Kissed (16 page)

“Your father’s in the study, dear.”

“No, no I’m not.” I glanced past my mom to see my dad walking out of his study door and down the long main hallway toward us. It was a classic Georgetown row house, and my mom and I were still standing in the foyer at the bottom of the stairs leading to the second story.

I reached my hand out, shaking his firmly, and he clapped a hand on my shoulder. “Keegan, you look well. Enjoying Chicago? Been years since your mother and I have been there.” He glanced at my mom. “Should take a quick a trip out there to see him. Hmm?”

“Yes. Absolutely.”

Saying no in my head wasn’t nearly as effective as it would be were I willing to say it out loud, but some things you just didn’t say to your parents.

My mom started moving down the hall, and my father and I followed her. “How long are you staying?” she asked over her shoulder.

“I have a meeting tomorrow afternoon, and then I’m heading back to Chicago first thing Wednesday morning.”

“That’s too bad. Will you be staying with us tonight?”

I shook my head. “No. I’m going to go home for a while, check on things. I haven’t slept in my own bed for nearly two months.” I chuckled.

I sat at the kitchen table, and my mom pulled a casserole of some sort out of the oven, and that’s when the countdown began. It wouldn’t take long now for the picking to begin. Three…two…one…

“So, have you met any interesting people in Chicago?” She set the dish in the middle of the table as she sat down.

I smirked. “Wow. I haven’t taken a bite, and you’re already grilling me on whether I’m getting married anytime soon.”

She pursed her lips for a moment as she took my plate, scooped some kind of bland, sad-looking chicken breast smothered in something unidentifiable onto my plate. When she set my plate back down in front of me, she smiled. “There.”

I chuckled as I reached for my fork but then I stopped. I knew manners like an etiquette school graduate, but I had also gotten very used to eating alone most nights, sitting at the kitchen island in the condo with the living room TV on. Picking my fork up before my mother’s or father’s plates were filled, even if it was only a casual casserole, would, without doubt, earn me a disdainful scowl that my mom would then try to hide with a completely fake smile.

It was actually much like the look I was hiding every time I glanced down at the food on my plate. No one could credit my mother with being a good cook.

I watched my father eye his food in trepidation. His brow was furrowed, and when my mom set his plate in front of him, he actually leaned back in his chair as though it were safer to maintain some distance.

The moment my mom sat down, she started staring at me. She’d not forgotten the question I’d conveniently sidestepped. “I was asking about Chicago,” she reminded me.

I glanced at my father, who was picking something off his plate, his mouth now scrunched up in a scowl of repulsion.

“I’m there for work, Mom, not to socialize.”

“That’s unfortunate,” she said curtly. “There are some lovely, well-established families in Chicago. Very prominent… Why, your father and I were just talking the other day about—”

“Mom…” I tried to warn her.

“—the Paulson family.”

“Mmm… Yes, that’s right. Frank Paulson,” my father continued. “I worked alongside him during the Reagan administration. You know, his involvement—”

“Dad…” I tried again.

“—in the Wedtech investigation alone garnered him quite the name on the Hill.”

“And he has a lovely daughter about your age.” My mother eyed me with a slow nod. “What was her name, dear? Lovely, lovely girl…”

“Stephanie…I think.”

“I’m seeing someone,” I blurted out. I shook my head. “I mean, I’m spending time with someone already.” And then I shook my head some more, letting my focus drop to the unsightly mound of gray on my plate.

When I finally glanced up again, it was just to see my parents staring at me.

“Oh?” My mother’s response of choice when she just couldn’t come up with any other invasive question to ask me. “Well, tell us about her.”

I shrugged. “It’s casual.”

“What does that mean?” My mother’s eyes were narrowed.

“You know what that means.”

Her lips pursed angrily, and I focused on her, refusing to look away. She was doing it. The judging, the scorning, she was laying the disappointment on as thick as she could to try to bend me to her will.

“Careful, Mom. That glare might just stick one of these days. Oh, wait. It already has—”

“Keegan,” my dad snapped at me.

