She catches me off guard. I don’t respond.
“If you’re the smart man I know you to be,” she says, her voice dripping with sweetness, “you will realize where your bread is buttered, Barrett. And that’s right here, sugar.”
“I’m not your ‘sugar.’”
She exhales a long, dramatic breath. “You and I have always been a thing. No matter who you see, who I date, it’s your bed I always end up in. You know that. We’ve been in the same schools, through the same elections, through the same bullshit our entire lives. Don’t act like you don’t want me now—especially now when you need me.”
It’s the way she says it, like she has one over me. It infuriates me and I see red.
“I don’t need anyone, Daphne,” I spit out. “We can be friends if that’s what you want. But we aren’t going to be more than that and that’s not for any reason other than we never were.”
“You’re fucking up.”
It’s my turn to laugh. “Maybe. But it won’t be the first time and it probably won’t be the last.”
Alison
I type my favorite words, The End, and finish my paper. Hitting save before I lose the last five hours of work, I close my computer and my eyes as well.
It’s after two in the morning and I haven’t slept more than a handful of hours over the past few days. Between work at Hillary’s during the day, a host of papers due in my classes, and a few catering jobs mixed in, I’m bone tired.
I check on Huxley before heading into my room and slipping beneath the covers without even brushing my teeth.
My paper was on ethics in journalism, and the entire thing made me think of Barrett and the unethical practices that are aimed at him. I hate that his voice is often twisted and sometimes diminished based on the slant of the journalist writing the piece. It’s true for all politicians and celebrities, I guess, but Barrett I know. Or I think I do.
He’s wanted to see me this week, and maybe I’ve wanted to see him too, but it hasn’t worked out. And I’m kind of glad for that. Over the past week, we’ve been able to get to know each other without any pressure. We’ve had a couple of phone calls and a boatload of texts, and I scroll through them and smile.
Like he senses I’m awake and thinking of him, my phone buzzes in my hand.
Barrett: I think I would sleep better if I could roll over and see you.
Me: I snore.
Barrett: I can figure out how to occupy your mouth.
Me: So much for all the credit I was just giving you for being a gentleman.
Barrett: The veneer comes off late at night. ;)
Me: Why are you up?
Barrett: I’d like to give you a line like I was thinking about you or you were running through my mind, but really—I’m working.
I laugh as I envision him stretched out on his bed. In my head, he’s naked, his divine body on full display. His hair is wet from the shower, his abs cut to perfection.
Barrett’s next message pings as it’s received.
Barrett: How was your day? How’s Huxley?
My heart is full as I type out my response.
Me: It was good. Hux is good. I’m sorry I couldn’t talk much today. Between Hillary’s House and my paper for class and Hux’s homework, today was a mess.
Barrett: Never apologize for putting you and Hux first, Alison. That’s the way it should be.
I look at the words for a long few seconds before I can gather myself to respond. He’s so sweet, so considerate of Huxley that tears sting my eyes as I try to find the right keys to answer him.
Me: