Getaway Girl (Girl 1)

“Are you going to lose the election now?”

“No. And you don’t worry about things like that.”

“I worry about it all the time,” she whispered.

“Why don’t you talk to me about it?”

“Because that’s not why you keep coming back.”

As much as I know this girl, a part of her continues to be elusive. She only shows me glimpses of her deepest self when she’s too weak or tired to keep her barriers up. After her refusal to sleep in the other bed, I now realize she’s not all that secure where Naomi is concerned. And the only thing I can do to prove those insecurities are unfounded is to stay the course. Keep showing her how much she means to me. Actions not words. Earlier on the phone, I almost told her my ex was back in town, so she wouldn’t be blindsided. I let the opportunity pass, though. I don’t want to discuss my past failure. Even thinking about it causes me a headache and I’m not sure why. It’s like a blurry unknown that I’m reluctant to bring into focus.

Here’s what I know for sure. I don’t want anything about it to touch the present. Because if I fail with Addison, I won’t come out the other side of it alive.

With the vivid memory of carrying Addison in my arms revolving in my head, I slide over next to her, the blood singing in my veins when she lets me tuck her in against me. Her head uses my shoulder as a pillow, her feet slide between my calves—and it’s goddamn heaven.

“I thought you didn’t like to cuddle,” I rasp against her forehead, throwing an arm around her waist and bringing her even tighter still against me. “Remember that?”

Another adorable yawn, right into my throat. “I don’t like it.”

“You don’t?”

“No.” Her lips twitch. “I’m just humoring you.”

“Hmm.” I brush my fingertips down the curve of her spine, laughing quietly when she whimpers and snuggles closer. “Did you make ornaments tonight?”

“A little. But I didn’t want to miss you on television.” She sighs. “You looked so hot.”

Now I know she’s half-asleep. “Did I?”

“Mmmhmm. All stubbly and intense and full of conviction. I was waiting here ready to seduce you, but the new bed backfired.” Her voice is dreamlike. “It’s too comfortable and now I can’t move.”

“We’ll both be here in the morning, sugar. And the morning after that. And the one after that.” I plant a kiss on her hairline, continuing to trail my fingers up and down her back. “We have all the time we need.”

“Do we?” she whispers into my neck.

“Yes.” Alarmed, I pull back to find her studying my collarbone. “Addison, if something is bothering you, talk to me about it. I’ll go get the axe.”

She opens her mouth and closes it. “I just…” Long seconds pass. “I tried to spread my grandmother’s ashes today. Again. And I couldn’t do it. I guess I’m just feeling thrown off.”

“Let me come with you next time.” When she starts to comment, I put a hand over her mouth. “I know. There’s only room for one in a kayak. I’ll rent my own.”

“You would do that?” she asks, when I take away my hand. “Would you wear your suit?”

“I own clothing besides suits.”

“Sorry, I forgot about pajamas.” I tickle her ribs and she writhes against me, teasing my poor cock into a state of protest. But when she casually drops her next question, I’m distracted from my building need to roll on top of her. “Do you want me to buy new clothes?”

“What?” I tip her chin up. “No, Addison. I don’t. Please don’t tell me you’ve been reading TheTea.”

A puff of her breath feathers my lips. “TheTea?” Her voice is small. “They’ve been…talking about me?”

Shit. How did I manage to screw up crawling into bed with my adorably sleepy girlfriend? She looks stricken and it’s my fault. Jesus. I have to fix this. I frame her face in my hands and wait until she focuses on me. “I will never care about some ridiculous website, Addison. They don’t make money by reporting people are happy. So they look for anything they perceive to be negative and they blow it up.”

“But it hurts you. It hurts your job.”

“I don’t want you hurt. That’s what I care about.” Those words are stone-cold truth. I’ve managed to get Addison living in my house, sleeping in my bed—safe and in my care—and now some faceless bloggers make her question the fact that she’s good for me? The hell with that. I’ve just gotten a taste of what real happiness feels like. Not only happiness, either. Excitement. Lust. Looking forward to waking up so I can talk to her, make plans with her. No one is taking that away. I just have to protect her from the ugly side of being in the spotlight. I have to protect her, period, before she decides this life is more trouble than it’s worth. Christ, if she left me…