The tip of her tongue pokes out just a fraction, the sign of deep concentration.
“Four letters,” she mutters, holding a crossword book in one hand, and tapping the pen against her knee. “An S-shaped molding or architectural curve. G is the second letter.”
“Ogee,” I supply, resting my hand on her bare ankle.
She cuts her eyes at me, a playful scowl pinching her gorgeous face. “Boy, I did not ask for help. But how do you even know that?”
“When I was researching tattoos, I learned a lot about structures in architecture.”
“Structures and nipple play… you’re remarkably well-read.”
I grin, massaging the arch of her foot. She’s been clocking some serious miles on the campaign trail.
“That feels incredible,” she murmurs.
This is exactly what I wanted to give her, a little oasis from the grind before we return to separate camps, another round of grueling debate prep, and another miserable stretch of distance.
Even when our beds felt painfully empty and our bodies were craving each other, Luna never crossed the boundary she set: nothing sexual over FaceTime. It was because of something that happened with Hollis. His betrayal left a mark deep enough that more than a year later, she still guards that line with unwavering resolve.
“Oooh, I know this one,” she says, pulling me from my thoughts. “A nine-letter word for the famous Sanskrit text on human sexuality.” She bobs her eyebrows at me. “Kama Sutra.”
I smile back, but the thoughts racing in my head make the hairs on the back of my neck stir. I trace the pad of my thumb over the smooth curve of her arch, trying to keep present, but Luna notices anyway.
“Okay,” she sets the puzzle and pen aside. “This is the third time I’ve caught you somewhere else.”
“It’s nothing, Luna.”
She shakes her head. “We don’t do that, DK.”
“Do what?”
“Bullshit each other. One of my favorite things about us is that we’re honest. Even when it’s uncomfortable.”
I exhale. Because she’s right. And because there’s no point pretending she hasn’t already figured out something is gnawing at me.
I wait a beat, debating how to carefully broach it. “The incident you mentioned before. With Hollis. The video.”
Her expression changes immediately, a dark veil of weariness settling over her features. Part of me wants to call the words back and preserve the relaxed vibe I promised her. The other feels totally unequipped to protect her without knowing all the facts.
“You told me that’s why you don’t do FaceTime sex.”
“He recorded me without my permission,” she says, her voice quiet and strained.
Only my hands on her feet keep me from curling them into fists. What kind of man does that to a woman? “You never really went into what happened. I want to understand, if you can talk about it.”
“There’s no video out there, DK. I made him delete it immediately.”
Her response sounds too firm. Too certain. Like she’s had to convince herself of this a hundred times.
“I’m not saying there is.”
“That’s what you’re thinking, though. That’s where your head is.”
“Yes,” I admit.
“Did you discuss that with my father?”
She withdraws her feet, wrapping her arms around her knees in a self-protective stance. For a single, agonizing moment, I see a flash of suspicion and lack of trust in her eyes. But I realize it’s not meant for me. It’s for the memory of the man who betrayed her.
