Page 131 of Bona Fide

“Even the drinks are amazing,” she quips. “But thank you, again, for taking this on. I know you didn’t have a lot of time and—” I hold my hand up.

“Honestly, don’t be. It was the easiest thing I’ve done all year. You didn’t want anything odd shipped in from another country or a celebrity to show up to sing. I wish there were more like you.”

She smiles, showing off the faint dimples on her cheeks. “Great. Did you want to meet my groom and the bridal party?”

“Absolutely—” I gesture with my hand. “—lead the way.” I follow her down the beach towards the waterfront. The breeze picks up our hair as seagulls squawk overhead accompanying the waves crashing on the shore.

We start to approach the lounge chairs, and I glance around for more people but only one sits in the cushioned chairs of bamboo material and cream fabric.

“Where did everyone go?” Layla asks out loud, glancing behind us. “I leave them alone for one minute and—oh, wait, there are some of them.” She begins to walk faster towards the person in the chair and stands alongside him, extending her hand. “Reagan, this is my fiancé’s best man, I’m going to go grab everyone else.” She places her dainty hand on my forearm. “I’ll be right back, I’m sorry.”

I shrug. “No biggie.”

Stepping forward, light khaki pants that are rolled up at the ankles are cross-legged over the chair. A baby blue shirt covers the man’s top half, and when I take a sip of my drink to meet him eye to eye—it goes down the wrong pipe.

It’s the stubble on his face that hits my eyes first, the chiseled jawline and regal nose. Then his ocean blues stare back at me—not surprised at all.

Like at all.

“Hello, Miss Shelton.”

I can’t hide my surprise, my eyes are like an owl’s, my brain shuts down as he blinks at me with a drink in his hand—whiskey.

He always drank whiskey.

My eyes flick down his chest to where two of his buttons are undone, showing off his skin and the hair underneath. The rest is covered, but I can still make out the outline of his flat abdomen and his toned waist.

He looks bigger. Maybe it’s because now he’s the fucking president, for Christ sakes. Maybe that’s what makes it feel like I’m unworthy to be in his vicinity.

I’m standing in front of the most powerful man in the country—looking as casual as an everyday sort of guy.

Appearing god-like, actually.

I was never power-struck until now. My jaw won’t form words, my tongue is dry in my mouth, and my heart—I’m not sure where that damn thing went, but it’s not pumping blood anywhere.

“My eyes are up here,” he quips before I shamelessly drag my sights back up the length of him and to his face. “You’re a sight for sore eyes.”

I don’t know what that means.

Is that him being sarcastic or is he complimenting me? Wait, he’s married still, right? Doesn’t matter, I did some fucked-up shit.

And he lied.

Why does it feel like forever that I’ve seen you? Like another lifetime ago? Why does it still hurt like hell?

“Wade,” I finally choke out. “What are you—”

“Wade?” he repeats before letting out a deep chuckle. “Damn, I haven’t been called that in forever. Mostly people call me Mr. President or Commander-in-Chief.”

Right.

I tighten my hold on my drink because I will not take a sip to show how nervous I am.

I never thought I would see him again, other than on my TV screen or in a blog I was reading or a newspaper stand I was passing by.

“What’s the matter?” he voices through the chaos brewing in my head. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

I have, motherfucker.

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