The Kingmaker (All the King's Men, #1)(21)

“Yes, well, let’s see. I was, as predicted, grounded until graduation.”

We share a quick glance and a chuckle.

“I’m not surprised,” I say. “I wouldn’t want my seventeen-year-old daughter getting bitten by dogs and tear gassed and stuck in a holding cell with a bunch of grown men and prostitutes.”

“I didn’t get bitten by a dog.” She surprises me, reaching out to push up my sleeve and touch the scar on my forearm. “You did.”

Her fingers on my skin make my breath shorten and my body harden. Really? One touch and I’m ready to blow?

“So from grounded to graduation.” I stroke my fingertip over her thumb where it still rests on my forearm. I don’t miss the quick catch of her breath, but I keep talking. “Then college?”

“Uh, yeah.” She traces the labyrinthic pattern of my fingerprint. “Arizona State.”

“Major?”

“Public service and public policy, with a concentration in American Indian studies.”

“Cool.” I squeeze the hand still resting on my arm. “What do you want to do?”

“That’s the million-dollar question. Maybe get my master’s. I’ve been offered a pretty prestigious fellowship, which would require I serve in some field-related area for a year, or I have a great job offer from a firm in DC.”

“What kind of firm?”

“A lobbying firm. For some reason, I think I may end up in politics.” She eyes me closely. “I remember you went to Berkeley. That was . . . undergrad?”

“Undergrad and my master’s. I just finished my PhD in climate science.”

“Wow. So Doctor Kingsman. I would never have guessed.”

“What would you have guessed?”

She squints one eye and hums, considering. “Business maybe?”

“I double majored in business and energy resources engineering at Berkeley, so you’re not far off there.”

“Why those fields?”

“Just seemed smart to have a business background.” I don’t add that my family’s company has been a Forbes lister for decades.

“And the energy resources?” she asks. “How’d you come to that?”

“I’m fascinated by the climate. How we can reverse all the crap we’re doing to ruin this planet. Most importantly, how America can become less dependent on fossil fuels. Our leaders are so damn shortsighted, leaning on oil and gas as much as we do. It’s not sustainable.”

“Is that why you were there protesting the pipeline?”

“Yeah, something like that.” I rush on before she can probe any further. “So still figuring out what you want to do with the degree, huh?”

“I know I want to change the world. I’m just not sure how yet.”

I’ve never heard anyone more confident saying they don’t know something. She says it like she is the question—like as soon as she determines her plan of action, the world will be putty in her hands to shape and mold into something better. I could laugh in her face, call her na?ve, but I don’t because I feel the same way.

“I get that,” I reply, linking my pinky finger with hers on the table. “Sometimes my goals and dreams feel too big. Like you really think you can convince a nation to change its ways? And the answer is always yes. I don’t know how either, but yes.” I force a chuckle, growing uncomfortable under her unwavering regard. “Is that arrogant? Presumptuous?”

“Yes, but I think revolution requires a certain degree of hubris.”

“Who said that?” I ask, racking my brain for a reference for the quote.

“Oh, I did. Just now.”

Well, impress the hell out of me.

She lifts her beer with the hand I’m not holding and yawns into the glass. “Sorry. I guess jet lag is starting to kick in.”

I stand, pulling her to her feet, too. “Let’s get you home, or at least your home away from home. Let’s get you to your hostel.”

When we step outside, crisp, cold air greets us on the street.

“It’s much cooler than I thought it would be,” Lennix says, chafing her bare arms. “Glad it’s a short walk.”

“Yeah, the weather here can be unpredictable and cool until it’s not.” I tug my leather jacket off and drape it around her shoulders.

“Oh, no.” She starts to slide the jacket off, but I stop her.

“Look.” I point to the long sleeve of my T-shirt. “I’ll be fine for a few minutes.”

She nods, reluctance and gratitude in her smile.

It’s a straight shot to her hostel, but I take us down a side street to stretch out our time. That and it puts us along the Amstel river, a romantic promenade if ever there was one.

Moonlight refracts from the glassy water. The slightest breeze, the breath of night, lifts Lennix’s hair, and I’m reminded how it seemed she commanded the very elements that day in the desert.

“You really were remarkable at that protest,” I say, breaking the companionable silence we’ve been walking in.

“Huh?” She looks up at me, her leisurely stride never breaking. “What?”

“At the protest that day. You spoke with such conviction and passion.”