Reasonable Doubt: Volume 2 (Reasonable Doubt 2)

I pressed my lips against hers. “After I f**k you.”

Consent (n.):

A voluntary agreement to another’s proposition.

Aubrey

Subject: New York /Your Panties

For the record, I did go to law school in NYC. I was the valedictorian of my class.

—Andrew

PS—If you stash one more pair of your wet panties/“For your fetish” notes in my desk drawer, I’m going to assume that you do want me to sleep with your pu**y over my face. My tongue has been aching to do that since I first “met” you so there’s no need for unnecessary hints...

“Aubrey?” My mother’s voice took the smile right off of my face. “Aubrey, were you listening to your father just now?”

“No, I’m sorry.” I sighed, dreading that I was still sitting at a dinner with them.

They’d called me the second my rehearsal was over and demanded that I drive home so we could all ride to our “favorite” restaurant together. It was where all their country club friends ate regularly, and I knew they just wanted to come here to assert our seemingly perfect family image.

“Are you listening now?” My father raised his eyebrow.

“Yes...”

“We brought you here so we could tell you that...I’m running for governor in the next election,” he said.

“Do you want my vote?”

“Ugh, Aubrey.” My mother huffed and snapped her fingers for the waiter. “This is one of the happiest moments of your life.”

“No...” I shook my head. “I’m pretty sure it isn’t...”

“All those years of hard work, building our firm to be one of the most impeccable in the city,” she said as she looked into my father’s eyes, “it’s about to payoff in a huge way. We already have a few verbal commitments for the campaign’s budget, and since we’re going in on the same side as the incumbent—”

“You have a really good chance of being governor.” I cut her off. “Congratulations, Dad.”

He reached over the table and squeezed my hand.

My mother couldn’t seem to shut up. “We’ll have to take new family photos—stocks, you know? Photos we can give to the press for their write-ups, so you’ll have to wear your hair in something other than that ballerina thing.”

“It’s a bun.”

“It’s an eyesore.”

“Margaret...” My father chided. “It’s not an eyesore...It’s just—”

“It’s just what?” I looked back and forth between them.

“It’s important for us to look like a cohesive All-American unit on the campaign trail.” My mother took a glass of wine from the waiter and waited for him to step away. “We may have to make some stops together as a family.”

“You’re running for governor, not President, and what twenty-something do you know travels with her parents during a campaign just for photo-ops?”

“Our opponent has twenty year old twins who are homeschooled,” she said. “They travel to third world countries every summer to help the poor and I’m pretty sure they’re going to be at every stop on the campaign trail.”

I snorted. “Why are you trying to compete with genuine people? Don’t you think they’re the type that deserve to win?”

“Aubrey, this is serious.” My dad looked upset. “This has been a dream of mine for a very long time and we want to make sure that nothing stands in the way.”