Page 78 of Dirty Politics

“It’s fine,” she said. “Come in.”

He walked toward her and pulled a chair over to sit right in front of her on the bed.

“Liv, I’m sorry...”

“Will...”

“Just hear me out...please,” he said, running his hands through his hair.

“Ok,” she said, softly.

“I was wrong,” he said, his eyes looking directly into hers. “I don’t like Byron Ray, but you’re a grown woman. You can take care of yourself. I should have kept my mouth shut. I’m sorry.”

“Byron Ray...does this go back to your law school days?” she said.

“Yes, I’ve never liked him, but you’re a professional, and it’s none of my business,” he said. “I’m sorry I overstepped.”

He swallowed hard.

“I miss you,” he said, his voice barely a whisper.

She looked down at her hands.

“I can go,” he said. “You need your rest. I just wanted to apologize. Good night.”

He stood up and started to turn. She grabbed his wrist.

“No.”

He looked down at her, his eyes full of hope.

“Stay.”

He leaned down and kissed the top of her head.

“I missed you too,” she whispered.

He felt a wave of relief wash over him.

“Take off your shirt,” she said.

He just stared at her; not registering her words. She was unbuttoning her shirt.

“I don’t think we should...I mean...you’re injured...”

“I just want to feel you close to me,” she said. She stood up and started helping him with his shirt. He pulled it over his head.

She slid her hand up his arms - lingering at his bicep.

“Hmmm...” she said, pressing her palm against his chest. “I enjoyed the show today.”

“Is that right?”

“You could sell tickets for that,” she said with a laugh.

“We’ll have to consider it.”

He stepped back from her. She was wearing pajama pants and her bra.

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