Sway (Landry Family #1) (22 page)

“Sure,” I say, stumped by her question.

“I don’t know how that’s true. When is the last time you did something purely because it was in your best interest?” she asks, her voice tilted with sass. “When is the last time you didn’t consider what was best for your campaign or your father or the city?”

I lean forward so my breath tickles the side of her neck. “When I sucked grapes out of your pussy.”

“Ah!” she gasps, trying to pull away, but I don’t let her. I pull her into me and she melts, letting me kiss her.

When we finally separate, we’re both grinning like crazy and I hope that’s the end of this questioning.

But it’s not.

“So I’m your little form of rebellion?” she asks. She means it as a joke, as a taunt, but there’s no denying the fear hidden beneath the surface.

“Maybe,” I say, watching her for a reaction. “Or maybe you’re the first thing I’ve thought was worth going after.”

She relaxes, but looks away.

“Alison? What’s the matter?”

Her head shakes from side-to-side, but the blankets are pulled higher up her waist. “Nothing. Nothing’s the matter. Why would you ask?”

“Talk to me,” I whisper, my gaze pleading with hers to talk to me. “What are you scared of?”

She bites her lip and gathers her courage. I watch her do it, the blues of her eyes solidifying, her shoulders quietly squaring. “You.”

“Me? You’re scared of me?” I laugh. “Why in the world would you be scared of me?”

“Because it’s too easy to be with you. Even at this slow pace we say we’re going at . . .”

I lift her chin with my fingertips. “It’s crazy, huh?”

She nods, her eyes wide. “It’s so crazy. I’ve spent the last few years making sure all of my ducks are in a row so I never get trampled by anyone again.”

“The only place I’ll trample you is in this bed,” I grin.

“The parallels from what I went through and this are so similar. What if I get caught up in this, in you, and you get elected? Don’t get me wrong—you should be elected. You’re smart and funny and charming and have the best heart. But you move to Atlanta and . . . what then?”

“Then we figure it out,” I say with as much confidence as I can muster. “What if I lose? Will you want to fuck a loser?”

She shakes her head. “Even if you don’t win, you won’t be a loser.”

“Even if I win, that doesn’t make me a winner.” I say the words before I think about it, before I realize I’ve said them aloud. Something clicks and I know she’s going to ask me to expound on the idea, and I grimace and wait for it.

“What does that mean?”

I huff a breath and think about lying to her, but the openness we have in conversation is nice. Cathartic, even.

“It just means,” I say, grabbing a strawberry, “that sometimes in this business you have to agree to things you don’t necessarily believe in.”

“Like what?”

“Like a bill about some land around the state.”

“Don’t agree to it,” she says simply. “If it’s not what you believe in, how could you?”

“Because you have to sometimes give on things to win on others.”

She bends over and presses a sweet kiss to my shoulder. “I don’t think you believe in yourself enough.”

The words hit me hard because it’s true. I start speaking again without thinking. “It’s hard to believe in yourself when you aren’t sure you’ve ever accomplished anything on your own.”

“How can you say that?” she asks. “You won the mayoral election.”

“Did I?”

I raise my eyebrows and watch her face twist in confusion. Her mouth opens to reply, but she shuts it just as quickly.

“Yes, I’m the mayor,” I say, my throat burning. “But did I win it on my own ideas? Or did I win it because of my name or my looks?” I look away because I’ve never said these things aloud to anyone, although I’ve thought them nearly every day for years. “Or did my father influence it somehow?”

The last one is the kicker. It’s something my opponents have projected a number of times, that my father paid off certain people and thereby bought the election. He denies it, but of course he would. I don’t really think he’d do that, but there’s always a niggle of doubt. My dream was his dream before it was mine.

The silence between us thickens and I switch off the television. I realize I’ve done what I can’t do. I opened my mouth. It’s Politics 101: Never Open Your Trap. Everything is kept close to the vest, everything in the dark.

So why in the hell did I just say that?

