Retrosexual (Frisky Beavers Book 0)

by Ainsley Booth

  Retrosexual

  a Frisky Beaver story

  Ainsley Booth

  Sadie Haller

  www.friskybeavers.com

  Stew:

  I haven’t been the most attentive husband lately.

  * * *

  Adrienne:

  He’s the chief of staff to a brand new prime minister. I get it.

  But…

  * * *

  Stew:

  Yeah. That “but”. That’s the problem. I’ve got a lot on my plate, but none of it is more important than my marriage.

  FOOTNOTES:

  No hipsters or metrosexuals were harmed in the making of this book

  This story takes place at the beginning of Prime Minister (Frisky Beavers #1), but can be read as a standalone silver fox story

  This book includes a significant excerpt from Prime Minister. Retrosexual ends at the 60% mark in the ebook.

  The Frisky Beavers Series

  Retrosexual is a prequel short story to this series of full length BDSM novels; it stands alone

  * * *

  Prime Minister

  * * *

  Dr. Bad Boy

  * * *

  Full Mountie

  * * *

  Mr. Hat Trick

  * * *

  Bull of the Woods

  * * *

  Visit www.friskybeavers.com to learn more!

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  An excerpt from Prime Minister

  About Prime Minister

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Also by Sadie Haller

  The Dominant Cord Series

  Tainted Pearl Series

  Also by Ainsley Booth

  The Forbidden Bodyguard Series

  The Billionaire Secrets Series

  1

  Stew

  “Don’t work too hard,” she says to me as she kisses me goodbye in the morning.

  It’s still dark.

  We both know I’m not going to take her advice. So I kiss her instead, and I’m not quick about it. I love my wife. Not only because she packs my lunch every day, but because she pads to the front door with me—me in a suit that won’t stay un-rumpled for more than an hour, her in a bathrobe I bought her three Christmases ago. And yes, I know a bathrobe is a terrible present for one’s wife.

  She’s hard to shop for.

  I’m also not talented in that regard.

  But I can kiss her, so I do. A long, slow goodbye, my fingers tangled in her hair, my lips soft against hers.

  I love the taste of Adrienne like this, all warm and undone. “Stay up for me tonight,” I whisper against her mouth.

  She stiffens. “You won’t be home for dinner?”

  So much for a nice kiss goodbye. I sigh and wince as she pulls away. “Did I say I would be? I can try.”

  “The kids haven’t seen you in three days.” She bites her lip and raises her eyebrows, expecting me to fill in the blanks.

  I was traveling with the prime minister over the weekend, and we got home late last night. And I’m sneaking out at the crack of dawn because right now, my job is trumping my role as Dad.

  But it’s a big week.

  We’ve got a slate of new interns starting today, hand-picked from graduate programs across the country. They’re going to work closely with leaders, including the newly elected prime minister, to ensure that all voices are represented at the table, including our country’s youth.

  And before they arrive, I’ve got the PM’s daily briefing and a metric ton of other work to clear off my plate so I can spend most of the day orienting the intern assigned to the PMO in between all the usual fires I’ll need to put out.

  On the other hand, my kids haven’t seen me for three days. And my wife is glaring at me. “Right. Okay, I’ll be home for dinner.”

  She shakes her head. “Don’t promise me that if you don’t think…”

  She’s right. I swear under my breath. “I’m sorry. I don’t know when I’ll be home. But I hear you, and I’ll do my best.”

  Compromise and honesty might not be sexy, but they’ve served us in good stead. We had no idea what was going to happen when the last government toppled and the election was called.

  No idea that Gavin Strong Fever would sweep the nation, and my candidate—the thirty-nine-year-old bachelor from Vancouver, the fighter, the hockey player, the man of the people—would lead his embattled party into an unexpected victory.

  Yes, I knew he had appeal. And smarts. And a huge amount of drive and commitment to his country.

  Both personable and incredibly capable, Gavin is a smart, switched-on guy. But smart and switched-on don’t always resonate with the voters.

  I knew we’d represent well, and get the party a few more seats than the pathetic two we’d held before the election.

  I had no idea we’d sweep to power.

  Or that I’d end up the chief of staff to the nation’s leader, and my wife would suddenly be solo-parenting our three kids.

  It was supposed to be a whirlwind election. Now it’s going to be a whirlwind four years in power. At least.

  I tug her close. “I love you. I will do my best. And if you fall asleep before I get home tonight, I won’t wake you up.”

  “You can wake me up,” she whispers, brushing her mouth against mine. “We can be quick.”

  Deep inside, need roars to life. Even after all these years, this woman is everything to me. “One day…” We’ll take our time. One day, we’ll sleep naked and wake up late and have all the time in the world.

  She laughs. “I know. One day.”

  But not this day. And probably not this night, either.

