“Watch out,” I tease. “You might catch that baby fever.”
“Don’t even,” Lot protests with exaggerated side-eye. “Being a feline parent to this diva is enough.” Queenie lifts her head with a snarl. “Yeah, girl, I’m talking about you.” She gives the cat an affectionate pat. “I’m good being the cool auntie. No interest in anything that requires diaper changing and 6:00 a.m. feedings.”
That’s Lot—guarding her peace and sleep schedule like they’re gold.
“I locked in that decision with Dice before the marriage. So we good. But I’ll be there for you and Ice Baby.”
I smile at the nickname. My eggs are sitting on ice—a frozen insurance policy for my plan to try conceiving at thirty-six. Partner or not. “Five more years,” I say.
“And a possible sperm donor,” Lot adds. “How was the weekend with the Gentle Giant?”
My body flushes from the memory. “Not so gentle. He knew exactly how to work those tittie chains.”
“Yaaass!” She snaps her fingers, startling Queenie off her lap.
“But it’s not just that.” I sigh.
“What?” Her hazel eyes search my expression. “Why the mood dip?”
The weight of our secret has been pressing on me all day. “This past weekend, he was giving ‘my man, my man, my man’ energy to the max. Sweet, sexy, attentive... justthere. We both admitted we’re falling in love.”
“Whew. That’s serious, Ray.”
“I know. He works down the street from me, and we can’t even do something as simple as grab lunch. I saw this couple earlier, holding hands on the boardwalk, and I wanted to cry. I told myself I didn’t want a man-distraction during the campaign… and now look at me. I’m a mess.”
“You’re entitled to be. I was a wreck when Dice and I were living eight hundred miles apart. But to be that close and still not be able to be together… girl, that’s on a whole nother level.”
I nod, the movement feeling heavy. “Hiding it from Anika and voters doesn’t make me feel good. But keeping it from my dad has been the worst. I invited him to dinner tomorrow. Softening him up with my coconut loaf before I tell him I’ve been lying in his face.”
“How do you think he’s gonna react to you being with a man who’s plotting your political downfall?”
“Damn,” I mutter, her words hitting like a bucket of cold water down my back. “You really had to put it like that?”
“How else should I put it?”
Classic Lot—straight, no chaser. And she’s not wrong. “Honestly, if I wasn’t in a better place, this whole thing would trigger my every insecurity. Hollis used to tear me down over my activism. I now know that it was really about me spending energy on anything that wasn’t him.”
“He was such a punk-ass.”
“For real.” I tell her about seeing him at the festival. “He tried to get under my skin, but I wasn’t having it. He can take his raggedy self on back to Indiana.”
“I know that’s right. Send that man packing.”
“The contrast between him and DK is glaring. He respects me and my ideals. That’s why I can withstand the hits as just political business.”
“You’ve got stronger restraint than me, girl. ’Cause ain’t no way I could hold myself back from going off every time he took a shot at me.”
“I know who he is. And I know who I am. That’s it.”
She touches the screen in a virtual high five. “Your confidence is radiating. One sec.”
Lot disappears, then returns a moment later wearing a crop top—she’s an artist and T-shirt designer—that reads:VOTE MY COUSIN RAYNE FOR MAYOR! FUCK THE OTHER CANDIDATE.
I howl with laughter, the sound bouncing across my townhouse. If she still lived in Bayside, I know this crazy fool would parade herself around town in that.
“Girl, you’re a mess,” I say, catching my breath as the image of her flaunting that shirt plays in my head.
“Just speaking the truth for the people in the back.” She gives me a half-grin. “Good luck on the trail tomorrow. I’ll check in later this week.”
