wouldn’t tell anyone, I swear.”
One female reporter kept pace with the vehicle, right next to me, and I tried not to stare at her breasts bopping up and down as she jogged. “ Is it true Dr. Thompson invited Lucia to live with you?”
“ Or was it your mother who invited her to stay here?” a male reporter shouted from behind me.
I tried to make sense of the questions hurled at me. Had Mom invited Lucia? Not really—more like she’d allowed her to live with me. We drove through the gate, and I frowned when reporters followed us inside.
The questions kept coming. “ Do you and Lucia work out together?”
I smirked. As if she could keep up with me.
China pulled up to the entrance and turned around to glare at me. “Brad and I will hustle you in there. Not one word, Mr. Monroe—got it?”
“You tell me that every time. I’m not stupid.”
“No, but you’re under the influence, and I’m not losing my job just because you wanted to tie one on with your buddies.”
She could lose her job over me having a few beers? I tried to adopt a serious expression, but it was tough amidst the nonstop media questions.
“ What’s it like living with Governor Ramirez’s daughter?”
I wished I could answer that: Fucking awful.
“ Do you two talk politics?”
Not unless she wants to show how dumb and wrong she is.
China opened the driver-side door and dodged some reporters to zoom around the hood of the vehicle just as Brad stepped out. I scooted over to Brad’s side to emerge between the agents— see, I can follow orders —and they marched me toward the front door.
Above the cacophony I heard one question: “ Dane! Are you and Lucia sleeping in the same bedroom?”
What the fuck? I couldn’t help it—I started laughing. How I wished I could respond to that asinine question! Yeah, we share a bed. We make love every night after practice, for extra cardio.
China clenched my arm tighter as I chuckled. “Not one word,” she hissed.
As we passed through the front door, a surprising image flashed in my mind: Lucia’s long hair fanned out on the pillow beneath me, her shining eyes watching me as my hands massaged her breasts. I’d bet a crap-ton of money that her nipples were dark. I could hear her soft moans and picture her smooth, caramel skin responding to my touch, her hips bucking as my hands drifted down the centerline of her stomach—
“Is he drunk?”
I looked up to see Frank’s ugly scowl. Brad and China let go of me, and I rubbed my scalp, trying to orient myself away from the sexy-time images in my head. The reporters kept yelling stuff beyond the closed door, but thankfully their voices had become fainter.
“For the last time,” I roared, “I’m not drunk!”
The object of the reporters’ interest—the one who’d had a starring role in my imagery moments ago—appeared in the hallway. Lucia wore black yoga pants and a fuchsia compression shirt, and dammit if her nipples didn’t strain against the tight fabric.
“He had some beers, yes,” China told Frank.
Lucia gasped.
“Seriously?” I gaped at her. “You’ve never had alcohol?”
She blinked quickly and her face flushed, but she didn’t answer me. How dare she try to judge me! Will she blab about this?
“You better not tell my coach I was drinking!”
She took a step back. “I, I wouldn’t do that.”
I noticed that she was trembling. “What’s your problem?”
“Are the reporters gone?” She gulped.
I walked past Frank to look at the monitors on the wall. “Nope. The bloodsuckers are still out there.” I frowned at her. “Like I told you, now that you’re here, they won’t leave us alone. Thanks for bringing them into our lives.”
“I didn’t choose to live here!” Her voice shook. “I hate them! I just want to live my life—I hate them watching me every second.”
I felt the exact same way, and it was only August. I knew it would get much worse as the election neared. “How’d they find out
One female reporter kept pace with the vehicle, right next to me, and I tried not to stare at her breasts bopping up and down as she jogged. “ Is it true Dr. Thompson invited Lucia to live with you?”
“ Or was it your mother who invited her to stay here?” a male reporter shouted from behind me.
I tried to make sense of the questions hurled at me. Had Mom invited Lucia? Not really—more like she’d allowed her to live with me. We drove through the gate, and I frowned when reporters followed us inside.
The questions kept coming. “ Do you and Lucia work out together?”
I smirked. As if she could keep up with me.
China pulled up to the entrance and turned around to glare at me. “Brad and I will hustle you in there. Not one word, Mr. Monroe—got it?”
“You tell me that every time. I’m not stupid.”
“No, but you’re under the influence, and I’m not losing my job just because you wanted to tie one on with your buddies.”
She could lose her job over me having a few beers? I tried to adopt a serious expression, but it was tough amidst the nonstop media questions.
“ What’s it like living with Governor Ramirez’s daughter?”
I wished I could answer that: Fucking awful.
“ Do you two talk politics?”
Not unless she wants to show how dumb and wrong she is.
China opened the driver-side door and dodged some reporters to zoom around the hood of the vehicle just as Brad stepped out. I scooted over to Brad’s side to emerge between the agents— see, I can follow orders —and they marched me toward the front door.
Above the cacophony I heard one question: “ Dane! Are you and Lucia sleeping in the same bedroom?”
What the fuck? I couldn’t help it—I started laughing. How I wished I could respond to that asinine question! Yeah, we share a bed. We make love every night after practice, for extra cardio.
China clenched my arm tighter as I chuckled. “Not one word,” she hissed.
As we passed through the front door, a surprising image flashed in my mind: Lucia’s long hair fanned out on the pillow beneath me, her shining eyes watching me as my hands massaged her breasts. I’d bet a crap-ton of money that her nipples were dark. I could hear her soft moans and picture her smooth, caramel skin responding to my touch, her hips bucking as my hands drifted down the centerline of her stomach—
“Is he drunk?”
I looked up to see Frank’s ugly scowl. Brad and China let go of me, and I rubbed my scalp, trying to orient myself away from the sexy-time images in my head. The reporters kept yelling stuff beyond the closed door, but thankfully their voices had become fainter.
“For the last time,” I roared, “I’m not drunk!”
The object of the reporters’ interest—the one who’d had a starring role in my imagery moments ago—appeared in the hallway. Lucia wore black yoga pants and a fuchsia compression shirt, and dammit if her nipples didn’t strain against the tight fabric.
“He had some beers, yes,” China told Frank.
Lucia gasped.
“Seriously?” I gaped at her. “You’ve never had alcohol?”
She blinked quickly and her face flushed, but she didn’t answer me. How dare she try to judge me! Will she blab about this?
“You better not tell my coach I was drinking!”
She took a step back. “I, I wouldn’t do that.”
I noticed that she was trembling. “What’s your problem?”
“Are the reporters gone?” She gulped.
I walked past Frank to look at the monitors on the wall. “Nope. The bloodsuckers are still out there.” I frowned at her. “Like I told you, now that you’re here, they won’t leave us alone. Thanks for bringing them into our lives.”
“I didn’t choose to live here!” Her voice shook. “I hate them! I just want to live my life—I hate them watching me every second.”
I felt the exact same way, and it was only August. I knew it would get much worse as the election neared. “How’d they find out
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