The Kingmaker

by Ryan, Kennedy

  “I’m here with my friends, remember?”

  “They have you all the time. I only get a few days with you before you go back to the States.”

  I lower until my mouth is level with her breast, and suck the curve and nipple through the silk robe. She groans and plunges her fingers into my hair, scraping my scalp.

  “Please.” I nudge the lapel aside to find clean-scented, soft flesh beneath the robe. I slide the sleeves down her arms until the belt loses its fragile hold on her waist and falls open, catching at her elbows. She’s nearly naked in my kitchen, and I want to bend her over the table and take her from the back. Hard.

  “I can’t just forget about them,” she says, sounding husky and unconvinced.

  “Tell them good dick is hard to find. Surely they’ll understand.”

  My fingers delve between her legs, searching for the nirvana I found last night.

  “Are you sore?” I hope I don’t sound as desperate as touching her makes me feel.

  “A little.” Her fingers tighten at my neck. “But I’ll be ready by tonight, if you want me again.”

  Tonight. Damn. Not as persuasive as I thought I was. “So you won’t spend the day with me?”

  “I have plans with Kimba and Viv,” she says, apology and regret in her eyes. “I promise tonight is yours.”

  “Will you spend the night again?” I’m asking too much too soon. I know that, but everything feels compacted. Seeing her again randomly after four years, making love our second night together, whatever we get this week—it’s all shoved through a tiny window I want to toss a rock at and shatter.

  “I’ll spend the night, yeah.” She draws the robe back and up and around her, tying it at the waist. She reaches past me to grab a slice of burnt toast. “But I have to go now.”

  My arms and my kitchen are empty. She starts up the steps, and I take off after her. Her eyes widen over her shoulder when she sees me on her heels.

  “No!” She laughs and speeds up, zigzagging down the hall like that will deter me. She makes the amateur mistake of running into my bedroom and trying to close the door. I push until it opens and stumble into the room. She’s giggling and spread out on my bed, the robe gaping to show me her supple curves and lean lines and pretty pussy.

  “Come catch me,” she says, her arms extended to me.

  I fall into the disarray of sheets scented with last night’s sex and pin her beneath me.

  “Are you sure you can’t stay?” I ask, one last plea.

  “No, my friends are waiting for me.” She reaches down between us to grip my cock, squeezing. “But I’m not that sore, and they can wait.”

  16

  Lennix

  “Your dad or your boyfriend?” Kimba asks, dipping a trio of French fries into a dollop of mayo nestled in the red-and-white-checkered paper cone.

  I glance at my phone.

  “Maxim’s not my boyfriend,” I answer, giving her half my attention and the remainder to the call. “And it’s not him or Daddy. It’s Mena. Better see what she needs.”

  “If you say so, Miss I Popped My Cherry by Spending the Night with a Stranger.” Vivienne laughs and takes a sip of her ginger beer. “We’ll just be here eating our weight in fries and rubbing our feet.”

  We visited the Anne Frank House today and did a walking tour of the major sites. We’re sucking this city dry of every experience possible.

  I leave them and their ribbing at the sidewalk café, and walk toward a low wall a few yards away.

  “Hey, Auntie,” I greet Mena. “How goes it?”

  “Fine,” she returns, a smile in her voice. “Enjoying Amsterdam?”

  “Very much.” An unrepentant grin spreads across my face. I’ll share all the details with her when I get back. “Everything okay? Did my father put you up to this? I’ve got him down to one call a day, but if he—”

  “No, I haven’t spoken to Rand, but it doesn’t surprise me he’s calling so much. You know how hard it is for him when you’re away.”

  “I know. I get it, but what happened to Mama . . .” Mama’s disappearance and presumed death form a broken circle that never closes, and I know those question marks are like scythes chopping into my dad’s sanity some days. The least I can do is take his calls and reassure him I’m okay.

  “I get it,” I finish lamely after a moment. “So if you aren’t calling for Dad, what’s up?”

  “Remember when we talked by the river right before you left?”

