Somehow, I made it through the day and headed home. I planned to change into jeans and go out to check with my foreman about the day’s work on the ranch. But of course, after a day with Brooke around and that memory of going down on her all those years ago, I ended up grabbing my dick, imagining Brooke’s sweet pink cupid lips wrapped around it, and came like a fucking pervert.
Wallowing in my own self-loathing, I changed into jeans, checked on the business of the ranch, and then headed back to my house to microwave a frozen dinner.
As I sat at the dining table, I pulled out my tablet and reviewed my emails. Most were for work or ranch-related, but I stopped on one from someone named Quinn Thompson. Opening it, I read his introduction. He was a representative of a political party and wanted to meet with me about my political future.
I scoffed. I had no political future. If anyone found out I’d nearly fucked my best friend’s daughter and still fantasized about her now that she was my assistant, I’d be run out of town. I’d made progress on the issues that had me running for mayor in the first place, but I was ready to go back to being a simple ranch owner.
I was going to pass on the invitation, but then I thought that while I didn’t have any political aspirations, if he was making his way to a tiny town like Salvation, it must mean small-town politics made a difference in the state. I could use the opportunity to talk up Sinclair. She and I had some differences about how to do things, but she was smart, competent, and had the town’s needs forefront in her mind. Plus, I wasn’t sure Simon Stark was done with Salvation, and if he was the type to hold a grudge, he might put his significant financial resources to use in trying to defeat Sinclair. The guy had shown up at her second wedding to accuse her and Wyatt of being fake married. Of course, they had been initially, but by their second wedding, there was no doubt about their love or Wyatt’s devotion to her and their daughter, Alyssa.
I responded to the email, agreeing to meet with Thompson. I finished dinner and then headed to my office to deal with some paperwork. The nice thing about being a rancher and the mayor was that there was always something that needed to be done. I didn’t have time to watch TV, read, or lament on how my life was a wasteland.
As a younger man, when I thought about being married, I’d imagined being the type of husband that doted on his wife. We’d have a houseful of kids and make love every night. I thought Shelley was the woman I’d do all that with. I should have known that wasn’t going to be the case. Even before we married, she’d complain about life on the ranch. She kept putting off having kids, saying it wasn’t a good time for whatever she was involved with. I never understood that. She didn’t work. She was involved in civic and community groups. Most of the women in those were mothers, so surely, she could be, too.
When I talked about running for mayor, she seemed to perk up a bit. But I planned to keep and work the ranch, and she didn’t like that.
“You need to think bigger, Maurice,” she’d said to me a day before she left.
“Bigger than what?” I asked. I wasn’t one to brag, but I had the most successful ranch in the area, and I had been the richest man in town, mostly due to good investing by my father and later me when I inherited his estate. Today, Stark had that honor. I wondered if he’d been around then if Shelley would have left me for him. As it was, she’d taken off, heading somewhere else. She tried to take some of my money, but I’d been able to get out of the marriage with one lump settlement. I suspect she didn’t really know how much I had, as she didn’t seem to try very hard to get more.
Pushing my thoughts of Shelley out of my head, I went over paperwork. When I finished, I had my single nightly glass of whiskey. Since that night that I’d fucked Brooke—yes, going down on her constituted fucking, as far as I was concerned—I hadn’t drunk in social situations. I blamed my tipsy state on not having the ability to stop the minute she held that mistletoe over my head.
Trina and I had different temperaments, but like her, I liked control. So, no drinking for me, except alone in my home. I downed my two fingers of whiskey and headed to bed, knowing that no matter how much I didn’t want it to happen, Brooke was going to show up in my dreams, giving me a hard-on I’d have to stroke off in the morning. No amount of booze would prevent that.
r /> As repulsed by my thoughts as I was, I found consolation in knowing those fantasies would only be in my dreams. I was smarter and more in control now. Even if she set her sights on me again, which I doubted because I was nearly forty and she was still so young, I’d be able to resist her in real life, even if not in my dreams.
4
Brooke
After a week working in the mayor’s office, I’d learned two important things. One, I wasn’t just infatuated with Mo. I was falling for him. He was smart, decisive, and fair. He surrounded himself with and took advice from smart, strong women, respecting them, and yet, making his own decisions in the end. He didn’t coddle me or treat me differently. He gave me work with little direction, trusting I’d figure it out. Then, there was the fact that he was sexy as hell.
The second thing was that the admin, Trina, didn’t like me. I wasn’t sure why. I couldn’t tell if it was something about me specifically, or more about how I came to be working here. A part of me wondered if she felt threatened by me, which was silly. I didn’t want her job. I respected and valued what she did, but I had my sights set higher than being an assistant. Eventually, I’d be running a department. This job was just to get my foot in the door.
As I entered my second week of work, I had a better sense of my job as well as the dynamics of the office. If I could get Trina to not look at me like a mean girl in high school, I’d feel really good about my job. It would be nice to be able to spend more time with the mayor, too. I wondered if he was purposefully busy to avoid me, or if that’s how he always was.
It seemed like we should discuss what had happened all those years ago so it didn’t linger between us, and yet, it wouldn’t matter, because, given the opportunity, I’d do it again now. He’d probably freak out if he knew I had a fantasy of him taking me on his desk.
Midweek, after a busy day at work and then spending an evening with my dad at home, I was getting ready for bed when my phone rang. Looking at the caller ID, I saw it was Tucker. He’d graduated two years before me but had stuck around Chicago, finding a teaching job in one of the at-risk neighborhoods. We’d remained close friends, and I’d often been his confidant in his many relationships.
“Tucker. How are you?”
“Broke and lonely. How about you?”
“Oh, no. Did Karen leave you, after all?” I asked about his on-again-off-again relationship with another teacher.
“Yeah. She ran off to Florida with vice-principal Kipler.”
“Ouch.” I winced, feeling his pain. “You okay?”
“Actually, I am. But I’m not calling about me. Spill the beans. Are you bored out of your gourd back in Podunk, Nebraska?”
I snickered. “No. It’s nice to be home.”
“And your job. You still feel some sort of way about Mayor McHottie?”
I paused.
“Oh shit, you do? Really? I thought you grew out of that.”