rushing back. The past three weeks have been miserable. The worst three weeks of my adult life so far.
Okay, that's a bit dramatic. Being poisoned was obviously the worst week of my adult life.
But the past three weeks are in the top ten, for sure, with having to see him dressed up with Jessica smiling on his arm instead of me at all the functions we’ve attended. Watching them is torture, yet I can’t stop.
I miss him, desperately. Sure, I see him when he's on shift, which is just about every day, but I miss us. The easy laughter, the conversations, the friendship. Things have been awkward, making me wonder if we'll ever get back to the ease of things.
“I need to get laid,” I grumble.
Sam and the senator shoot a confused look my way but keep talking.
Whatever.
“You're frowning, honey,” Sam says into my ear.
I fight the urge to rub my shoulder against the ear his breath tickled. “Sorry,” I mutter. Turning my face up, I offer my biggest, fakest smile. “Better?” I say through clenched teeth.
“A lot worse, actually.” He laughs, then flicks his gaze to the champagne glass. “Why do you always grab a glass if you won’t drink it?”
“That’s exactly why I grab it.” Slowly, I ease the overzealous smile to relieve the ache in my cheeks. “If I don't like it, then I don't have to worry about drinking too much and doing something stupid.”
“Like what?”
Biting my lip, I scan the crowd. “Oh, you know, like walking up to Kyle over there and punching him in the throat.”
I startle at Sam's sudden laugh.
“Seriously?”
I lift a bare shoulder in a half shrug. “I've always had to hold myself back from physical violence with him. One time I even launched a coffee mug at his head—in the Oval Office, mind you. Holding back was easier before though.”
“And why's that?” he says, humor in his voice.
“Sa—” T's threats of ever mentioning his wife flash across my mind. “I mean, my trainer taught me self-defense, so now I know how to hit, where to make it hurt. So now that makes holding back that much more difficult. Before, it was just all a fun fantasy. Now I can actually do it.”
“Your fantasies are strangely violent.”
“You have no idea. I also have several involving utilizing unicorns as weapons of mass destruction.”
Curious gazes shift our way at Sam's full, real laugh rumbling through the politely quiet conversations going on around us.
“Now that I'd like to see.”
“Same.” I shift my weight from one foot to the other. “How much longer do you need to stay here?”
Sam's gaze scans the room before settling on me. “A while. There are several campaign supporters here tonight who I haven’t spoken to before. Ready to leave so soon?”
“Hell yes. This thing is killing me slowly. I’m pretty sure my lungs are only functioning at 5 percent.”
“Your dress?” His brows rise up his forehead as he lowers his gaze to my midsection, pausing briefly at the small amount of cleavage on display.
“Yes, I swear it has a built in girdle meant to squish all my organs. I’m dying slowly here.” His gaze remains low. Snapping my fingers at my belly button, I draw his attention back up to my face. “Eyes up here, boyfriend.”
“Okay, girlfriend.” Humor dances in his green eyes. For a moment, I relish the ease of the conversation, the simple back-and-forth. I miss doing this with Trey, but since he seems unable to play nice right now, I guess I’ll have to get my friendship fix from Sam.
“What are you doing for Thanksgiving?” I ask, once again looking out amongst the crowd in hopes of a glimpse at Trey. The last time I saw him and Jessica, they were entertaining a group of old fat guys, also known as several of our key senators and congressmen.
They were holding hands.
Holding hands!
I feel like that's breach of contract or something. Maybe when I suggested this whole “on hold” scenario, we should've hashed out the parameters. As in no physical contact with the people we’re pretending to date/be engaged to.
Just as I think that, Sam rests his hand on my shoulder. I stare at his thick knuckles and wide fingers for half a second, enjoying the touch, before carefully stepping away.
Awareness at being watched prickles at my neck. Searching over my shoulder, my gaze locks with a pair of furious honey brown ones.
Back and forth, his gaze bounces between the shoulder Sam touched and my eyes. With a