Page 68 of Power Play

“What time is it, anyway?” His grumbled voice is barely loud enough for me to hear.

I roll to my side and crane my neck back. “Would you believe me if I said close to five?”

The bed shifts as Trey rises up to his elbows, a pointed sleepy-eyed glare directed at me. “That's only four hours of sleep.”

I purse my lips to keep from correcting him.

“Randi.” His tone is frustrated. “Please tell me you've slept.”

“An hour or two,” I say with a shrug. “It's normal for me. I can't sleep when I'm stressed.”

“You don't eat and you don't sleep.” His hair falls across his forehead with the shake of his head. “Randi, that's not healthy or sustainable. When you're VP, you have to take better care of yourself.” When, not if. I like that. “Tank and I try to help you manage it the best we can, but you have to put in some effort too. We can't make you sleep.”

“I know, and I appreciate you and T for all that you do for me. I really do.” Flipping to my stomach, I stare at the tufted headboard. “It’s just that I've done this life stuff on my own for so long, you know. If we win, I'll get some help, I promise. Maybe a secretary or something; that way all the reminding and babysitting doesn't fall on the team.”

“First of all, when you win, not if.” I fight the smile trying to spread up my cheeks. “Second, you will need help. You won't be able to do it all on your own like you've done everything else. No one can handle that kind of pressure, understand?”

I roll my head, flopping it to the side to watch him.

“I understand.” Reaching up, I trace the underside of his jaw, the morning stubble scraping my finger. “I'll figure it out. I always do.” I bite my lip, nervous energy building beneath my skin, flashing heat through my body. “Trey?” I swallow and look over his shoulder, avoiding those knowing brown eyes. “What will happen, with us after the election?” The shake in my voice is proof of the emotions swirling around that single question.

He presses a callused palm to my cheek, swiping his thumb across my cheekbone, sending a shiver racing down my spine. I pull back to meet his gaze.

“I don't know, Randi. I really don't.” My eyes fall to the expanse of white sheet between us. “Hey, stop that. Look at me.” Scrolling up his bare chest, I meet his eyes once again. “I'm not saying I don't want us to keep doing this, but things will change if you're in the official VP spot. Expectations are higher, the scrutiny more intense—hell, you might not have more than thirty minutes alone until your four years are done. All I'm saying is I don't know what will happen next, but that doesn't take away from this, us, right now, does it?”

Thumbnail between my teeth. I shake my head. “No, no it doesn't. I just… I want to be prepared for what's coming. I feel out of control right now, and I hate it. I need one thing, one sure thing I can hold on to until the election, you know?”

The corners of his lips tug in a knowing smile. “I know, but the reality is anything can happen, and—”

A pounding on the door cuts Trey off, and we both jolt straight up. Trey hops off the bed, yanking his jeans up his thighs before I can blink. He scans the phone in one hand as he attempts to dress with the other.

The jerky movements slow, stopping completely with his T-shirt halfway on. Wide eyes meet mine, his nostrils flaring.

“What?” I breathe. “What happened?”

I ignore the pounding at the door, eyes searching Trey's. His face is paler than moments ago.

“Trey, talk to me.” I blindly reach for the nightstand, hand slapping the surface in search of my phone. He races across the room, bare feet pounding against the carpet, snatching it away before I can grab it. “You're freaking me out,” I shout.

“Open up,” T's demanding, angry, and—if I'm not mistaken—a bit scared voice booms from the other side of the door.

I suck in a breath, eyes flicking to the door. Trey lets out a loud, slow exhale and walks to it, shoving his arms through the sleeves of his T-shirt. The sheets tangle around my legs as I kick them furiously until I'm free, then race to the bathroom. The door isn't all the way closed behind me when the bedroom door slams open.

Each move jerky, I bolt from one side of the bathroom to the other, searching for something to slip on. Once T finds Trouble in my room at this hour, it’ll be obvious what he and I were doing, but that doesn’t mean I want to confirm his suspicions by popping out there naked. Clothes sail behind me, floating to the tile floor, as I rummage through the dirty laundry.

The black yoga pants have some kind of food stain dotting the left thigh, but the sweatshirt I yank on appears somewhat decent. Whatever, it's just T and Trey. Quick stop for a hair tie and I ease toward the door. The tips of my hair flick and twirl beneath my hands as I wrap it in a makeshift bun.

T's voice vibrates through the painted wood at my face; I don't even have to try and eavesdrop to hear what's being said.

“You've crossed the line this time, Benson.”

Oh snap, T is pissed.

“It's not what you think.” Trey's tone is tight and low.

“Really? Seems to me you're fucking—”

“Watch it,” Trey bites out. “I'm trying to tell you it's not what you think.” A pregnant pause has me pressing my ear against the door, not wanting to miss a word. “I like her, okay? It's not just about the sex, but the fact that you think so little of me, that I'd use her like that, fucking hurts.”

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