  “Of course.”

  “Has your path been made clear yet?”

  I hesitate before answering. I want to tell her yes, but the three options I have still sit there, none of them compelling me to take a step. “Not really.”

  “Okay. I have something that may interest you while you decide. Maybe. No pressure. I don’t want to influence your choices, but this just seemed—”

  “Spit it out, Auntie.”

  “I have a friend from college in Oklahoma, Jim Nighthorse,” she says, an eager note entering her voice. “Cherokee Nation on his mother’s side. He’s running for Congress.”

  My mental antennae peak and I go still. My fingertips tingle.

  “Okay,” I say slowly. “Tell me more.”

  “He’s amazing, Lenn. He’s a lawyer, and has represented several cases on behalf of Cherokee Nation the last few years.”

  “That all sounds incredible. What do you want? How could I help?”

  “You could work on his campaign. I can email you his file, but don’t take a long time to decide. He’s setting up interviews now to outfit his staff. It’s gonna be a tough race. His opponent, the incumbent, supported a company’s bid for a pipeline in Oklahoma a few years ago.”

  As soon as she says the words, something clicks and settles inside of me like I was waiting to hear them. I’ve heard so little about this man and this opportunity, but already it feels right. That’s been happening to me a lot lately. I felt certain about last night, about Maxim, and for some reason, I feel certain about this.

  “And you think I can help?” I ask, even though I already believe I can.

  “Yes. He needs someone bold and young, but wise and wily.”

  “And you think that’s me?” I ask with a huff of humor.

  “Oh, I know it is.”

  I straighten from the wall and start back toward the table where my best friends wait, still dipping fries in mayo.

  “Send me the file.”

  17

  Maxim

  “My mouth is on fire, Doc.” Lennix waves her hand in front of her pouty lips, her eyes watering. I laugh and lift my glass of water for her to drink. Between greedy sips and gasps, she grins.

  “I told you to slow down.” I fork through the portion of daging blado on my plate, the spicy, tender braised beef singeing my tongue and setting my taste buds on fire.

  “Well I, for one,” says Kimba, “am loving the hell out of this fish. It’s spicy, too, but so good. What’d you call it, Max?”

  “It’s sate lilit,” I reply. “Glad you like it. How’s yours, Viv?”

  The pretty brunette’s glasses are practically fogged from the heat piled on her plate. “Everything is delicious. Thank you for bringing us here.”

  “Best rijsttafel in the city.” I glance around the table, loaded with more than a dozen dishes of meat and vegetables and rice. Lots of rice, which is kind of the point. “You can’t come to Amsterdam and not have rijsttafel.”

  “It’s a lot of food,” Lennix murmurs, scooping up rice and sate kambing, the savory goat she agreed to try.

  “This is one of my favorite places in the city for it,” I tell them. “We had some in Utrecht, but this one’s better.”

  “So you studied climate change there?” Kimba asks, chewing goat meat carefully as if considering whether or not she likes it.

  “Climate science is my degree, but climate change is certainly a part of it, yeah.”

  “What will you do with it?” Kimba asks.

  “E
verything,” I answer simply.

  Kimba and Vivienne laugh, but Lennix watches me, her eyes and mine locked in recognition. She’s glimpsed my ambition in flashes, in the few things I’ve shared. She knows I won’t be deterred by anything when pursuing my goals.

  “I also have a degree in business,” I clarify, answering the questioning looks the other two women give me. “I’m interested in the intersection of clean energy and commerce.”

  “In other words,” Lennix drawls, her smile affectionate and cynical, “he wants to make lots of money off the planet.”

  We all laugh, but I feel the need to reassure them I’m not some heartless capitalist asshole who would compromise greater good for greater gain. I’m not my father.

  “It’s true I want to monetize green energy innovation,” I tell them, sipping the last of my Bir Bintang. “But I also refuse to let this planet go to crap without at least trying to convince people we should stop treating it like a bottomless trash can.”

