Page 114 of Catfish

Funny, I seem to have a hard time doing that with anyone who's not Mama or Marty.

? All The Stars — Kendrick Lamar feat SZA ?

Reagan: What did you do, perform a rain dance last night so that the game got rained out?

Me: Now, why in the world would I do that?

Reagan: Because you were getting your asses kicked three to one.

Me: Sounds like someone was getting too excited. It was the fifth inning.

Reagan: I know a win when I see one, Yank.

Me: Put your glasses on, Sox, because we were coming up. So are you sure it wasn’t you doing the rain dance?

Reagan: I can dance, but it doesn't make things happen, trust me.

Me: Highly doubt that.

Reagan: *GIF of someone dancing obnoxiously bad*

Reagan: ^ — that’s me.

I chuckle as a waiter comes over to fill up my water glass. “Sir, can I grab you some wine while you wait?”

“No, thank you.” I don’t even bother looking up at him as I type out my next text to Reagan. “I’ll let my guest choose.”

Me: I’m not too sold on that. I’d say you’d catch my eye with moves like that.

Reagan: They’d be all for you then.

A low hum resonates through my body. She could do anything with her body, and I still would want it.

It took every ounce of self-control that I possessed not to touch her last night. Not to press my chest into her soft one because she pissed me the hell off. I wanted to punish her for it with my lips and teeth.

The last person I expected to see her with was Jed Hardison. I didn’t know the man well, to be honest, but his last name was truly the only thing that mattered. I know the Hardisons have two sons, Grant being the older one. He seemed to be shoved into the spotlight with a giant smile sewn to his face.

I know the outline of Reagan's life, but it was time I dug a little deeper. If she's here for reasons other than my wanting her near, I'm going to fuck her up in ways that won't include my dick deep inside her pussy. I'll sue her ass so hard she'll be forced to move back to Daphne with her sick mother.

Heartless?—yeah.

Do I honestly give a shit after I throw a morsel of trust your way?—Absolutely not.

She could rot in that shithole of a slum for all I give a fuck.

“I am so sorry I’m late.” I glance up to see Heidi Lauder, the attorney general of Connecticut, pull out her chair across from me and ungracefully plop down in it.

Her red hair is windblown as she adjusts her blue-rimmed glasses up the bridge of her nose. I glance out of the restaurant window, that I’ve closed half of it down for this meeting, and see the violent gushes of wind kicking up dirt from an approaching storm.

"Not a problem," I voice, watching her peel off her beige coat and letting it fall over the top of her chair.

“I’ve been running around all morning, traffic was a mess, again, I apologize for keeping you waiting, Governor.”

"Haven't been here long, Mrs. Lauder." That's a lie. I'm usually thirty minutes early, but my time has been occupied quite nicely with Reagan on the other side of my phone, so I can't bring myself to be irritated.

Heidi adjusts her white top and grabs her menu. "This place is beautiful, can't say I get to visit Bridgeport much. Thomas wanted to move closer to Boston last year, but I'm so glad we stayed here. I didn't want to be dragged away from all the spots I know and not knowing my way around. Too old for that.”

Just the word Boston has my mind running back to Reagan and her stupid little Red Sox.

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