Wicked Need (The Wicked Horse Series Book 3)(50)
That he’s a pushover.
I pat my front pocket for my keys, feel the small bulge, and turn toward the door.
“Hey,” she says softly.
Turning back to her, I tilt my head to wait for whatever it is she wants to say.
Please be something good. Please be something that lets me know that I’m not imagining some of these feelings or worse yet, that they’re one-sided.
“I meant what I said a minute ago,” she says, her eyes lasered onto mine so I know she’s talking straight.
“What’s that?” I ask, since a lot was said in the last minute or so.
“That I don’t want to go back to the Jackson house,” she says bluntly. “I really don’t want anything he has, but in particular, I don’t want to go back there.”
“Bad memories and all,” I hazard a guess, remembering just how good that felt to hear her say she didn’t want to go back the first time.
It’s even better the second.
“No,” she says simply and picks up her purse. “Just better memories here. Much, much better, and I don’t want to give that up.”
“Then don’t,” I tell her leaning forward, grazing my lips on her cheek. “You have a place here as long as you want it.”
I hope she reads between the lines. I’m not just talking a bed to sleep in, but I’m certainly not ready to tell her that yet. While Cat’s opened up to me in amazing ways, I can still tell that deep down, she’s going to be leery of anything that resembles a commitment and I’m not about to scare her off.
Chapter 18
Cat
“There’s way more paper than I thought there’d be,” I tell Sloane as I pull several thick folders out of a banker’s box.
It’s one of about forty banker’s boxes that are stacked against the wall in the large conference room of Governor Hayes’ campaign headquarters. Sloane and I have been diligently unpacking and organizing it all as best we can. It’s the materials from his last campaign for governor when he won the office in a very heated and close race. That was three years ago, and in just over a year from now, the citizens will be voting again on whether to keep him in office.
And this is the extent of my knowledge of how elections are run by a candidate. Sloane’s been filling me in a bit. She told me that her father used to be an elected U.S. Senator, so she’s done campaign work before. She also told me her dad’s a douche and she didn’t like to talk about him, but she hoped he had perpetual sunburn from spending all his time on a beach in Brazil with his new and much younger wife.
I didn’t press her for any details given the acid in her voice when she said that.
Callie was in Cheyenne, meeting with her father to start putting together a formalized kick off for the campaign. For my first day of work, she left instructions for me to just help Sloane with organizing the materials, and that seemed easy enough. I wish I had dressed a little differently, choosing a black and white zebra-print Diane Von Furstenberg wrap dress with nude heels. Those have been long since kicked off and my sleeves rolled up as we pull out mailing lists, copies of speeches, policy summaries, advertising campaigns, glossy mailers and signs that were used. We lay them in stacks according to subject on the large table that takes up most of the room and chatter about inane stuff, mostly an attempt to get to know one another.
I had an amazing time with Callie and Sloane at lunch two days ago. The margaritas absolutely helped break the ice, but the fact that these women were so accepting of me says so much about them, that I feel relatively comfortable now despite my sordid past with the two men in their lives.
“So you and Rand, huh?” Sloane says while sitting on the floor before an open box. She’s not looking at me but rather pulling out manila envelopes and checking out the contents.
Just casual conversation.
“Yeah,” I say a little uncertainly since I really have no clue what the nature of our relationship is. “He’s a great guy.”
“Hung like a horse too,” Sloane says, just as casually and still focusing on her work. She seems intent on what she’s doing and as if her statement wasn’t anything more than an afterthought.
“Excuse me?” I ask, stunned by her knowledge of Rand’s body parts.
She looks up at me with a sheepish grin. “You’re not the only one who had experience with all things wicked at The Silo.”
“You and Rand?”
“Me, Rand, Logan, Bridger, and Cain,” she says, her grin getting bigger with a slightly wistful look on her face. “All at the same time.”
My jaw drops wide open, and I make no move to close it. I just stare at her, my eyes probably as big as an owl’s. I can’t believe it. No way. Sloane looks like the poster girl for innocence with her sweetly rounded face and cute as pie blonde waves coming to just above her shoulder.
Just… no way.
“Yup,” she says with a chuckle, completely amused at my shock. “Cain arranged it. I’m sure Rand told you all about how I was an undercover reporter investigating The Silo and Governor Hayes. I was playing ignorant of The Silo with Cain and he was showing me a part of it but not really. Took me to one of the fantasy cabins and had the guys waiting there for me.”
“Wow,” I say as I lower myself slowly into one of the chairs that surround the conference room tables. I’m not sure how I feel about this. There’s a weird, low bubbling feeling that I can’t quite place. Like my favorite toy got stolen from me on the playground by another girl. And yet, there’s no way that’s jealousy. I have no right or claim to be such.