  “That’s why you’re going to Antarctica next week?” Lennix asks.

  “There’s a lot to learn there, yeah.”

  “Is it dangerous?” Vivienne loads a little more beef and rice onto the small plate in front of her.

  “It’s the most remote place on Earth,” I reply wryly. “And basically, an ice-covered desert. Civilization is literally thousands of miles away, and you’re surrounded by icebergs. Not to mention the weather changes faster than you can say blizzard, so yeah. There’s some risk.”

  Lennix’s brows knit into a frown over concerned eyes.

  “I mean, not that much,” I rush to tell her. “We’ll have some limited phone and internet access for the most part.”

  Not always frequent or reliable, but I’ve already made it sound bad enough.

  “How long will you be there?” Vivienne asks.

  “We fly out next week and will be there until November,” I reply. “So about eight months. One of the major hazards, beyond the weather and unpredictable conditions, is depression. Most of that time, there will be no sun. It’s dark for months in the winter, and a lot of people deal with seasonal affective disorder, some depression.”

  “It sounds intense,” Lennix says.

  “It can be. We have to adjust to chronic hypobaric hypoxia.”

  “Um . . . what?” Kimba asks.

  “Sorry,” I say, laughing. “We’ll be living for a long time with a third less oxygen than is available at sea level, but we’ve been training for these conditions. There’s a former Navy SEAL in our group, and I worked with him for weeks and have been maintaining the regimen he suggested.”

  “So that’s why you’re so much bigger,” Lennix says. She grimaces a little when her friends giggle and snort. “I mean . . . you’ve just . . . it was four years ago. Just more muscle or whatever.”

  Under the table, I slide my hand across her lap and find her hand, a courtship between our fingers. I chuckle and kiss her temple. She shifts to catch my lips, opening to briefly brush my tongue with hers. My unoccupied hand knots into a fist, and I fight the urge to haul her onto my lap.

  “Ahem.” Kimba clears her throat and then stretches into an elaborate yawn. “I’m beat. Aren’t you beat, Viv?”

  “Huh?” Vivienne looks up, her jaws stuffed with rice and beef. “No, I actually wanted to order another beer. Do we have this stuff back in the States?”

  “But aren’t you ready to go?” Kimba widens her eyes and ticks her head subtly in our direction.

  “Go?” Vivienne shoves an errant grain of rice back into her mouth. “I haven’t even tried the goat yet.”

  “Well I’m beat,” I say, letting Kimba off the hook and deciding we’ll be the ones to leave. “And stuffed and ready to go. My treat, ladies. You two stay as long as you like and I’ll take care of the bill on my way out.”

  I brush the hair back from Lennix’s face and whisper in her ear, “You still staying with me tonight?”

  She turns her head, and the need and desire in her eyes matches everything I’ve wanted since she left my house this morning.

  “Hey, guys.” She drags her gaze back to her friends. “I’m going with Maxim, okay?”

  Their knowing grins and nods answer. I fully embraced the idea of eating dinner with Vivienne and Kimba. It gave me time with Lennix, but also assuaged her guilt for spending less time with her friends on holiday.

  “We’ll see you in the morning,” Kimba says. “Thanks for tonight, Maxim. It’s been great.”

  “And I don’t think you’ve checked your phone once to see if Stephen called, Viv,” Lennix teases.

  Vivienne instantly digs into her purse and retrieves her phone.

  “He did!” She holds the screen for us to see, her face triumphant. “Two missed calls. God, that man loves me.”

  They continue chatting while I settle the bill. Vivienne and Kimba are still nibbling from half-empty dishes and sipping their beer when Lennix and I slip out the door, rich aromas following us into the street.

  “That was really sweet of you.” Lennix grabs my hand and pulls me closer until she’s pressed into my side. “Dinner for them, I mean.”

  “Small price to pay for time with you. I was more than willing. Besides they’re great.”

  “They’re the best. Kimba and I met at a voter registration drive on campus.” She chuckles against my shoulder. “We registered Viv to vote. We’re both public policy majors. Vivienne is journalism.”

