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I’d chosen him then.
I would choose him now.
Our fingers brushed when I took the offered latte, then tucked it into my chest. His eyes warmed as he watched me, and I felt the words without him having to say them.
Good boy.
“Make sure you drink all of that,” he instructed.
I nodded.
I thought he would walk away, but he pushed his hand into the pocket of the hoodie, knuckles dragging along my abs as he pulled out my phone. I stared uninhibited as his long, thick fingers tapped the volume button.
The whispering in my ear got louder, and a familiar tingle raced across my scalp.
“There you go,” he said, slipping the phone back into the pocket.
His stare lingered a few seconds more, making me feel, if maybe we weren’t standing here in a crowd, he’d do something else.
But then Kruger’s hand curled around my bicep, tugging me away, and Arsen retreated into the waiting SUV.
My attention shifted to the coffee, not because there was a spill to fixate on but because it was a piece of Arsen left behind.
10
Arsen
The door to the executive suite in the nicest hotel in Westbrook hadn’t even latched behind me when he started.
“What in the hell were you thinking?”
Click. The door latched firmly, and I sighed, moving into the open space to find my father standing beside a table with what looked like a full breakfast spread across the surface.
“Hi, Dad. I’m great. Thanks for asking. How’re you?”
“If you’d wanted pleasantries and bullshit, you shouldn’t have gotten yourself arrested.”
Okay, fair.
“Jesus, Arsen!” He went on. “Possession of narcotics!”
“I wasn’t charged,” I said, lifting one of the silver domes off a plate to see what was beneath.
Eggs benedict with hollandaise sauce. I’d been hoping for French toast.
Replacing the lid, I reached for a slice of bacon and chewed while my father continued to nearly bust a vein.
“That’s not the point!” He erupted, pacing away toward a large-framed window. He was good at public speaking. Had a lot of passion in his voice, a lot of presence to fill a room. Because of this, every lecture I ever received felt more like a performance than a true dressing down.
“You know what year it is! What season.”
I snatched another slice of bacon and shoved the whole thing into my mouth. “Yes, how dare I develop a drug habit during election year,” I said as I chewed.
My father, everyone. A Virginia state senator.
He shot me an unimpressed, impatient look. “I know they weren’t yours.”
I laid my palm against my chest. “Your faith in me warms my heart.”