Her hand rolls mine over and she laces her fingers through mine. She doesn’t respond for a long while, just holds my palm like it’s enough. Maybe it is.

“Barrett?” she asks, her sweet voice barely audible.

I turn to look at her. Her features are soft, her lips still telegraphing that they’ve just been kissed. I love the look on her, like she’s just been thoroughly adored. It’s what she should always look like.

“Even if that is true, and I don’t believe it,” she says, taking a breath, “it just means even more that you need to prove to yourself that your ideas are enough.”

“But what if they’re not?”

“If you say what you feel, that you don’t agree with the Land Bill, and you don’t get elected—is that the worst thing that could happen?”

The answer to that is complicated and both yes and no. It would end the work of so many for so many years. I have no backup plan; politics has always been my career, the trajectory up the ranks as quickly as I’ve been able. But looking at her in my bed, trying to make me feel better, the answer is also this: the worst thing is losing the person that makes me feel alive and enough for the first time in maybe forever.

“It’s not,” she says, shaking her head. “The worst thing would be for you to have your legacy tainted by a bunch of half-truths. By your grandkids asking how you felt about this or that in your career and having to lie. It’d be better to not win.”

It sounds so simple, but isn’t. It seems to be true, but it’s convoluted. It seems easy, but it’s so damn hard that I don’t want to think about it anymore. Not while she’s here.

“You know what would be better?” I ask, feeling my lips twitch.

“What’s that?”

“If we stop talking and instead make use of this fruit . . .”

She grins and I roll her over before she can object.

Alison

“AND HE WOULDN’T DO IT!
That bastard. He said he wasn’t sticking fruit inside my body and slurping it out. So, I told him I’m not seeing him anymore,” Lola laments, making me laugh.

“Maybe he’s not into food play,” I giggle, turning the car down the street the next afternoon. “It’s not for everyone. I don’t even think it’s for me, Lo, really, but . . .”

“But it’s Barrett Fucking Landry!”

“Exactly.”

“So Isaac is on ice. I’m just going to find someone else that will indulge my newfound food fetishes.”

Laughing, I shake my head. “But Isaac is such a nice guy, Lo.”

“And apparently nice isn’t what does it for me.”

“You’re impossible.”

“Are you working the charity thing that hit the schedule at Luxor last night?”

“Yeah,” I sigh. “I just switched days at Hillary’s House today so I can be off. The tips will be astronomical; I can’t say no.”

She sighs too. “Right? I’m so over working these shitty jobs. I just need to land a rich man and be retired already.”

I roll my eyes, but grin. The chatter with Lola is my tried and true way of relaxing from work before getting home to Hux. The stress of the job is diluted by her antics and it’s my own form of therapy.

“You do that,” I laugh.

“I expect to. But in the meantime, you need to corner Isaac and let him know he needs to—”

“I’ll do no such thing!” I laugh. “I’m not about to tell him how to have sex with you, Lo!”

“You’re simply not the friend I thought you were,” she huffs.

“Apparently not. But I’m pulling in the driveway and am beat, so I need to get off of here.”

“Okay. Talk later.”

I end the call and pull up beside my mother’s car. Every day it’s the same feeling of being grateful she’s here to help with Hux and frustration that I’m in the position of needing my mother so much to help with my child.

Opening the door to the house, I smell the aroma of freshly baked snickerdoodles. I follow the cinnamon scent to the kitchen where my mom and son are sitting at the table with a plate of cookies and tall glasses of milk.

“Hey, Mom,” Hux says.

“Hey, buddy.” I kiss the top of his head. “You smell like outside.”

“He’s been outside tossing a ball around all day. He even had me out there playing catch,” my mother says.

“You? You played catch?” I laugh. “I bet that was a sight.”

“Some man called here earlier this afternoon, shortly after Hux got home—”

“It was Lincoln!” he beams. “We’re going to go work out today!”

I cast a confused glance at my mother. She twiddles her thumbs and looks at me with raised brows.

