I giggle, closing my container and sitting it off to the side. My appetite is now long gone, and I have a propensity to fiddle when I’m nervous. I don’t want to be jacking with the slaw like a little kid, and I will be if I don’t get it out of my face.
“I’m sure you are,” I agree.
“I’m in this election and I have to lock down my image, as stupid as that sounds.”
“Remember when I told you I don’t know a lot about you?” I wink. “I do know enough to know you’re portrayed as a playboy. So you ‘locking down your image’ seems like a good idea.”
He rolls his eyes and it’s obviously a point of contention with him. “Who I’m dating doesn’t affect how I do my job.”
“I can see both sides of the argument.”
“A discussion for another day,” he says, obviously not wanting to delve into it. “My question is this: why are you not dating?”
His hands form a steeple that his chin rests on. The dimple in his left cheek sinks in just a bit and I want to touch his skin, feel the smoothness under my own.
“Alison?”
“Lots of reasons,” I say simply, knowing that’s not going to be enough to get around the topic.
A part of me wants him to know so that maybe it’ll make whatever happens next easier. Whether that’s him never calling me again or us meeting for lunch or dinner, it’ll be easier if he knows my hesitations to all of this.
“I told you I have a son. His father is out of the picture completely and I really need to make sure I’m focused on him. He deserves that from me and I’m the only parent he has.”
“Can I ask where his father is?”
I force a swallow. “He’s in prison.”
Barrett’s eyes fly open and he sits back in his seat again.
“He was a judge in Albuquerque,” I continue, figuring I may as well get it out there and over with. “Got caught up in some big scandals and was eventually disbarred, convicted of tampering with evidence, bribery, solicitation of bribery, solicitation of prostitution, and possession of drugs. Among other things. That’s the quick list.”
“Nice guy,” Barrett says, whistling through his teeth.
“Right? When all of that came to light, it was terrifying. The biggest scandal in New Mexico in a long time. I was even investigated for a short while because I was his wife, even though we were in the process of separating when it all came crashing down.”
The memory turns my stomach and I look away, not wanting to see the disappointment or judgment in his eyes. I’ve seen it so many times in other people’s—it would devastate me to see it in his.
“Alison,” he breathes, not speaking until I turn my head and look at him again. “I’m sorry. That had to be rough.”
My jaw drops, my brain unable to process his complete apparent rejection of my possible complicity. Of course I had nothing to do with that, but he doesn’t know me.
“You aren’t going to ask me about it?” I ask in disbelief. “Ask me if I was guilty? Ask me what the investigation found?”
His head shakes gently side to side. “I already know what it found.”
“How do you know?”
My hand trembles beneath the table, nervous energy kicking in. I have nothing to hide. But if he’s researched me and read everything they said, saw the pictures taken of Hayden leaving a hotel room with prostitutes, saw the inquiry into me, I’ll never be able to look at him again. It’s humiliation to an unbearable degree.
“I know because I know you,” he says, chewing on his bottom lip.
“Barrett, that doesn’t make any sense.” The breeze kicks up, the edge of the cloth rippling between my fingers. Despite the coolness of the air, my cheeks are on fire. This is not the discussion I wanted to have, although I suppose it was inevitable.
“It makes perfect sense. I know who you are. I don’t have to ask you what some prosecutor decided. I know they didn’t find anything.”
“So you didn’t have me investigated? Vetted, I think they call that.”
He shakes his head and picks up his water. “No.”
I sit incredulous, watching him take a long drink. He watches me over the top, waiting for me to react.
“I promise you I had nothing to do with any of those things,” I ramble, wanting to make it crystal clear that I was and am innocent. “I had no idea. If I had, I would’ve left him long before. I—”
“Hush,” he says, a softness to his voice that dampens the interruption. “I just told you I know what happened. I can tell. This shit is my life. Don’t forget that.”
He means for that to reassure me, to make me relax and realize he understands how things go in the public realm. But his words do the very opposite.
This shit is my life.
Everything I want to avoid, everything I left behind, is sitting in front of me amplified.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asks.
“Like what?” I swallow.
“I don’t know. Like you’ve just seen a ghost.”
“Just memories, I guess.”
“Those memories—that’s why you don’t date? You’re afraid of being hurt again?”
“No, not specifically. Heartbreak is a part of life. I can handle that.” I glance across the lawn, more away from him than at anything in particular. “I’m just being very picky this time around. Unless someone is one hundred percent worth it and in it the same as I am, I’m not taking my energy away from what I need to do for me and Hux. It just seems pointless.”
He nods and sort of takes it all in before pushing away from the table. Startled, I watch him come around and offer me his hand.
Pulling me to my feet, we take the few steps down the porch and onto the lawn. The grass is soft under my shoes, the smell of fall dancing through the air.
“It will be winter soon,” he says, more to himself than anything. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned over the last few years, it’s that you can never predict what life’s going to throw at you one day to the next, just like you can’t predict the weather.”
I’m not sure where he’s going with this, so I don’t reply.