I sighed, propping my hands on the top of my head. “Her name’s Gabe, Gabrielle. She’s a college student. She has—”

“What kind of student? A doctoral student? Is she on a research grant, or…?” Well, that one had certainly thrown my mom for a loop.

My dad cocked his head to the side, waiting for me to respond.

“No. Just an undergraduate student.”

My mom’s breath left her in a rush, and her attention dropped to her lap for a moment. She was terrified. This wasn’t what she wanted to hear.

“Son, how old is she?” My father’s eyes were stern. He was just as concerned as my mom about this revelation.

My hands dropped to my sides, and I drummed my fingers on the chair legs in feigned casualness. “Almost twenty-two.”

My mom’s gasp was loud.

“Keegan,” my father admonished. “That’s more than ten years…”

“Jesus Christ, Dad. Don’t you think I can do the math?” I stared at him for a moment. “Listen, I have a lot to do tomorrow, so I should just go.”

“No,” my mother continued in a rush as she held her hands up. “We’ll…just talk about something else.” She looked at my dad, and when he nodded, she finally smiled. “Well, eat up, everyone.” Her voice was too cheery, and she and my dad looked at each other nervously.

When my dad looked down at his plate, he offered her a weak smile, and then he quickly shifted gears to work instead.

“So David Edgerton, huh?” My father’s expression was disapproving, but not in any way related to me. It was entirely related to politics this time. “District 6 is up in the next senatorial election, and rumor has it he might try to unseat McGill. Hence your presence in Chicago, I take it?”

I shrugged. It was actually my way of saying
yeah, you nailed that one, but I’m not going to be discussing the details.
My discretion was what made me good at my job. It didn’t do any would-be future politician any good if their PR analyst outed why exactly they needed a PR analyst.

He nodded, clearly understanding my non-response response.

“And I can only assume Malcolm Trainor is somehow involved with this one.”

I smiled. “You know I’m not going to discuss it.”

My dad chuckled. “The Malcolms have entirely too much money. And their lack of moral integrity—”

“Dear…” My mother placed her hand on top of his, quieting his rapidly building bravado. My dad was certainly passionate, far more so than I was.

My father pulled on the collar of his shirt, loosening it as he nodded at my mother. “Well, what’s up next after Edgerton? Didn’t you mention you were in talks with Hale about some consulting work?”

I nodded. “Consumer Alliance. He just reached out to me last week in fact for a time frame.”

“What are their expectations?”

“Within the next one to two months. It’s a campaign launch in conjunction with an endorsement that they’re rolling out toward the end of Q1 next year.”

“Sounds interesting. And you won’t have to work away from home.”

“Yeah.” I stared down at my plate then. I didn’t have a clue how I felt about it actually. I knew how I was
supposed
to feel. But I was no more thrilled thinking about it now than I had been last week when I’d gotten the phone call.

I’d known Hale for years. I liked Hale. This was supposed to be a no-brainer. Work from D.C. with a man who I actually enjoyed working with and get paid a shitload of money to do what I was good at doing—designing a campaign launch.

Conversation died down altogether after that, and we all picked at our food, which fortunately didn’t taste like baby vomit, even if it did look like it. When I was finished eating, I dropped my napkin on my plate and stood.

“Thank you for dinner. It was wonderful.”

My mom nodded and stood. My father stood as well, and they followed me down the hallway to the front door.

My mom hugged me, but she just couldn’t resist one last pick. “You know we just worry, son. I mean…an age gap of more than ten years…”

“It looks bad,” my father finished for her. “You know that, son.”

I cleared my throat, nodding as I looked back and forth between them. “Looks bad,” I repeated. I reached for the doorknob but paused before my hand ever touched it. “You know, you didn’t even bother asking what she’s like. What she looks like. If she’s kind.” I faced them again.

They were both looking at me stoically, silently watching me.

“She’s stunning, by the way, not that it’s the most important thing about her. She’s smart. She’s strong. She’s
so
sweet. She had to grow up really fast when her mom died so that she could care for her little sister, and yet she’s fighting through it, making a shitload of mistakes on the way, but fighting.” I shrugged. “I wish those things mattered to you. I wish those were the things you worried about.” I reached for the doorknob once more, taking a deep breath. “I wish those were the things I’d thought of, too, the first time I met her.” I sighed. “I love you both, and I’ll talk to you soon.”

