“Don’t think. Please. Just…”
“Alicia—”
She kisses me again, and this time there’s no hesitation. No testing. Just need—raw and honest and impossible to ignore.
When she takes my hand and stands, pulling me toward the basement guest room, I follow.
Because sometimes the right thing and the smart thing aren’t the same.
Tonight, I choose her.
Chapter
Twenty
Alicia
“Alright. I want all the details.”
Christine’s light blue eyes are lit with an enthusiasm that comes from what she calls booty chatter. We ended up meeting up for brunch in her home, as she lives close to Stella’s school and Stella has Saturday play practice for two hours.
There’s not much to tell is on the tip of my tongue, but that won’t fly, and it’s not true.
“Oh come on. Tell me something,” she says, sipping her coffee.
Behind her, bright sunlight streams in through the window and a bluebird lands on a skeleton limb of the maple that shades the kitchen in summer.
“Like, you have a whole security detail, and he personally walked you to my door.” She sets her coffee down with a pointed look. “That’s not security. That’s courtship.”
“He’s thorough,” I say, keeping my voice neutral.
“Mm-hmm.” She draws it out in a way that means she believes none of it. “And is he thorough in other areas?”
“Christine.”
“I’m just asking.” She grins, entirely unrepentant. “Okay. Fine. Tell me what’s actually going on—the non-fun parts.”
* * *
“I don’t really need this level of security,” I begin, stirring the stick of celery in my Bloody Mary. This morning Christine went all out with the Bloody Mary bar, and picked up bagels, cream cheese, and smoked lox for breakfast. “This is all for Dorian. He’s being cautious because of a case I worked on recently.”
“The one involving the White House?”
“That’s the one, and no, I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Neither do I,” she’s quick to agree. She knows everything anyway. “How is Dorian?”
“He’s good.”
“I always thought you would end up with him.”
I roll my eyes. “It was never like that with us.”
“If you say so,” she says, voice lilting in that way that lets me know she disagrees. “How’s that wife of his?”
“She’s doing well,” I say.
“And she’s okay with her husband insisting on another woman having a security detail?”