Page 98 of Where There's Smoke

“Uh-huh. I certainly do. Anyway, go on.”

“Right. So there’s a million reasons we shouldn’t be together, but when we’re actually, you know, together…” I trailed off, tapping my fingers on my elbow as I searched for the words. “I just can’t think of a reasonnotto be.”

“He’s that good in bed?”

I rolled my eyes. “Of course. That’s it.”

“So he isn’t that good?”

“Trust me, he is that good.” I shivered and, more to myself than anyone, added, “He definitely is.”

“And why on earth shouldn’t you be together, then?”

“Well, you know.” I rubbed the back of my neck and sighed. “My job. I’m traveling all the time. I live in hotels more than my own house during a campaign. I mean, you know what it’s like being with someone in my line of work.”

“Oohyeah. I do.” He grimaced as he reached for his martini. “Do I ever.” He brought the glass to his lips but paused before taking a drink. “But you and I were never all swoony over each other like you so obviously are.”

“Whatareyou talking about?”

“I’m talking about you swooning over him,” he said matter-of-factly. He drained his drink, then gestured with the empty glass, probably catching the attention of the waiter and no doubt upping the tab by another twelve bucks. Apparently satisfied he wouldn’t die of thirst, Slade looked at me. “Oh, don’t even try it, Hunter. I see right through you.”

“Then you’re seeing something I don’t,” I muttered into my beer bottle.

“Liar.”

“What makes you say that?”

He rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to speak, but the waiter appeared with a fresh martini. Slade thanked him, took a sip, and when we were alone once more, said, “Honestly? Because you’re balls-deep in this campaign, and you’re still seeing him.”

I gestured casually with my beer bottle. “You and I dated during one of Roger Cameron’s campaigns.”

“And Roger Cameron was a shoo-in running against some ass pickle who didn’t stand a chance against him,” Slade said. “You had to work at getting him elected like I had to work at getting you—”

“Slade.” I shot him a “would you keep your voice down” look.

Dropping to a whisper, he said, “You had to work at getting him elected like I had to work at getting you off. You could’ve done it with your eyes closed and a hand tied behind your back. But this kid?” He shook his head and waved with his drink. “No. I know you. You’re running an unproven horse, which means you justbarelyhave time for happy hour with the likes of me, never mind an actual relationship, which means he’s either extremely low maintenance or he’s seriously special.” Winking, he added, “I vote seriously special.”

I dropped my gaze into my beer bottle and had no doubt the rush of heat to my face lit up my cheeks again and undermined any excuse or alibi I might have thought of.

“We have a consensus, do we?” Slade asked with a grin in his voice.

I couldn’t make myself meet his eyes, especially not as the warmth in my face intensified. I ran my thumbnail along the label on my beer bottle, slicing through the adhesive and freeing the edge so I could play with it.

And whether it was because I’d been dying to tell someone all this time, or because Slade had broken some dam I didn’t even know existed, when the words came, I didn’t—couldn’t—even try to stop them.

“I don’t know, it’s weird. I tell myself this is too much headache, and I think it’s a bad idea. All the time. I have this conversation with myself all. The. Time.” I pushed my thumb under the loosened label, concentrating on peeling paper from glass instead of meeting my ex-boyfriend’s scrutiny. “But then we get each other alone, and…”And it all makes sense. And it’s perfect. And no amount of self-lecturing comes close to telling myself there’s any reason I shouldn’t do this.“We get each other alone, and I can’t imagine wanting to be anywhere else. But then when we’re around other people, people who don’t know we’re together, sometimes I look at him and I…” I released a breath as goose bumps rose on my arms. “God, I can’t even breathe. He just has this…this…” I made a sharp, frustrated gesture in the air. “Something about him.”

“Something about him?” Slade’s voice startled me, like I’d forgotten he was even here. When I met his eyes, he grinned over the rim of his martini glass. “Oh, I don’t think it’s something about him.”

“What do you mean?”

“Sweetheart, it’syou. Or rather, what he’s doing to you.”

“Meaning?”

My ex smiled. “He’s got you tripping over your own feet, Anthony. Like no man I have ever seen before. It’s something about him, all right, but it’s you and the way you feel about him that’s got you stumbling and stuttering.”

I took a long drink of beer. Rolled it around in my mouth. Ignored my pounding heart. Wondered when the hell this had happened. When and how and…

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