Party of Two

by Jasmine Guillory

  “Oh, that’s great news. I know a few people who have started their own firms, and the beginning is always stressful, but it seems like you’ve hit the ground running.”

  She nodded.

  “It seems like it. And I had a really great time volunteering at the community center’s food pantry this week. Well, it’s both a food pantry and community kitchen; do you know their model?”

  He shook his head.

  “I don’t. Tell me about it.”

  She spent the rest of their drive to the movie theater doing just that, and he was captivated the whole time. Olivia seemed to really care about the place and the work they did, after only one time there. It made him like her even more, this enthusiasm and joy for a project that was built to help people who needed it.

  “Speaking of,” she said. “I saw you on TV the other night, talking about the need to improve the food stamps program. I liked what you said.”

  He tried not to smile too big.

  “You saw that? Thanks for watching.”

  That had been some good timing on his part. It probably helped that he actually cared about that issue.

  “Do you like that part of the job? The TV, and all of that? It’s one thing to mess up in front of a judge, and another to mess up live, in front of millions of people.”

  He laughed.

  “Thanks, now I’m sure I’ll have that going through my head the next time I’m on TV. But actually, yeah, I do like that part, and it helps that I’m good at it.” He winced. “Does that sound arrogant? I don’t mean it that way . . . well, only partly, I guess. But in the past year or so I’ve had to be honest with myself about what I’m good at in this job and what I’m not good at—I’m good at TV spots, speeches, and talking to constituents, and it helps that I enjoy doing all of that.”

  She looked at him sideways.

  “And what are you not good at?”

  He laughed again.

  “I guess I walked right into that one, didn’t I? I’m less good at all of the politicking on Capitol Hill, the trading favors and using coded language and being passive-aggressive—I hate all of that, but I feel like I’m going to have to learn how to do a better job of it in order to get anything done in the Senate.”

  He was probably being too honest with Olivia, but he couldn’t help it. She’d asked him a real question; he wanted to give her a real answer.

  “Why did you run for Senate in the first place?” she asked.

  He shrugged.

  “I’m an arrogant asshole who thought I could handle it?”

  They both laughed.

  “I’m sure that’s true, but why else?” she asked.

  He pulled into the movie theater parking space and turned off the car before he answered.

  “I wanted to make a difference. I know, it sounds so trite. But it felt like . . . I had a charmed life, you know? I was born rich, I grew up in fucking Beverly Hills, life came easy to me. I didn’t understand that for a long time, but once I did, I realized it was all a waste unless I used my abilities and my privilege to help other people. I was a prosecutor first, and that’s when I really saw how much pain and sorrow there is out there in the world. And I got really sick of putting people in prison—people who didn’t deserve it, or who had gone through so much in their lives. And I knew the only way to really fix things was to change the laws in the first place.”

  He looked at her for a second and then looked away. That might have been a little too much honesty. But it was hard not to tell Olivia the truth, when she looked at him like she really cared about what he said. Like she cared about him. He told most of the world the glib, easy answer, but somehow he couldn’t do that to her.

  Ah. This was why Wes was so concerned.

  Granted, he hadn’t told Olivia the entire truth—this was still the flattering version of his life story. He still wanted her to like him, after all.

  “And now I’m in a job where I wear fake glasses to go out on a date—I hope you like these.” He pulled a pair of new glasses out of the glove compartment and slid them on, and was relieved to see her smile. He grabbed his UCLA cap from the back seat and put it on, too.

  He wanted to reach for her hand, but it seemed too early for that. He compromised, and put his hand on her back as they walked toward the theater.

  “Anyway, I hope this movie is funny—after the week I’ve had, I could use a few laughs.” He looked over at her. “I’m glad we could do this. It’s really great to see you again.”

  Olivia smiled at him, and moved closer to him as they walked.

  “I’m glad, too.”

  * * *

  * * *

  Max seemed different tonight, and Olivia couldn’t figure out why. Maybe it was their second date, so they knew each other a little better? Maybe it was the texts they’d been exchanging all week, which had gotten progressively more friendly and relaxed over the course of the week? Maybe it was his mood, just off the plane from DC? Whatever it was, she liked it. He seemed more human.

  She’d been especially surprised by his heartfelt outburst about his job on their way here. She’d wanted to ask him more questions about that, but he seemed a little embarrassed, so she decided to hold off. But everything he said about his job made her respect him more.

  She shook her head at herself. What was she doing? She didn’t need to like and respect this guy! Sure, yes, it was nice, since she’d likely be voting for him for reelection in about four years, but this movie was just a preamble to sex later that night, and then they’d never see each other again. Liking him too much was a waste of time!

  Max scanned the tickets from his phone, and they found their seats inside the movie theater. This was one of those new theaters with reserved seats and big comfortable chairs, and when they sat down, they grinned at each other.

  “Can you believe we put up with those old, narrow movie theater chairs for so long?” Max said to her.

  “You read my mind,” she said as she reclined her chair. “These are great.”

  He reclined his chair to meet hers, and handed her the popcorn.

  “Don’t let me eat so much popcorn I ruin my dinner,” he said.

  She laughed.