“He said you’d take me to see him when you got home,” Hux says, standing. “So can we go, Mom? Please?”

“Go wash your face,” my mother instructs him.

“But Grandma . . .”

“Huxley. Now.”

He stalks towards the bathroom and when he’s out of earshot, the room gets smaller. Much, much smaller.

“So . . .” she draws out, waiting for me to give her information.

I don’t.

“Alison, why is a Major League baseball player calling the house to play baseball with my grandson?”

I shrug like I have no idea, but she doesn’t buy it.

“There’s also a beautiful bouquet of flowers in your bedroom,” she states. “Hux told me to take a look, said the mayor of Savannah sent them to you.”

“It’s nothing,” I say, turning away from her.

I wait for the impending question and answer session, but nothing happens. The bathroom door closes down the hall and my mom’s chair scoots against the tile floor. But she doesn’t speak.

I can’t take the anticipation any longer. Turning to face her, I see her looking at me, a wide smile on her face.

“What?” I say, fighting a grin of my own.

“I want to ask you a million questions . . .”

“There’s nothing for me to answer. Not really,” I add on, the grin getting harder to conceal. Just thinking about Barrett makes my stomach flutter and it’s ridiculously hard to not show it.

“So you met him somehow and you’re seeing him?”

“No,” I gasp, then catch myself. “Actually, yes. Kind of. But if we—”

“Oh my gosh, Alison! You’re kidding me!”

“Mom,
please
,” I say, sounding like Hux when he’s embarrassed. “It’s nothing. We just met awhile ago and have been spending some time together.”

“I can’t say I’m sad about this,” she teases. “He’s handsome and well-to-do . . .”

“We’re friends. That’s it, Mother.”

She tsks me and crosses her arms over her chest. “Being friends with someone doesn’t put that look on your face,” she teases.

Taking a deep breath, I know I can’t hide anything from her. It’s pointless. “We’re trying things out, feeling our way through . . . whatever this is.”

“I’m so happy for you, Ali.”

“Don’t get all crazy,” I say, rolling my eyes. “And please don’t mention it to anyone. It’s nothing official and I don’t want people asking about it.”

We exchange a look, one filled with memories we’d both like to forget.

“Understood.” She walks around the table and pulls me into a quick embrace. “I won’t meddle, but if you need anything, just ask.” She starts to leave but pauses at the doorway. “I knew someone would sweep you off your feet . . .”

“Friends, Mom!” I laugh, exasperated.

“Friends. Right,” she shrugs, and shortly after, the front door closes.

Then it opens again.

“Alison, there’s a man that’s just pulled up in a Range Rover?” She peeks her head around the front door. “I’m guessing that’s something to do with your
friend
?”

My jaw hangs open. I have no idea why Troy would be here, besides that Lincoln called, but I’ve had no time to get ready.

“Yeah,” I say, “go on. It’ll be fine.”

She smiles too brightly and leaves, but the door stays partially open. Before I can get to it, Lincoln pops his head around the corner.

“Hey there,” he grins in his adorable way. He chuckles when he realizes how gobsmacked I am. “Expecting me?”

“Not really,” I laugh.

“Well, I called earlier because I need a good workout. I thought Hux could head to the Farm with me and play some ball, if that’s all right?”

My brain scrambles for something to grasp on to. “Yeah, I guess. I mean . . .”

“And,” he draws out, “my brother has had a terrible day. I’m sure he’d like to see you, if you don’t mind accompanying us.”

“He doesn’t know you’re here?”

His head shakes. “Nope. It’ll be a surprise.”

“Lincoln, with all due respect, I’m not sure this would be something Barrett would appreciate. I know he has work to do, and I don’t want to intrude. Nor do I know how he’ll take it if I bring Hux there.”

He leans against the doorjamb and I’m glad Lola isn’t here. If she were, she’d be tackling him and having her way with him. He’s ridiculously handsome in a boy-next-door kind of way, if you live by a boy that could possibly show up on the cover of a magazine.