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“Yes, dear.”
“Could I please record you saying that so I can play it back any time I need it?”
“And how are you going to record anything on your antique flip phone?”
“My husband has an iPhone.”
“Now you want to borrow my phone to use it against me?”
She giggled as she hugged him, loving the silliness, the laughter, the ease of being with him that made this relationship different from all others.
“While I have you in such a good mood, I need to give you a heads-up that we’re being featured onSaturday Night Liveagain this week.”
Her good mood deflated. “Come on. No way.”
“Yes way.”
“Why? Why? Why?”
“Um, is that a rhetorical question?”
“I don’t hate you for being president, but I hate you for making me anSNLtarget.”
“You really hate me?”
“I really do.”
He put his arms around her, letting his hands slide down to cup her ass and bring her in tight against him. “I bet I could change your mind about that.”
She turned her face away from his kiss, which he then directed to her neck. “That’ll depend on how badly I’m humiliated bySNL.”
Damn if she could resist those neck kisses.
“All set Mr. President, Mrs. Cappuano,” Brant said from the front door.
Nick extended his hand to her. “Let’s walk, love.”
“I still hate you.”
“Duly noted,” he said with a chuckle.
They had the beach to themselves, except for the White House press corps, which had apparently accompanied them on their trip. Sam wanted to scream at them to leave him alone, for God’s sake, but she bit her tongue so she wouldn’t be the lead story around the world.
Nick tuned in to her outrage. “Just ignore them.”
“Easier said than done.”
“I know, but what do we care if they take pictures of us?” He put his arm around her shoulders. “Let the whole world see how much I love my wife.”
She put her arm around his waist. “And how much I love my husband.”
“Just no grab-ass, you hear me?”
“Buzz killer.”
“I’ll make it up to you later.”
“I’ll look forward to that. In the meantime, how is it still so freaking cold?”