  The new intern is a PhD candidate from the University of Ottawa, Ellie Montague. She seems even smarter than promised by her CV. Unfortunately, by mid-morning I’m pretty sure she’s regretting taking the three month position because it’s what I call a Gavin’s Not Happy day.

  Don’t get me wrong. My boss not being happy is a good thing. It means he’s zeroed in on a problem and he’s going to fix it.

  This is why we’re in government. This is why I never see my wife and kids—because we’re going to fix shit.

  It just comes with a good dose of yelling when incompetence is uncovered.

  Today’s furor is over fundraising and lobbyists. It’s a legitimate concern, one on which we want to distinguish ourselves in a big way from our predecessors, but we’ve got a private event in five weeks that could need to be chopped if the PM decides to take a hard line on influencers.

  So after Gavin lays down the law—pivot the fundraiser or ditch it completely, because we will not be in the pockets of the wealthy—I pull Ellie into my office for a working lunch. Orientation is over, welcome to the real mess.

  “Sorry about this.” I gesture to the stacks of briefing books on my desk. “I suppose I should take you out to lunch for your first day, but this is the pace at which we work.”

  “It’s fine,” Ellie says, giving me a smile that quickly fades to a serious look. “What do you need me to do?”

  There’s something about this one. I think she means it, like she really wants to make a difference. Of course she’s still got stars in her eyes about the PM—they all do, it’s a fact of life. But she’s doing her best to lock that down, and I respect that.

  I pull out my lunch. Adrienne made ham and Swiss
on rye, extra-tall, so I can spare half. “You want some?”

  Ellie gives me a surprised look. “Sure.”

  “Feeding you is the least I can do.”

  She laughs. “Not literally.”

  “Okay, it’s the least my wife would allow me to do.” I point to Adrienne’s picture on my desk. “She made the sandwich, so it’s divided by her rules.”

  “That’s sweet.” She says it like she knows she’s supposed to, but it really is. That’s my wife. I’m a lucky man, but the bar is set high.

  I dig two cans of Diet Coke from the box under my desk and hand her one. She cracks it open with one hand while she reaches for the file on the fundraiser.

  We eat in silence. Five minutes of chewing and thinking, and for the last half-minute, Ellie’s forehead pulls tighter with each quiet tick of the second hand on my clock.

  I lean back in my chair. “What do you have?”

  “One problem with him saying that over and over again is that he’s rich, too,” she points out, licking mustard off her fingers. “And everyone knows it. Don’t get me wrong—most people like that about him. But he’s hardly one of us with the sandwiches from home.”

  I snort. “Don’t let him hear you say that.”

  “He’s a man of the people in many other ways. He knows how much a loaf of bread costs, that’s all that matters. But he’s also comfortable with these donors, right? What if it wasn’t a fundraiser for the party? What if it was…like a kick-off for a community challenge?”

  “Keep talking.” I root around in my lunch bag for the best part. “Chocolate chip cookie?”

  She shakes her head. “But I’ll take another pop if you’ve got one.”

  I toss her another Coke.

  She takes a sip, then leans in. “He shouldn’t shut himself off from business leaders. He needs to stay connected to them, and show them who’s boss. Canadians just want to know that he’s not in their pockets. They’ll be thrilled if he can turn it around, make them bend to his will.”

  “Shit.” I rock back in my chair and shove the rest of the cookie in my mouth. “That’s good.”

  So good I want her to present it tomorrow at the briefing. She blanches, but agrees. I like that spirit, and I’m about to reassure her that it’s really not as scary as it sounds when Gavin appears, bursting into my space without so much as a knock. “This report from the Ministry of the Environment is fucking bullshit, Stewart.”

  “I’m in a meeting, Gavin.” I sigh and gesture to Ellie.

  Gavin twists around, his attention now firmly on my guest. “Ms. Montague. Would you step outside?”

  Jesus, this can’t be good. And given that Ellie’s somewhat of a guest in our office, and it’s her first day…I open my mouth to protest, but she beats me to it, giving him a firm look. “I’d rather stay.”

  I almost laugh out loud at way Gavin freezes. He wasn’t expecting that.

  “Sir,” she adds, flushing a little. “I’d rather stay, sir. Because…I’m the barometer, right? Without me, you’re talking in an echo chamber. That’s what you said in your announcement about these internships.” She turns her attention back to me. “I don’t think your office is an echo chamber, of course, Stew.”

  I grin as Gavin laughs. That cuts the tension, because no, I don’t have any problem telling the PM when he’s wrong, and he says as much to Ellie.

  She lifts her chin. “Okay. So what part of the report is fucking bullshit?”

  He laughs and turns back to me. “This one can stay.”

  “Glad you approve,” I mutter, rolling my eyes. “Now can we get this meeting back on track? I’m already a few hours behind in my day and I promised my wife I’d be home before dark.”

  The last thing I do before I leave the office is fire off another email.

