Page 164 of Catfish

No, as of late it’s been imagining me between her legs.

“Something wrong with the room?” I ask her as she continues to look around.

She shakes her head. “No, not at all.”

So this is going to be a longer conversation—awesome.

Closing the door, I stay by it. At least an arm’s length distance from her body and definitely not within collapsing distance from my bed.

Reagan pivots on her heels to face me with a different kind of grin on her face—devilish. “We’re going out.”

I raise a brow. “Out?” She nods. “Out where, Miss Shelton?”

“Out of this hotel.”

“And...do what?”

She hoists her upper half. “Whatever we find.”

Um, absolutely not.

If this was over a decade ago and I wasn't so married to my career, we'd do more than sneak out. I'd have Reagan Shelton in every single way known and unknown to man. I would own every inch, limb, and piece of her. I wouldn’t leave my fucking house if it had her in it.

But this isn't a decade ago.

And everything now is going the way Em and I had planned. The debate went really well tonight. I felt confident under the hot lights and TV cameras with the way my words came out perfectly, and carefully with ease. I'm not about to blow that and be caught in Ohio with my party planner at God knows what kind of establishment she has planned.

I want to make headline.

Just not ones that think I’m some party boy who likes to hire hot pieces of ass to bang.

"I'll have to pass," I retort, shoving my hands into my dress slacks. "But, thank you for the invite."

Her eyes narrow. “Oh, it wasn’t an invite. It was a 'we're going out,' Governor." She extends her hand with the black hat. "And you'll wear this."

I hit her with a blank stare, which only gets her to run a hand down her face. Then she steps closer to me.

“Trust me.”

Those red flags—they never seem to go away. However, I want them to sometimes.

You know when you really want to do something, but your parents or friends tell you, "hell no.'' That's what those flags do to me every single time she ensues something.

Half of my brain issues out the warning, the other half teams up with my cock and says to go have fun.

“I can’t get caught with—”

“Me.” The singular word holds so much conviction that I flinch slightly. As though she thinks that I believe she’s not good enough to be seen with.

It’s the exact opposite. Not that she’d ever know that or experience how much I believe she’s worthy of so much more.

“No,” I retort, flexing my fingers in my pocket. “It has nothing to do with you or—”

“So you do want to go?”

Now my eyes turn into slits. “Miss Shelton, peer pressure isn’t something I’m going to give into. Go bug Emmy.”

She inches forward, like a lioness stalking her prey as her concentration directs solely onto me.

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