“I’ve been paying dues for the past four years.”
“No, you’ve been half-assing it. I need you to make an effort. We’re one year out from the primaries, and God knows if he doesn’t make it this time ’round, there’s another four years of hard campaigning in our future.”
“If he doesn’t make it this year, maybe it’s time to give the White House up.”
“Please. Your father’s a stubborn mule. He’s just going to keep coming back for more until the American public loves him.”
I want to argue that strategy didn’t work for another certain democratic nominee, but I keep my mouth shut.
“Okay,” I relent. “I’ll start making an effort again.”
“You need to do something, baby. Messing around with the pretty football player can only last so long, and it’s going to be crunch time before we know it.”
I let out the loudest breath in history that somehow matches Mom’s sullen mood. I get the feeling she wants to be the first lady as much as I wanted Matt to leave. But it’s the life she signed on for, and she made her choice. She married into it. I never got the choice to be born into this, but it’s my life anyway.
“Fine,” I say.
Damn that woman. It’s impossible to say no to her.
Chapter Eleven
Matt
Noah’s name flashing on my screen makes me feel better than an ice bath after a grueling training session. I left New York eight days ago at the ass crack of dawn—well before Noah was awake. Since then, I’ve had not even a text, so I’m curious to know why he’s calling but even more curious as to why that makes me happy. Especially considering our fling is over and it’s back to the original plan—business arrangement only.
“You know if you were a real boyfriend, I’d be pissed,” I say in way of an answer.
“Why?” his playful tone replies.
“Eight days, man. Don’t leave your boyfriend hanging like that.”
“Your phone has dials too, you know. You could’ve called if you needed something.”
“Yeah, but I’ve been putting my apartment on the market, having meetings with finance guys, looking for storage places for all my furniture. I’ve been busy. What have you been doing?”
There’s a small pause before he says, “Believe it or not, I’ve been going to work.”
“You what?” I exclaim. “There must be a bad connection or something because I’m pretty sure you said you went to work. Which is campaigning for your dad.”
“True story.”
“You miss me so much you’re voluntarily going to a place you hate every day just to forget me. Aww.” I probably shouldn’t provoke him when he spooks easily, but that’s what makes it funny.
“Actually, Dad’s biggest recruiter came by and forced me to start making an effort.”
“Wait … there’s someone in this world who actually has the power to force Noah Huntington the fucking Third to do something?”
“Yeah. She goes by the name of Mom.”
I can’t help laughing at that.
Noah sighs. “I did have a reason for calling, you know.”
“Which is?”
“Our suits for the benefit this weekend. Damon says they have to be matching but still look different, so what are you going to wear?”
I grin. “They’re giving us what suits to wear.”
“Oh.”
“Which, if you had spoken to Damon, he would’ve told you. Which means you literally called for a made-up reason.” Now there’s definitely no way I can stop smiling.
“Damn it, fine. I tried to stay away, okay? Damon warned me, and the rest of my friends said I was doing the same thing to you that I did to Aron, and I didn’t want to hurt you, so I figured you going back to PA was the perfect time to take a step back.”
“And then?”
“And then I got horny.”
I snort. “Eight days is a little insulting considering all I’ve been thinking about doing is dicking you out again.”
A tortured groan fills my ears, and my cock stirs.
“It hasn’t been eight days of nothing,” Noah says. “It’s taken me this long to reach my breaking point. Porn is doing shit all to help. My cock wants you, apparently. I tried to tell him no, but he never listens.”
“That’s sweet. I think. Although, I’m worried about the fact you’re talking to your dick.”
“It’s only a problem if it talks back.”
It’s so tempting to cancel the rest of my appointments this week and run back to New York. “If I didn’t have another meeting tomorrow with my finance guy, I’d be in my car already.”
“What’s with all the finance meetings?”
“I’m organizing for the worst. I didn’t want to contemplate it, but if I don’t get another contract, I need to make my money last until I figure out what I’m going to do with the rest of my life. I’m trying to sell my loft. There’s nothing for me in Philly anymore—contract or not.”
“You’re getting a contract. I have faith.”