Sway (Landry Family #1)(35)
“Sometimes, yes, I suppose,” I say, searching for words. “I never really go out of my way to date or anything. So it’s not like I’m in situations where someone is going to blurt it out there.”
“You don’t date? At all?”
Shaking my head, I smile sadly. “No. Occasionally, I guess. But they’re few and far between. Intentionally,” I toss in at the last minute, not wanting to seem like I’m bad goods.
“Trust me when I say I fully understand why someone wouldn’t want to date at certain periods in their lives. I’m kind of there now.” He touches his finger to his lip, trying to hide a smirk. “I’m supposed to be there now,” he corrects himself.
I giggle, closing my container and sitting it off to the side. My appetite is now long gone, and I have a propensity to fiddle when I’m nervous. I don’t want to be jacking with the slaw like a little kid, and I will be if I don’t get it out of my face.
“I’m sure you are,” I agree.
“I’m in this election and I have to lock down my image, as stupid as that sounds.”
“Remember when I told you I don’t know a lot about you?” I wink. “I do know enough to know you’re portrayed as a playboy. So you ‘locking down your image’ seems like a good idea.”
He rolls his eyes and it’s obviously a point of contention with him. “Who I’m dating doesn’t affect how I do my job.”
“I can see both sides of the argument.”
“A discussion for another day,” he says, obviously not wanting to delve into it. “My question is this: why are you not dating?”
His hands form a steeple that his chin rests on. The dimple in his left cheek sinks in just a bit and I want to touch his skin, feel the smoothness under my own.
“Alison?”
“Lots of reasons,” I say simply, knowing that’s not going to be enough to get around the topic.
A part of me wants him to know so that maybe it’ll make whatever happens next easier. Whether that’s him never calling me again or us meeting for lunch or dinner, it’ll be easier if he knows my hesitations to all of this.
“I told you I have a son. His father is out of the picture completely and I really need to make sure I’m focused on him. He deserves that from me and I’m the only parent he has.”
“Can I ask where his father is?”
I force a swallow. “He’s in prison.”
Barrett’s eyes fly open and he sits back in his seat again.
“He was a judge in Albuquerque,” I continue, figuring I may as well get it out there and over with. “Got caught up in some big scandals and was eventually disbarred, convicted of tampering with evidence, bribery, solicitation of bribery, solicitation of prostitution, and possession of drugs. Among other things. That’s the quick list.”
“Nice guy,” Barrett says, whistling through his teeth.
“Right? When all of that came to light, it was terrifying. The biggest scandal in New Mexico in a long time. I was even investigated for a short while because I was his wife, even though we were in the process of separating when it all came crashing down.”
The memory turns my stomach and I look away, not wanting to see the disappointment or judgment in his eyes. I’ve seen it so many times in other people’s—it would devastate me to see it in his.
“Alison,” he breathes, not speaking until I turn my head and look at him again. “I’m sorry. That had to be rough.”
My jaw drops, my brain unable to process his complete apparent rejection of my possible complicity. Of course I had nothing to do with that, but he doesn’t know me.
“You aren’t going to ask me about it?” I ask in disbelief. “Ask me if I was guilty? Ask me what the investigation found?”
His head shakes gently side to side. “I already know what it found.”
“How do you know?”
My hand trembles beneath the table, nervous energy kicking in. I have nothing to hide. But if he’s researched me and read everything they said, saw the pictures taken of Hayden leaving a hotel room with prostitutes, saw the inquiry into me, I’ll never be able to look at him again. It’s humiliation to an unbearable degree.
“I know because I know you,” he says, chewing on his bottom lip.
“Barrett, that doesn’t make any sense.” The breeze kicks up, the edge of the cloth rippling between my fingers. Despite the coolness of the air, my cheeks are on fire. This is not the discussion I wanted to have, although I suppose it was inevitable.
“It makes perfect sense. I know who you are. I don’t have to ask you what some prosecutor decided. I know they didn’t find anything.”
“So you didn’t have me investigated? Vetted, I think they call that.”
He shakes his head and picks up his water. “No.”
I sit incredulous, watching him take a long drink. He watches me over the top, waiting for me to react.
“I promise you I had nothing to do with any of those things,” I ramble, wanting to make it crystal clear that I was and am innocent. “I had no idea. If I had, I would’ve left him long before. I—”
“Hush,” he says, a softness to his voice that dampens the interruption. “I just told you I know what happened. I can tell. This shit is my life. Don’t forget that.”