  “If you were that hungry, we could have stopped on the way here. Or gotten you your own popcorn.”

  He shook his head.

  “I’m actually not that hungry—I ate so many of those cookies they give you on the plane, but it’s easy to eat an enormous amount of popcorn without even thinking about it.”

  When the trailers started, Olivia relaxed into her chair. She barely cared what was on the screen; it was just nice to be out, in this comfortable chair, with Max next to her. Their arms touched as they lay on the armrests, and it felt soothing. Comforting. For just a moment, she could believe that someday her career and life would be in order again. She moved her hand just a tiny bit closer to his, and he immediately wove his fingers together with hers. She had a sudden instinct to pull her hand away—this felt too . . . boyfriend-like. She didn’t want a boyfriend, and she especially didn’t want someone like Max Powell for a boyfriend. He was too high profile, too full of himself, too high maintenance for her. And she was sure he didn’t want someone like her for a girlfriend. But she couldn’t bring herself to let go of his hand. So they watched the rest of the movie like that, hand in hand.

  She forced herself to let go of his hand when the credits started.

  “What did you think?” he asked her as they walked to the car.

  “Oh, I liked it,” she said. “It wasn’t great filmmaking or anything, but I was entertained from beginning to end and didn’t look at the time once. That’s all I ask for in a movie.”

  Granted, she didn’t know if the reason she didn’t look at the time was because of the movie or because she’d been with him, but she wasn’t going to tell him that.


  “Right there with you.” He opened the car door for her. “Any thoughts on where, or what, you want to eat?”

  She was suddenly starving.

  “Somewhere we don’t have to wait for hours—lunch feels like forever ago.”

  He nodded as he drove out of the parking lot.

  “Agreed—maybe it was because they kept eating in that movie.”

  They tossed around restaurant ideas as they drove in the general direction of her place, until she saw a sign up ahead.

  “Can you believe I haven’t been to In-N-Out since I’ve been back to California?”

  He immediately threw on his blinker, just like she knew he would.

  “Are you serious? That feels sacrilegious. Let’s go.”

  He started to pull into a parking spot, but she stopped him.

  “No, let’s go through the drive-through—it’s probably packed inside. We can eat at my place.”

  He put his hand on hers.

  “Olivia Monroe, you’re the most brilliant woman I’ve ever met.”

  She laughed at him, but damn was this man getting to her. Every time he looked at her, she wanted him to touch her. Every time he touched her, she wanted it to last longer. And now, he was coming back to her place, to touch her, she hoped, for a very long time.

  She stopped herself. No, Olivia, don’t build it up too much—sure you haven’t had sex for months, but you haven’t even kissed this guy. Just because he has a good head of hair and a sexy smile doesn’t mean he knows what to do with his body . . . or yours. Okay, but it had the potential to be good, didn’t it? He paid attention when she talked, and he clearly liked looking at her. That was honestly half the battle for most men—if he could listen when she said Yes, no, right there, YES, he had the advantage over about eighty percent of men.

  Maybe ninety.

  When they got back to her place, Olivia led him to the kitchen, and picked up the bottle of red wine on her kitchen counter.

  “Wine? I have white wine in the fridge if you want that. I’m not sure which one goes better with In-N-Out, though.”

  His eyes lingered on her, and her whole body tingled.

  “Whichever one you’re having,” he said.

  She took two wineglasses down from the cabinet and opened the red wine. He didn’t jump to try to open it for her, thank God. She enjoyed it when men opened doors for her and all of that, but too often men tried to take over every damn thing from women in the interest of “chivalry,” and Olivia hated that. She poured two glasses, and led him into the living room.

  “Let’s sit in here,” she said. “It’s more comfortable than the kitchen stools at the counter, and I don’t have a kitchen table yet.”

  He followed her into the living room with the food and sat down next to her on the couch. Very close to her on the couch.

  “A car, a kitchen table, what else do you still have to buy?”

  She laughed as she took their food out of the bags.

  “Oh, probably a million things. A new wardrobe, for that matter—all of my clothes are too dark and too formal for L.A. I think the only time I’ve seen anyone in a suit since I got here was that luncheon, and that was only you and a handful of other lawyers.”

  He squeezed out ketchup for both of them and picked up a fry.

  “Has it been hard? The transition?” he asked.

  Yes, much harder than she’d expected.

  “Not really,” she said. “Maybe at some point it will be, but for now, it’s all a new adventure, you know? And it’s a relief to be back in California.”

  She took a bite of her burger so she wouldn’t be able to answer any more questions, and maybe he got the hint, because so did he.

  “Ahh, that hit the spot,” he said when he finished his burger. “I haven’t been in months and it was just what I was in the mood for. Thank you for suggesting it.”

  He took a sip of wine and smiled at her over his wineglass, and she felt that electricity between them again. She must be really attracted to this man, because usually right after she finished a cheeseburger was when she felt the least sexy possible, but for some reason, being with Max Powell was the exception.

  “Okay, so, list of things Olivia still has to do in L.A.: buy a car, buy a kitchen table, buy a whole new wardrobe. Anything else?”