And I walked out.

I had a rental car, given I’d driven my car to Chicago when I relocated there temporarily, and now that I was home, I drove through the recognizable streets, barely looking around. I wasn’t sure if I missed this place. I’d always loved the energy of this city. Win, lose, or draw, it always felt like things were happening here, things were being accomplished.

I had friends I should be calling. I was going to be in town for one more night, and there was very little reason I shouldn’t reach out to my friends who lived and worked in D.C. But I didn’t want to see them. I didn’t want to see my parents again either. I very especially didn’t want to see either Malcolm One or Malcolm Two. I wanted to see one person, one person who likely did not want to see me. Unfortunately, she was halfway across the country, hating me from afar.

I ran up the three levels to my condo. I’d bought it years ago. I’d never wanted a home like my parents, at least not right now. I didn’t have time for the upkeep, and I traveled so much for one consulting job or another that there just seemed little point to have more than a two-bedroom condo. But it was still mine, and I still loved it.

I stood inside my door and closed my eyes, inhaling deeply. It smelled like my world, the world I remembered living in up until a couple months ago, but something felt very foreign about it to me. I didn’t bother delving into a self-examination of why that was because I didn’t really want to deal with it.

Instead, I turned the heat up, tossed my bag on the bedroom floor, and climbed into a hot shower. I stroked my cock as I stood under the hot jets of water. She was in my head, and I couldn’t let go of her. So I didn’t. I let myself feel her as my hand moved. It was her passion that got to me. She shouldn’t have it. She was supposed to be jaded, and I had no doubt she was.

But she wasn’t for me.

I got off on her passion as though it was some physical attribute in a skin magazine. It was as arousing as the sight of her body, and when I closed my eyes and imagined it was her hand running over my erection, I let that arousal drive me higher.

I came with my fist braced on the tile wall and my other hand still pumping hard and fast.

“Fuck,” I whispered as I let my chin sink to my chest.

I crawled in bed after that, and I fell asleep quickly.

* * * *

The two Malcolms watched me from across the table. We were meeting for lunch on Tuesday afternoon at an always-busy Italian restaurant in DuPont Circle. It was too loud, and after a morning of cleaning my condo, entertaining a plumber’s ass crack who was long overdue for a visit with my always problematic kitchen sink, and then getting mildly drunk with my downstairs neighbors, who were just as pushy as my parents when it came to planning my future, I was not in the mood for a crowd.

Trainor instantly pulled a large eight-by-ten piece of paper out of his portfolio and slid it face down across the table to me. My brows rose as I picked up the paper and flipped it over, but when I saw a candid image of Gabe and David at the recent performing arts benefit at The Peninsula, I froze.

It was the very night I’d met Gabe. My jaw tightened as I studied the image. It was taken on the terrace at the hotel where the event had been held, and David’s arm was around her waist as they stood side by side in a small group of people.

“Who took this?” I was bristling with irritation. I already knew the answer to that question, and the answer was staring right back at me smugly. Meanwhile I was struggling to wrap my head around it.

The Malcolms glanced at each other before looking back at me.

“You had this taken.” My heart was pounding as I accused them of doing something that made no sense to me but that I knew was true. It was a struggle to keep my voice level and my expression calm as the gears in my brain turned desperately, trying to figure it out.

Leeks smiled tauntingly. “Now what would make you think we’d do a thing like that?”

“I’ve monitored every news outlet and online article daily since accepting this job to ensure pictures like this didn’t pop up without my knowledge. If it was a reporter digging for a story, it would have been published by now and I’d have damn well seen it.” My eyes narrowed as I glared back and forth between the men. “Why the hell would you do this?” I asked through gritted teeth.

This was bad, even if I didn’t know what it meant. What I did know was that they shouldn’t have this picture—not before me at least, and that meant they had a motive that I knew nothing about.

The waiter arrived, and Trainor waved him away dismissively. “Tell us more about
Gabrielle
. Or
Gabe,
as she apparently goes by.”