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Images flash, scenes constructed out of fantasy and thin air. Reese protecting me. Reese beside me. Reese above me, elbows bracketing my head as his hair falls forward—
Get your mind clear, Brennan.
Reese:You’ll probably hear about it in your brief on Wednesday. Nuñez will be running it.
Me: Thank you.
Reese: Just the job, sir.
God, I can hear him when he types that, hear the lilt and drawl, the slow rumble of his voice moving through those words.
I want to know everything about him. I want to know what sunsets look like where he’s from, what schools he went to, how he spent his summers growing up. I want to know where he got the freckles across his nose and how he learned to smile so laconically, like he’s the one with the perpetual punchline. What shaped him as a man? Why is he crossing paths with me, right now?
Reese: I should let you get back to your evening.
Me: No, it’s fine.
Did I text that too quickly? Was that too eager?
Me: There’s not much going on here. The only thing I have planned is another round of yoga.
Reese: You do yoga?
Me: I can hear the shock in your text.
Reese: Yoga is not in your file.
A few things are not in my file, but that’s not the right thing to say to Reese. He’s a man who likes to have all the answers. Maybe I can convince him yoga is the deepest secret I’m carrying.
Me: I did thirty minutes of asanas before coming out here. It helps settle me.
Usually.
Reese: Wow. So are you like Madonna? Can you do all the fancy poses?
My grin is soft, but it’s steady enough to make my cheeks ache. I’m curled around my phone as the sunlight fades, biting on my lip like a lovesick young man.
Me: I focus more on core exercises. I’m pretty good at handstands, though.
Reese: This I’ve got to see.
Me: Don’t believe me?
Reese: I’ve seen a lot of powerful people do a lot of things, but not one of em has ever done serious yoga. I don’t think most of the people I’ve worked for could put their BlackBerrys down long enough to focus.
Me: No BlackBerry with me right now.
Reese: You’re going to give your body man a heart attack if they need to find you.
Me: I’m locked in the White House. How hard am I to find?
Reese: You’d be surprised. There’s been some pretty epic hide and seek games we’ve played there over the years. Not all of them on purpose.
Me: Well, I’m alone when I do my yoga, but I’ll see what I can do about trying to get you picture proof.
No bouncing dots, and no texts. I chew my lip and reread my last message.
Reese: I should go. I need to be up at zero-four for the fitness test.