He looks at me through the corner of his bright green eyes. “Nothing you do in life, even the things you think you have figured out—they aren’t guaranteed.”
“True.”
“But at the same time, you have to take some risks to reap rewards.”
“I’m not much of a risk taker.”
He turns to face me, searching me for something. I can smell his cologne heating under the warm afternoon sun as he rolls back the cufflinks of his shirt. His forearms are tanned and toned, adorned with his silver watch. It’s a mix of casual and sophisticated, boy-next-door meets powerful enigma.
“Do you see me as a risk, Alison?”
My breath catches in my throat. “Absolutely.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re . . . you,” I whisper.
Before I know what’s happening, he takes the step that separates us. His body is nearly touching mine, a paper-thin margin the only thing between us.
I look up into his eyes, see the stubble dotting his hard jaw line, the slight angle to his nose that gives him more sex appeal than it takes away.
Our eyes lock. After a slight hesitation, his face lowers inch-by-torturous-inch.
I take in a quick breath as our lips touch. The contact zips through me, making me tingle from head to toe. His hands fall to the small of my back, gently yet firmly encouraging me to draw closer to him.
Pulling back shakily, I see his breathing is as erratic as mine. We watch each other like we don’t know whether to devour the other or walk our separate ways.
I want the first, but know I need to do the second. The look in his eyes tells me he feels the same way. I can’t be much good for his campaign either. As I turn over the options in my mind, what I want and what I need, the alarm goes off on my phone.
Barrett watches with confusion as I pull the dev
ice out of my pocket and turn it off.
“I have to go,” I say, my tone mixed with regret and relief. “I’m working tonight for Luxor. I have to be there a little early, hence the alarm.”
He runs his hand through his hair, mussing up the silky locks. His jaw opens and shuts before he finally looks resolved. “Okay.”
With a little slump in his shoulders, he leads me around the side of the house.
The pace is quick and my nerves bound right along with it. I’m not sure how to wrap this up. My head spins a thousand different options, but before I know it, he stops and pulls me in front of him.
“Do you want to see me again?”
It’s a simple question, yet one I stumble to answer.
“Barrett . . .”
“That’s not a no.”
“That’s not a yes, either,” I grin.
He smiles, too, and it ingrains itself in my memory. “I’ll call you soon. Maybe we can find a day we both have open.”
“Maybe.”
“I’d like that.”
“I think I’d like that, too,” I whisper.
His eyes light up and he starts to speak, but seems to think better of it. Instead, he kisses my cheek again and walks me to my car.
Barrett
MY BODY IS SWEATY FROM the workout with my personal trainer. Instead of going to the gym, he came here. We worked out with free weights and did some simple cardio.
I strip off my soaked t-shirt when my phone rings. I see it’s Daphne, but I answer it anyway. I still need her father’s endorsement, so I can’t just ignore her like I want to. That wouldn’t go over well.
“Hey,” I say, sitting on a barstool at the kitchen island.
“Hey, Barrett,” she sings in her melodramatic way. “How are you?”
“Good. Just finished a workout.”
“Nice. Do you have any plans this evening?”
I look around the empty kitchen and shrug. “No, not really. Just some work I need to finish up. I got a little behind today.”
Memories of Alison on the porch of my family home makes me feel warm all over. It’s normally an off-putting feeling to have a woman anywhere near my family and our things, but with her, it seems normal. Organic.
“Barrett?”
I flip back to reality. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”
“I was saying that I have a thing with Daddy tonight and was hoping you’d be able to go with me. You know how it goes, all those stuffy men talking about boring stuff. I need someone to go with so I don’t slit my throat.”
“Is it the Raparasey Dinner?”
“Yeah, I think so. It’s the one you went to with me a few times at Seaton Block. I just . . . I need your hot ass to go with me again.”
Chuckling, I stand and head to the fridge for a bottle of water. “I’m sorry, Daph, but I can’t.”
“Why?” she pouts. I can hear the disappointment in her tone, maybe even a little anger.
“I told you I have work to do,” I point out.
“Yeah, but you always go with me. And think of all the connections you can make, sugar. It’s good for you. And Daddy will be there, of course, and I know he hasn’t officially endorsed you yet . . .”
“I can’t.”
“You can’t or you won’t?” she presses.
“It’s really the same thing, isn’t it?”
“No!” she exclaims. “It isn’t. You always go with me. We’ve always bailed each other out, Barrett, and tonight—I need you.”
The last couple of words are so heavy, so full of implication, that I feel my shoulders fall with the weight.
“You don’t need me,” I scoff.
“I do.”
She reminds me of a little girl, pouting to get her way. I wonder if she’s always been this annoying, and if so, why I’m just realizing how bad it is.
I remember the way these things usually end, and that’s with her ass up in the air, her big, fake tits bouncing around like the balloons they are. That, too, usually doesn’t bother me, but tonight, it makes me feel uninspired to see it again.
“Look, Daphne, I’m sorry. I really am. But I’m really busy and I’m going to continue to be for the foreseeable future.”
