of eligible bachelors here who would love to go home with you.”
“Right. I’m sure,” I mutter, running my eyes over the selection. But I’m not actually tempted. I don’t want to have sex with just anyone. I don’t need to be engaged or in love or anything, but it needs to be worth it. It’s like eating a slice of deep-dish pizza. I’m no stranger to high-calorie foods—bring ’em on—but there’s nothing worse than eating a thousand-calorie slice of pizza that leaves you thinking you could’ve had a V8. Sex is the same way. I don’t just want penetration. I want bed-rocking, guaranteed-to-blow-your-fucking-mind sex. Can-I-haz-more-please? sex.
No. I don’t just want sex. I want sure-to-be-amazing, wake-the-neighbors-and-make-the-dogs-howl sex. Any noble thoughts of waiting to meet my true love are off the table at this point. I want something reckless.
As if on cue, my phone buzzes. I hide it under the table so the girls don’t see it before I read the message.
Riverrat69: God help me, I can’t stop thinking about you.
“You are looking hot tonight,” Hanna says.
I grin. Because of the message I just received and because Hanna’s right. Tonight I wore red—the color that looks best with my pale skin and blond curls. I pulled my hair off my neck and donned my highest heels. None of this would come as a surprise to anyone who knows me—I don’t like to leave the house unless I’m “camera-ready,” as Mom would say. For evidence of what’s on a woman’s mind, you need to look beyond her clothes to what she’s wearing underneath.
And anyone who could see what I’m wearing under this dress—and how very little—would know that Lizzy Thompson has a secret. Boy, do I.
Biting back my smile so they’re not suspicious, I hit the button to close the chat client that the object of my fantasies uses to talk to me.
“Look at you.” Maggie chortles. “I see it in your eyes. You already have something planned. Miss Abstinence isn’t going to hold out much longer.”
“I’m not that lucky,” I say, but I wink at her as I take a long drink while mentally composing my reply to the message.
“How’s the search for Mr. Right going?” Cally asks.
“I get trying online dating, but I can’t believe you’re trying that new service,” Maggie says. “What happens if you hit it off with someone and there’s no physical attraction when you meet? Isn’t that going to be awkward? ‘Sorry, George. You have a great personality, and I thought I liked you, but I fancy six-pack stomachs, and you’re sporting more of a keg.’”
I snort and shake my head. Ever since I signed up for Something Real, the girls have been questioning my sanity. Nix is the only one in the group who knows what it’s like to be single. The others are so high on happily-ever-after that they’ve forgotten how lonely it is being single.
“I think you can find love in unexpected places,” Hanna says. “Why not a website?”
“I figured it couldn’t hurt to try,” I say. “The traditional way wasn’t working out for me.”
Maggie frowns. “Just be careful. There are so many creeps out there.”
“Truth,” Cally says. “I don’t like the anonymity aspect. Like, what if you found out you were talking to Kenny Rawlins?” She shudders.
“Isn’t he married?” Nix asks.
Maggie snorts. “Never slowed him down before . . .” She trails off, distracted as Asher crosses the bar, his eyes locked on hers. Her husband looks fine as fuck tonight in black dress pants and a matching button-up dress shirt.
“Ready to go home?” he asks her when he reaches the table. Anyone with functioning eyeballs can see in his eyes that “go home” is just code for “go fuck like bunnies.” Hell, you don’t need eyes. The two of them practically reek of pheromones.
“Thought you’d never ask,” she practically purrs. She abandons her beer and takes his hand.
Cally scans the room until she finds her husband. William Bailey is on the other side of the bar, talking to my mother, who is still mourning the fact that Will married Cally instead of one of her daughters. “I think I’ll go too. My sister’s watching the baby, and I don’t want to keep her out too late on a school night.”
“Same here,” Hanna says, her eyes seeking out Nate. “I want to get home to the girls. Thank you for coming tonight, ladies.”
We all say our goodbyes, and Nix and I watch the happy couples retreat.
“Bitches,” Nix mutters when we’re alone.
I grin, because I know she says it with affection. “Seriously unfair, isn’t it?”
“Can I tell you a secret?” she asks.
“Of course.”
Her shoulders sag as she sighs. “Before moving here and meeting you all, I didn’t think I wanted to get married. Like, ever. In my experience, men are good for one thing, and if you expect anything more than sex from them, you’re going to be disappointed.”
I try not to look shocked, but that’s quite a strong opinion and I’ve never heard her say so before. “Not all guys are assholes.”
She nods. “Yeah, I know that now. It didn’t take much time around Asher and Will to prove me wrong.”
“They’re good guys,” I say. “Nate and Max too.” I cock my head. “Huh. Maybe I should set you up with Max.”
She throws up her hands, palms out. “No way. The last thing I need to do is let myself fall for a guy who’s still hung up on Hanna.”
“Fair enough.” She’s right, but I still hate seeing Max alone. If I ever doubted Max was a stand-up guy, the last year has proven it. He deserves someone good.
Nix grabs her purse. “I’m going to go, but I’ll see you at the wedding tomorrow.”
I stand and give her a hug before she goes, then I grab my own purse and open the chat client to type a reply to my favorite stranger.
Tink24: I’ve been thinking about you, too. You do know how to put ideas into a girl’s head.
Understatement of the century, but it’ll do. I slide my phone into my purse, say my goodbyes, and head for my car. I’m unlocking my door when my phone buzzes again.
Riverrat69: Would you think I’d lost my mind if I told you I wanted to meet you?
Chapter Five
Sam
“Sam!” Dad calls when I walk in the door. He has his campaign face on. Hey, look at me! I have children and I’m so proud of them. To be fair, Dad is proud of us even when potential voters aren’t involved, but the effusive praise is saved for the masses. “Come in here,” he says, ushering me to the conference room. “I want you to see what Connor has mocked up for the next wave of social media images.”
I step into the room and freeze. Liz is working at a laptop on the big oval table that sits in the center of the room. Liz, with her sweet smile and big blue eyes. Liz, with her wet dream of a body and infectious laugh. And Connor is right behind her, his body too damn close to hers, his mouth by her ear as he points to the screen.
Jealousy shoots through my blood, and I have to remind myself to breathe. She’s not mine.
But she sure as fuck isn’t his, either.
“I don’t have to introduce you to the newest member of our team,” Dad says, gesturing to Liz. “I’m going to put Liz’s writing skills to work for a while, see if she’s a good fit for our campaign.”
Liz looks up, happiness all over her face, then she sees me and falters for just a moment, something like regret flashing in her eyes. Does she regret that night, or do I just wish she would? If we hadn’t slept together, this would be a hell of a lot less awkward. Then again, I’m not the only guy in this room she’s fucked.
“You didn’t tell me,” I say to Liz. “Congratulations.”
“I didn’t know until yesterday. And thank you. I’m thrilled that your father is giving me a chance.”
“You’ll do great.” I’m not just appeasing her. It’s true. She can write. I’ve seen the grants she’s written, and those skills will be an asset to my father’s campaign. I’m just not sure how I feel about her working so closely with my family. With Connor.
“She’s a good fit,” Connor says.