  Checking for—and replying to—the response is the first thing I do when I pull into the driveway of my dark house. All the lights are off, and my heart sinks.

  I knew it was late, but…

  It’s not always going to be like this. It wasn’t like this when he was in opposition. There were late nights, but they weren’t the majority of the time. And we didn’t travel nearly as much.

  I quietly let myself in. I’m hungry, but the first thing I do after dumping my briefcase on the bench in the entranceway and kicking off my shoes is head upstairs. The twins still sleep with their door open, so I stop in their doorway and look at them. They’re both huge in their single beds…we need to move to a house with another room, but this place is close to Adrienne’s school and a decent drive for me across the bridge, too.

  I’m constantly thinking about you guys, even when I’m not here. That doesn’t do anything for the worried guilt in my gut, though. And Daniel’s door being firmly closed isn’t good, either. I stop there and press my hand against the wood. Especially you, son. His younger brothers dominate Adrienne’s time and energy. I backtrack downstairs and find a marker and a piece of paper. I scrawl Daniel, Slayer of Dragons, or So Says His Father on it.

  Back upstairs, I tape that to his door.

  Our bedroom is at the end of the hall. Our door isn’t shut, but it’s pulled to, and I wince as the door squeaks when I press it open.

  I didn’t need to worry about waking Adrienne, though.

  She’s in bed, reading.

  She doesn’t look up.

  I’m sorry, I should say, but I know that’s not enough.

  “I’m going to Toronto next weekend. My sister’s taking the kids, so you don’t need to worry about taking the time off work.” She snaps her book closed. Still doesn’t look at me.

  “I tried to get home,” I say quietly. “And something came up.”

  “Something always comes up. And tonight your kids were dicks to me. So I’m going away for the weekend without any of you.” She turns off her light and rolls onto her side.

  Fucking hell. I strip down to my boxer briefs and climb into bed behind her. When I touch her hip, she stiffens, but she doesn’t pull away when I move closer, wrapping her smaller body in mine. We still fit perfectly together.

  “It’s not always going to be like this,” I finally say out loud.

  “I know.”

  “I love you.”

  She sighs. “I know that, you dolt. Just…it’s hard on all of us. And today was a long day.”

  “My kids were dicks, eh?”

  “Total dicks.” She laughs. “And yes, on nights like tonight, they’re all yours.”

  “And when they’re hilarious and kind and smart, they’re all yours.” I kiss that tender spot behind her ear. “I’m not arguing with you. That’s totally true.”

  “Rub my neck?” she asks hopefully. Like it’s a big ask, and lately, maybe it has been.

  “Always,” I whisper, circling my thumb against her skin.

  She falls asleep like that, with me stroking the tension out of her muscles. Before I can regret that we didn’t do anything else, my phone vibrates from across the room.

  It won’t always be like this.

  I just need to keep telling myself—and everyone else—that until it feels true.

  2

  Adrienne

  The following Friday is a day off school for the kids, and my sister is happy to have them come early, so I take a vacation day to extend my weekend, as well.

  I take the train from Ottawa to Toronto, and spring for a first-class seat. Four hours of wine and reading and no children or husbands annoying me.

  Husbands.

  Maybe that’s the problem. I only have one husband. If I had two, it wouldn’t be a big deal that Stew’s job had become insane. I could have Work Stew, who I’m ridiculously proud of, and I could have… Home Stew. The guy who chops wood for our fireplace, who makes salsa from scratch—and then margaritas to match. The guy who likes to sleep in on Saturdays and go hiking on Sundays. Who puts the kids to bed and then comes to find me with a dirty grin that says it’s my bedtime, too.

  I miss that grin.

/>   I miss his salsa, too.

  If I could have a third husband, I’d pick Young Stew. I’m not sure he’d be interested in being married to a twenty-five-year-older version of his university girlfriend, but she’d be all over him and his youthful enthusiasm for late-night adventures and endless sex.

  Although the real Stew has some advantages over his younger self. He’s way more patient than he used to be. He knows my body better. He just doesn’t get as many opportunities to prove his mastery of what makes me shiver.

  I sigh and close my book. I really need this getaway, but I’m barely halfway to Toronto and I’m moping over how much I miss my husband.

  But I’d miss him even more if I’d stayed home and he’d had to work.

  He drove me to the train station. He had to leave work to do it. He came home and picked us all up. We dropped the kids at my sister’s first, then he took me to the train station and helped me unload my bag. Then he wrapped me in his big, strong arms and kissed me.

  He’d poured a lot into that kiss, and it left me breathless.

  Now I touch my lips and think…okay. It’s not always going to be like this. His mantra, and I believe him.

  For now, I need to do some self-care. Adrienne Time, not Mom Time.

  I twist around and find the first-class car attendant. “Could I have another glass of wine?” I ask, and she brings it right away. Ah, yes. Adrienne Time.