Page 45 of The Americana Playbook

I wait while he moves to the side before turning back to the sales associate. “I’m really so sorry.”

“Oh, no, please don’t apologize. I’m the one who’s sorry. I didn’t mean to stare.” Her cheeks turn red. “What can I help you with?”

I look around, overwhelmed. “I need a gown. And I really don’t have a clue where to start.”

The kind sales associate leads me over to a wall. “I like to go with color and cut first,” she tells me.

I finger a black gown with thin straps. “Nothing with an open back.”

I might’ve bared my scar for Fitz, but that doesn’t mean I want to expose it to everyone, especially since the gala is for his team’s foundation. I hate that I even showed it to him, but I knew to make him understand, I’d have to give him something.

And in some ways, showing Fitz my scar gave himeverythingand nothing at the same time.

He’s the only one, besides Sarah, who’s ever seen it.

I flinch when Sarah dabs at my raw flesh “Does it look any better?”

“Why do you care about how it looks if it feels this bad?”

“So I can forget it ever happened.”

Sarah sighs. “Could you though?”

She was right.

I move to another row of dresses. “Maybe strapless.” If it comes up high enough, that would be a safe way to go.

“We have these,” the sales associate says, leading me farther down the wall. Her voice drifts in and out as she goes on about fabrics. I nod along to be polite, but at this point, silk chiffon or something with sequins makes no difference to me.

I stop. “Can I try that one?”

The sales associate reaches up. “The red one?”

A smile blooms across my face. “Yes,” I say. “The red one.”

I hadn’t given any thought to the color. But now, knowing I’m going to be photographed for everyone, the red silky dress with the high slit makes sense.

After all, I’m out for blood.

Parker

When will you be home?

When I left Parker earlier,she was marching out of the den, mumbling a stream of expletives while on the phone with her sister while they reviewed a speech the White House wanted her to give at an upcoming event. I have no clue what the issue actually was because I was pretty distracted by her robe—my robe technically. It wasn’t cinched tight enough, revealing the smooth plane of her stomach, the lace trim of her grey bra, and apparently, I realized, coordinating underwear.

I never knew I was the kind of guy who gave much thought to matchinganything. But fuck, I am now.

Across from me, Coach’s eyes drift to my phone. I flip it over.

“I get you’re upset.”

I’ve said this twenty times during the last half hour, because, I’m not sure what elsetosay. When Coach texted me last night saying let’s grab a late lunch, I immediately said sure and felt relief. I hadn’t heard from him since we got off the plane from DC, and even then, he didn’t say much. Just stared, like he’s doing now.

“I’m not sure why you think I’m upset,” he says, pressing a napkin to his mouth and then placing it on his near empty plate. “I thought I made that clear already.”

I push the remainder of my sandwich away. I’ve lost my appetite. “I don’t want you to think I went ahead and did all this behind your back.”

Coach raises an eyebrow above his glasses.

---