The air changes between us. I can feel it through the phone and the miles that separate us.
“Is this because of the campaign or that girl I’ve heard you’re seeing?”
She catches me off guard. I don’t respond.
“If you’re the smart man I know you to be,” she says, her voice dripping with sweetness, “you will realize where your bread is buttered, Barrett. And that’s right here, sugar.”
“I’m not your ‘sugar.’”
She exhales a long, dramatic breath. “You and I have always been a thing. No matter who you see, who I date, it’s your bed I always end up in. You know that. We’ve been in the same schools, through the same elections, through the same bullshit our entire lives. Don’t act like you don’t want me now—especially now when you need me.”
It’s the way she says it, like she has one over me. It infuriates me and I see red.
“I don’t need anyone, Daphne,” I spit out. “We can be friends if that’s what you want. But we aren’t going to be more than that and that’s not for any reason other than we never were.”
“You’re fucking up.”
It’s my turn to laugh. “Maybe. But it won’t be the first time and it probably won’t be the last.”
Alison
I type my favorite words, The End, and finish my paper. Hitting save before I lose the last five hours of work, I close my computer and my eyes as well.
It’s after two in the morning and I haven’t slept more than a handful of hours over the past few days. Between work at Hillary’s during the day, a host of papers due in my classes, and a few catering jobs mixed in, I’m bone tired.
I check on Huxley before heading into my room and slipping beneath the covers without even brushing my teeth.
My paper was on ethics in journalism, and the entire thing made me think of Barrett and the unethical practices that are aimed at him. I hate that his voice is often twisted and sometimes diminished based on the slant of the journalist writing the piece. It’s true for all politicians and celebrities, I guess, but Barrett I know. Or I think I do.
He’s wanted to see me this week, and maybe I’ve wanted to see him too, but it hasn’t worked out. And I’m kind of glad for that. Over the past week, we’ve been able to get to know each other without any pressure. We’ve had a couple of phone calls and a boatload of texts, and I scroll through them and smile.
Like he senses I’m awake and thinking of him, my phone buzzes in my hand.
Barrett: I think I would sleep better if I could roll over and see you.
Me: I snore.
Barrett: I can figure out how to occupy your mouth.
Me: So much for all the credit I was just giving you for being a gentleman.
Barrett: The veneer comes off late at night. ;)
Me: Why are you up?
Barrett: I’d like to give you a line like I was thinking about you or you were running through my mind, but really—I’m working.
I laugh as I envision him stretched out on his bed. In my head, he’s naked, his divine body on full display. His hair is wet from the shower, his abs cut to perfection.
Barrett’s next message pings as it’s received.
Barrett: How was your day? How’s Huxley?
My heart is full as I type out my response.
Me: It was good. Hux is good. I’m sorry I couldn’t talk much today. Between Hillary’s House and my paper for class and Hux’s homework, today was a mess.
Barrett: Never apologize for putting you and Hux first, Alison. That’s the way it should be.
I look at the words for a long few seconds before I can gather myself to respond. He’s so sweet, so considerate of Huxley that tears sting my eyes as I try to find the right keys to answer him.
Me:
I don’t even know how to respond to that.
Me: Well, if that’s the case, I’ll make sure you stay solidly in second place. ;)
Barrett: I miss you.
Me: I miss you too.
Barrett: I would really like to see you tomorrow night. Do you think that’s possible?
My cheeks split and I give in. Maybe it’s because he’s charming or that he’s so sweet about Huxley or because it’s so late and my defenses are down, but, for the first time without hesitation, I reply.
Me: I’d like that.
Barrett: That was way too easy. I’ll send Troy to get you around eight. Okay?
Me: Okay. :)
Barrett: I’m going to quit while I’m ahead. Goodnight, Alison.
Me: Night, Barrett.
Alison
THE SUN IS DIPPING AS we pull to the front of the Farm. The evening rays spread from behind a few clouds, creating beams of pinks and oranges in the most breathtaking sunset.
We roll to a stop and Troy turns off the ignition. He's around the Rover before I can get my seatbelt off and opens the door for me.
"Mr. Landry asked that you meet him behind the house. Follow me," he says, leading the way.
The path, illuminated by solar lights, slips between the trees, scents of evergreen filling the air. Troy steps out of the way and I stop in my tracks.
Tucked away behind the trees, invisible from the house, is an open air structure. There are four masonry pillars on a concrete slab. White fabric is tied against each pillar like in a classical painting, and if they were untied, they'd give another layer of privacy to the interior. The back wall is solid with a large see-through fireplace built in.
Taking a step closer, I spot a large wooden table that could seat ten people running down the center of the room. Oversized outdoor sofas and chairs with royal blue covers and bright white pillows with gold accents create small, cozy spaces.
Overhead, a cupola caps off the structure, the glass reflecting both the final rays of sunshine and the light from the oversized crystal chandelier that hangs over the table.
Sway (Landry Family #1) Page 11
