Electing For her Curves

I’ve been by my dad’s side, every election for as long as I can remember but I’ve never seen him rattled like this.

And I know why.

It’s not because he senses an election loss.

It might have something to do with how I feel about James Silverthorn.

A squirrel two miles away could sense the heat between us, and my dad’s intuition is no different.

He’s no dummy.

I almost wished he was. Just until…

Dammit! Why do I have to be so set on an older man, old enough to be my father and also the one who just happens to be my own father’s political opponent?

But I can’t help it.

I know that no matter whether I fight it or race towards it… I know I’m already his.

I’ll belong to James Silverthorn sooner or later. Sooner rather than later, if this feeling between my legs is anything to go by.

“I rang Herb right after you left, he’s printed every piece of promotion, hell even the damned menus for every gala dinner and dance we’ve ever held in the town,” my dad keeps ranting, making me grip the side of my seat he’s driving so fast.

“Herb told me that Silverman told him to send all the fliers to my office… He told him to do it.”

“Dad, slow down, you’re scaring me,” I tell him honestly, relieved when I feel the car slowing once he looks down at his speedometer, his own breathing coming down a notch too.

“Well, I don’t like it, Krystal.” He groans, puffing out his cheeks and blowing a long breath to calm himself down further.

“I’ve never had an opponent from out of town and I certainly don’t trust him, I want you to go over every single leaflet, flier, and menu when we get back,” he says matter of fact, making me groan quietly to myself.

“Make sure he hasn’t ordered Herb to do or change anything else,” he says without looking at me, a little calmer, but still gripping the wheel tightly.

“Don’t you think that’s being a little paranoid, dad?” I ask, looking over and catching the expression on his face.

He’s worried.

Never lost an election yet, and being Mayor is his whole life.

But I see something else when he glances over for a second.

The look a Father has when he knows something or someone has designs on his only daughter.

The look an adult male has when a new Alpha comes into his territory, marking it.

Staking his claim.

Waiting at the only set of traffic lights in the town to turn green, dad pats my knee. Making me jump.

The sensation of another hand on me that isn’t James feels odd.

Almost unnatural.

“I’m sorry, sweetie. I guess I’m overtired. But can we please just go over those fliers? I’ll do it with you,” he says, creasing a smile and trying hard to look like he’s recovered, but somehow we both know a wedge has already been driven between us on some level.

I’ll always love my dad, support him in anything.

But I also know I belong to James Silverthorn now.

No more daddy’s little girl.

Once we’re both back at dad’s office, which is also our home, it’s clear to me my mind is permanently fractured from dad’s campaign and solely focused on James Silverthorn.

Checking emails and phone messages since being out, there’s quite a stir in town and indeed, the wider county media about the new player vying for the title of Mayor of Woods End.

The arrival of James Silverthorn has captured more than just my heart and imagination, and it looks like everyone wants to know what dad has to say about the man too.

The gala dinner and dance is tomorrow, so there’s some local as well as a statewide press to deal with, as well as all the final arrangements to be made.

My job.

But seeing dad opening another box of fliers, a few more of James’ on top before he tosses them onto the floor right in front of me… Cursing.

Those piercing hazel eyes of James commanding me all over again.

Commanding me to open my legs for him, ordering me to show him what belongs to him.

“See! I told ya,” My dad mutters, clawing through the box until he’s certain there are no more pictures of James looking up at him. But he relaxes once he finds his usual fliers with his picture on them.

He holds his own picture up, examining it and pinching the emerging double chin on his own neck.

“You don’t think this guy could win, do you?” he asks absently, looking past his photo and even past me.

Out the window and to the woods beyond the outhouse outside the windows.

I feel my heart go out to my dad.

It’s not his fault. Not his fault I’ve fallen so hard for a complete stranger and not his fault the outside world is finally encroaching on our little township either.