  Olivia picked up her wineglass and took another sip as Max looked down at her. Had he gotten even closer to her on the couch, or was it just her imagination?

  “Oh, I’m sure there are so many more things. Go to the beach—I haven’t done that once since I’ve moved back. I’ve always wanted to go to the Getty museum and have never been. Oh, and Disneyland—I’ve always loved it there, but I haven’t been in a long time. I know it’s super touristy, but I’ve never gone up to see the Hollywood sign—the problem is I feel like you have to hike to do that, and I definitely don’t have hiking clothes. Or, like . . . a hiking mentality. Or . . .”

  Max plucked her wineglass out of her fingers and set it down on the table. The look in his eyes made her feel breathless.

  “I have one more thing to put on your list. But you can check it off anytime you want.” He trailed his fingers along her jaw and drew her even closer to him.

  “Oh? What’s that?” She hadn’t meant to whisper, but then she hadn’t expected him to make her tremble. She put her hand on his knee. God, why did it feel so good to touch him?

  He leaned in, inch by inch, until their lips were a hairsbreadth apart.

  “Kiss me,” he said.

  And she did.

  His lips were soft and gentle . . . at first. But after a few moments of light, tender kisses, he slid his hands into her hair and pulled her hard against him. She threw herself into the kiss, kissing him harder, deeper. She could tell he liked it, so she did it again, until he pulled her on top of him so she was straddling him. Now she could really tell he liked it. He leaned down to kiss her neck—this man had good instincts, God did she love being kissed there. She took the opportunity to run her fingers through his thick hair, and felt him sigh and then kiss her harder.

  She reached down and tugged his shirt out of his jeans, and ran her hands up and down his back. He pulled her head back down to his and kissed her hard, but as they kissed, he reached around and took her hands in his.

  Did he not want her to touch him there? Or touch him at all? No, she was on his lap right now, he clearly liked it when she touched him and kissed him, but as tactful as it had been he’d definitely removed her hands from his back.

  She pulled away and looked at him. He certainly looked like he was enjoying himself. All flushed, with swollen lips and unfocused eyes.

  “Do you want to move to my bedroom?” she asked, just as he said, “I should probably go.”

  As soon as Olivia realized what he’d said, equal amounts of rage and humiliation rushed over her.

  “I see,” she said.

  She scrambled off his lap and tugged her dress down.

  He touched her arm, but she pulled away and stood up.

  “I think you’re right,” she said. “You should probably go.”

  Was this somehow fun for him? Had last time not been an emergency, but instead just a way for him to get off on leading her on?

  “No, wait, Olivia . . .” He sighed. “I should have done this earlier, but you’re so . . . well, I got carried away. This isn’t . . . I really . . .” He stopped and closed his eyes for a second and then looked at her. “I did this all wrong, but can you let me explain?”

  All she wanted was to pick him up bodily and throw him out her front door, but (a) she didn’t think she was strong enough for that, and (b) she was pretty sure that was a federal offense. Honestly, right now, (a) was the more significant issue for her. Note to self: take some weight lifting classes.

  But as she glared at him, her rage faded
. Slightly. He looked so contrite, so eager to say whatever it was he wanted to say. She still felt like this was a trick, that the politician in him was going to come out and give her some bullshit speech he’d given a million other women. But he’d asked if he could explain, without just launching straight into his “I don’t want to sleep with you” stump speech, and maybe that was part of the act, but it was just enough for her.

  She sat back down on the corner of the couch and pointed to the opposite corner.

  “Sit there. You have exactly three minutes.” She dug her phone out of her pocket and opened the timer. “Starting . . . now.”

  Max sat down where she’d pointed.

  “I just thought maybe we should get to know each other better, that’s all,” he said.

  Olivia rolled her eyes and stood back up.

  “I lied, you don’t get three minutes after all. That’s seriously all you can do? Didn’t you just tell me you were good at talking to people? I get it, you’re not interested, and this whole night was some bullshit, but you don’t have to keep bullshitting me just to protect your reputation or whatever. Trust me, I won’t tell anyone about this.”

  Max leapt off the couch and reached for her hand, but stopped just short of grabbing it.

  “No, I swear, that’s not it, that’s the opposite of it. I’m really not lying, I do want to get to know you better, but . . .”

  This man clearly thought she was as gullible as every other woman he’d done this to. That whole listening-to-her-and-taking-her-seriously thing had just been an act.

  Max looked at the undoubtedly skeptical expression on her face and stopped.

  “You’re not buying this, are you?” he asked.

  She shook her head. Why had she even given him a chance to “explain” anyway?

  “Okay, okay.” He took a deep breath. “The real story is that . . . shit, I only had three minutes and it’s probably closer to two now so I’m going to rush through this, but the short version is I really like you. That’s why I want to get to know you better. I like you so much that . . . oh God, it’s so embarrassing to tell you this, but I should have figured out something else to say in advance and I didn’t and I’m wasting my minutes, and I think you probably won’t believe anything but the truth right now so I just have to say it: I told a friend of mine—a congressman, he’s my roommate in DC, anyway that’s not important—I told him about you, and he made me promise not to sleep with you yet.”