Page 83 of Bona Fide

“Yes,” she yell-whispers.

Digging the tips of my shoes into the wood, I climb it, heaving a leg over to place a foot on one of the beams. Reagan is sitting in the grass, waiting patiently for me to figure out how the hell I’m going to get off this damn thing with one leg over and the other still dangling on the other side.

“You have to jump,” Reagan advises.

Son of a bitch.

I wasn't looking to break a fucking leg tonight. More like spend hours in Reagan's bed, the kitchen island, the couch in her front room, the floor—I wasn't picky.

Inhaling a quick breath, I spring over, my feet hitting the hard ground, but the rest of me topples over. Reagan's silky chuckle permeates through the air as she crawls over to me.

“You alright?”

"Yep." I straighten my spine to stand, but Reagan beats me to it, holding out a hand for me to take. Yanking me up, she promptly drops it to hit me on the shoulder.

“Have a good night, Governor.” She begins to turn towards her house, but my arm wraps around her waist.

“I gave you a ride,” I tell her. “So, don’t I get a goodbye kiss?”

“No.”

I inch closer, brushing my fingers down the column of her neck. “Are you going to make me beg?”

“We both know what happens when you’re on your knees, Governor.”

I smile, we sure do.

She turns to walk away again, and I let her, following her to the back of her house. It's cold tonight, our breaths making white clouds as she bustles quickly to the sliding door.

When she starts to mess with the lock of the sliding door, my chest hits her back, making her motions slow as she tries to focus on opening it. I want to keep her away from the cold. I need to feel her heat against me and protect her from anything that might negatively hit her.

The cold.

The press.

Her business.

Stress.

Frustration.

Pain.

Demi.

A faint click sounds as Reagan slides the door to the right, taking a step inside. She flicks on the lights immediately and tosses her keys on the island.

“Can I make you something since you’re forcing yourself into the rest of my night?” A hum breaks through my chest, what I wouldn’t give to have that on a daily basis. To come home to her, to give up every single fucking thing I don’t like in my life anymore.

It’s my career.

I don't want it anymore. That's been evident since all this shit went down. I want Reagan Shelton, and that's all.

“Sit down,” I tell her, pulling out one of her stools from the island. “I’ll make you some coffee.”

“You don’t know where it is and—” My hand finds her lower back as I give her a light push towards the chair.

“I know how to open drawers, Reagan.”

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