Page 93 of Tips and Trysts

In a month, I’m going to win a congressional primary, and five months after that, I’m going to win the general election. I’m going to be in Congress.

And my girlfriend is a camgirl.

Thirty-One

CORA

“Whiskey neat for Valeria,club soda and lime for Essie, and a gin and tonic for Cora,” Dalton recites while distributing drinks across the small, circular table.

Everett’s last fundraising event is at his parents’ home in McLean, Virginia. The property is technically a weekend home since the governor and his wife stay in Richmond for most of the week, but calling it a weekend home is like calling the Ninth Circle of Hell “chilly.”

Most of us are here for moral support. Dalton Cavendish is here for the open bar.

“And the three vodka sodas?” Essie asks, eyebrow raised, glancing at the remaining beverages on Dalton’s tray.

He winks at her. “One for me, one for my daddy issues, and one for Lander.”

“Lander hates vodka,” Valeria mentions.

Dalton picks up one of the glasses. “Alright, two for my daddy issues then.” He finishes the entire drink in a gulp and winks. “Salud, ladies.”

Speak of the devil, Lander appears at our cocktail table. “I’m still working the room, so I can’t stay,” he explains. “Just wanted to tell you how beautiful you look.”

“You’ve told her seven times since we got here,” Dalton reminds him, watching as Lander kisses Valeria—with tongue. “In two languages.”

Lander separates from Valeria, whose eyes are still shut when he pulls back. Running his thumb along the line of her jaw, he says, “Well, now it’s eight,” before grinning. “Duty calls, but let me know if you need anything.”

“Thanks, Lan,” she replies. “Love you.”

Before Lander leaves, he straightens the humongous engagement ring on Valeria’s finger, and I don’t miss the way his hand brushes over her stomach.

Calling it now: The moment she takes out her IUD, this guy is going to have her pregnantconstantly.

Valeria watches Lander go, wearing this sheepish smile that hasn’t subsided over the eight months of their relationship. She faces us again and drops her shoulders. “Sorry. I know we’re annoying.”

“Don’t apologize. You guys are meant for each other,” Essie remarks. “But I have to ask: Does it get old?”

“Being in love?” Valeria replies.

“Being doted on,” Essie clarifies. “We all know you don’t need Lander to take care of you or buy you things. So, does it ever feel…weird?”

Valeria shakes her head. “It’s pretty natural, actually.”

“There’s a difference between a man taking care of you because you need him and a man taking care of you because you allow it,” Dalton chimes in while staring right at Essie. He takes a drink of one of his cocktails and doesn’t break eye contact. “There’s more to taking care of someone than money. Some needs aren’t…financial.”

Immediately, Essie’s cheeks run scarlet, and Dalton keeps staring at her with a slow smirk spreading across his face.

Across the cocktail table, Valeria looks at me and mouths, “Oh my god,” which is the only appropriate reaction when a six-foot five investment banker looks at your best friend and all but offers to take care of her—and let her use his legendarily large dick.

I’m about to grab Essie and tell her to scale Dalton like a sequoia when I see him.

Him.

For the first time in three years, I’m in the presence of a man who single-handedly changed the entire trajectory of my life. Beyond derailing my academic and professional career, he’s the genesis of so many trust issues I’ve had to resolve over the last three years—and he’shere.

I’ve seen him in countless articles, ads, and commercials shoved in my face like a virus, but the last place I ever expected to see him in the flesh was at a fundraiser for my secret boyfriend.

Felix J. Worthington has a magnetism about him, and it’s not because he’s tall and meticulously attired. It’s because he looks around and makes eye contact whenever he enters a room—a fleeting moment where he pretends to see people.

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