Page 135 of Bona Fide

Son of a fucking bitch, I don’t know how much more of this I can deal with.

Any normal, sane man would just talk shit about their ex-whatever and fuck anything with a pulse. They’d move on to something they think they could either manipulate to make them feel better or find the next one they could spend the rest of their lives with.

Indie is just a temporary replacement. Something I threw into my life to numb the pain and have someone waiting for me. There would never be love there, nothing that I could see in the near future anyways. I’m too fucked up to be burned three times in a row, and I don’t have a piece of my heart that I own anymore.

It was all Reagan’s.

And she blew it up.

“Does her mother come to visit at all?”

She shakes her head. “No. Her brother got deployed shortly after Christmas and sometimes I hear her speaking to him, but that was maybe twice...three times.”

“So she still keeps you at arm’s length.”

“Always.”

“Who is she seeing in New York?”

Mila jerks her head to me. “What?”

“You’re girls, she must spill some shit.”

Mila’s brows descend. “I’ve never seen a—” She stops, realizing something that I might not know.

“She got flowers once, a huge bouquet of red roses.” My hand tightens over my tumbler. “Then she gave them to me.”

I immediately relax.

Geezus Christ.

“I want to know who he is.” She bows her head into her chest and inhales a deep breath.

“Governor—I mean, Mr. President...this spying thing that you’re having me do is...weird.”

“Was it weird when I offered to pay for your schooling in the fall as well as your siblings?”

“Well...kinda, but now that I’m doing it, I feel as though I’m betraying her on a daily basis.”

“I’m paying you to do a job, Mila.” I stand from my chair, which immediately gets Chase’s attention. “Keep to your end of the bargain and I promise, it won’t be for that much longer.”

I round her chair and wave Chase off, silently letting him know that I’m fine.

As fine as I can be anyway.

I’d bet my entire salary as president that Reagan stomped her ass right back to her room.

My two Secret Service guys stand ready for my approach along the entrance of the small patio that we’re sitting on. I don’t have to ask, they already know when I give them a blank stare that I want Reagan’s room number and the door key readily available for me.

I begin to stride away when Marshall halts me with his voice.

“She’s at the bar in the lobby, sir.”

I give him a curt nod, and march up the stairs. If Reagan thinks she’s going to be able to run from her problems, I’m here to remind her that life is hard and to wear a helmet. I get to relive my bullshit on a homemade video, she can withstand my presence for as long as I want her to.

My brain contemplates how bad of an idea this is. How my balls could be rammed right into my stomach because I know how badly she wants to hit me. Her eyes speak volumes, always have. I enjoyed the shock factor when she discovered me on the beach today. How I was able to rip her words from her throat like she shredded the only piece of sanity from my world.

Karma, it’s a bitch.

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