Page 15 of Tips and Trysts

He shoots me a look like I just suggested we go on a duck hunt together. Jesus. Apparently tie-less isn’t an option.

He hands me the ink-stained tie. “My father would lose his shit,” he explains while he adjusts the ends of the new tie, tugging until they’re parallel. “One time, I wore a sweater vest over a button-down instead of a jacket to a campaign event.” He passes the thicker side over the thinner one. “This was back when he was running for his first term and wasn’t sure he would win. That year, every facet of our lives was micro-managed.” Now, he drapes the first end over his shoulder, forming a knot. He glances up before saying, “I wore a sweater vest, and he confiscated my bicycle the same night.”

At first, I don’t register what Everett said because, if I’m being honest (and I always am), I can’t stop looking at him.

When I arrived, Everett didn’t look like himself, but with each practiced tug and pull, he transforms. It’s like I’m watching someone put on battle armor, turning himself into a trained foot soldier.

He tugs on the skinnier end of the tie and works the knot upwards until it meets the top button of his shirt. Done. Immediately, his spine straightens as if the tie were a key starting an engine. He’s on. He’s the Governor of Virginia’s son—a congressional candidate—once again.

“When I was in the seventh grade, my mom cried because I got an A minus.”

My confession slips out, brief and unremarkable on the surface, but it speaks volumes. Everett’s eyebrows rise slowly, microscopically. His eyes move over me, curious behind their visage of steeliness.

“She made me ask my teacher if I could take the test again,” I go on, easing into the memory now. “Then my teacher realized the answer key was wrong, so she changed my grade to an A. Still didn’t stop my mom from citing the A minus when she kept me from going out with my friends.”

“You didn’t have fun when you were a kid?” he asks, sliding his hands into his pockets and taking on one of his composed power stances.

“I was a hellion, actually.”

“But your parents—”

“I lied to them. They didn’t know they had a hellion.”

Everett releases a faint whistle. “And now they have a camgirl,” he murmurs.

The comment should be dangerous, but it’s not. If anything, it’s…

…it’s sweet.

I’m so surprised that it takes me a beat to register the truth: For the first time in the seven months I’ve known him, we’re just…talking. There’s even a hint of admiration in his gaze, and I wonder what it’s about—what I said to earn the approval of the esteemed Everett Logan.

“They don’t have anything,” I remind him. “Not anymore.” Not for three years now.

“Their fucking loss,” he replies without hesitation.

“Your father’s loss too,” I add, acutely aware of the goosebumps rising on my arms. “You look better without a tie.”

We’re both quiet for too long, and the silence is curious and prolific all at once like static in the atmosphere before a tornado.

“I’m sorry about last night. I shouldn’t have—”

“I told you I didn’t want to talk about it,” I interrupt, crossing my arms over my chest. “It was my stipulation for coming.”

“I know.”

“So leave it.”

He blinks before he releases yet another strained exhale and looks away.

The subsequent silence grows awkward quickly and only gets worse when we make eye contact again. Everett is so ridiculously handsome, and to top it all off, neither of us is speaking, so the water from the fountain is the only sound in the vicinity. It soundsexactlylike someone pissing, and the gentle furrow in Everett’s brow tells me he hears it too—the pissing.

He parts his lips like he wants to say something but stops himself.

I inhale through my nostrils until my lungs are full and release the breath slowly. I’m angry at Everett, but I don’t want this. More importantly, I don’t want Valeria and Lander to have to deal with this.

Being angry is fine. It’s how I felt before. The avoidance. The barbs. The banter. Our relationship (or lack thereof) was weird, but it worked.

I mean…it was even fun sometimes: saying whatever the hell I wanted and hearing the clever fuckery he came up with (which I would never admit to Everett). We could go back to that.

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