  “Nice. She and her boyfriend seem really serious.”

  “Fiancé, and I can’t believe he let her out of the country. He’s as bad as my father. Stephen and Viv are joined at the hip.”

  “That’s great, that they’ve found each other so young.”

  “I guess. I do worry sometimes that it’s a lot. I mean, he’s out of school already. Living in New York. He’s in finance. She’ll move there when she graduates for sure.”

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  “She’s turning down the LA Times to be with him.”

  “And you don’t think that’s wise?”

  “I wouldn’t do it. I mean, it’s New York, so she’ll probably find something else, but there’s no guarantee. Would I set aside my ambitions and goals to follow some man?” Her scoffing breath clouds in the cool air. “No way.”

  “Good for you. You already know how I feel.”

  “Yep.” She turns her head from my shoulder to consider the glimmering canal bordering the street. “No attachments.”

  “Right.” I thread our fingers together and pull her closer. “No attachments.”

  The silence deepens between us while we walk, and I wonder if I said the wrong thing somewhere along the way—if I’ve been too honest about how things need to be between us.

  “So what about you?” I ask after a few moments. “Thought any more about which of the three opportunities you’ll take?”

  “There’s actually a fourth on the table now. My godmother called today. Her friend is running for Congress, and she thinks I should be on his team. He’s Native and smart and has been doing great work for the Cherokee Nation in Oklahoma.”

  “Wow. That sounds like it could be amazing. You gonna do it?”

  Her shrug is quick. “Mena, my godmother, is sending some stuff for me to look at so I can see what he’s all about. This could be it, though.”

  “It?”

  “I feel like a missile ready to go, but waiting for launch codes and a destination. Poised, powerful, but not sure where to aim. Today when Mena was telling me about this campaign, I wondered if this is my target. Something seemed to . . . I don’t know, make sense. You ever thought about going into politics?”

  “Hell, no.” I fake a shudder. “Dirty business, politics. You can’t have a soul and be a politician. Believe me, I have a family full of them.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, my uncle was a mayor. We’ve got a few congressmen in our illustrious family tree. And my older brother’s a senator. He’s gonna be
your president in about ten years, by the way.”

  “You say it like it’s only a matter of time.”

  “You haven’t met my brother,” I say dryly. “When he sets out to do something, it’s a foregone conclusion.”

  “Sounds like it runs in the family.”

  I pause, considering. I’m a Cade. Ambition, achieving was never a choice for me. It was just a question of if my ambitions would take me down a path that satisfied my father. But I’ve removed that factor. I may have shunned the Cade name, but the Cade nature is not so easily shed.

  “You didn’t want to get into the family business, so to speak?” she follows up.

  “Let’s just say the family business is not for me.” Neither of them, I add to myself.

  “Besides, it’s the dreamers, the inventors and entrepreneurs who change the world the most. Gutenberg, Edison, Stephenson, Jobs—something about the present wasn’t good enough, so they made the future.” I almost choke on a jaded chuckle. “What do politicians make? They make war. They make profit off the misfortune of others. They make mistakes they won’t take responsibility for and decisions they never have to feel the impact of. No, thank you. Not for me.”

  “Well, when you put it like that, I guess you think I should turn down the campaign job.”

  “Not at all. If anyone can make that rotten system work, it’s you.”

  A fat raindrop plops on my nose, sliding down the bridge, followed by another and then a wet succession.

  “Aw, hell.” I pull my jacket up on my elbows to provide some shelter for the two of us, but the rain trebles, more coming down and faster.

  “We still have four blocks before my place,” I say. “Sorry, but the weather is unpredictable this time of year.”

  Rain has already started molding the thin dress to her body, faithfully hugging every swell and curve. A hard shiver runs through her and her teeth chatter.

  “Come on.” I grab her hand and duck into an alleyway. An overhang provides a tiny patch of dry ground and shelter. “We may be able to wait it out. These showers sprout up and pass over like they never happened.”