Where There's Smoke

by L. A. Witt

  I laced my fingers between his on his chest. “What do you mean?”

  “I’m really afraid of how things will affect Simone,” he said softly. “As she puts it, the media’s like a bunch of teenage girls in a high school bathroom, and they’ll find the cruelest way to twist the story around. Saying she turned me or that she was a beard all along or just gossiping about it nonstop. The divorce and everything are stressful enough for her. I just, I don’t want it to be worse for her than it has to be. She’s been humiliated enough.”

  “Yeah, she has,” I said. “Poor girl. I don’t know how you two live with that, to be honest. In a fishbowl, having people not only know about but criticize your everyday life…” I shook my head.

  “Yeah, well, when your parents are famous for everything they’ve ever done,” he muttered, “it’s the only life you ever know.” He paused. “I’m surprised no one’s ever tried to put your personal life out there.”

  I shrugged. “I’m just a campaign manager, not a candidate. Most people couldn’t care less what I do as long as it’s legal.”

  “Yeah, but being so close to the political world, and with as scandal hungry as everyone is…”

  Nodding, I said, “There is that. Though to be honest, I live and breathe campaigns, so I haven’t had much of a personal life to speak of. Not until recently, anyway. Which is why most people—including your uncle and any other candidate I’ve ever worked with—don’t even know I’m gay.”

  “Fun secret to keep, isn’t it?”

  “Ooh yeah.” I rolled my eyes. “Loads of fun. That’s part of why I’ve been single for so long. When you work in or around politics, it’s usually advisable to keep things like this under the radar, and most guys get tired of being another man’s dirty secret. Believe me, that novelty wears off quick.”

  Jesse flinched.

  I put a hand on his arm. “That’s not what I meant.”

  “Still,” he said. “We can’t exactly broadcast this. If you want to jump ship before—”

  I cut him off with a gentle kiss. For a second, he was still, but then he wrapped his arms around me and relaxed into my kiss.

  After a moment, I broke away just enough to be able to speak. “The only problem I’m going to have with keeping this quiet,” I whispered, “is making sure no one hears me when you make me come.”

  He moaned softly and raised his head to kiss me. As he sank back to the pillow, he said, “Okay, but assuming we keep doing this, we’re either going to have to keep it quiet or, sooner or later, come out. How long do we keep this a secret? If I make it into office…”

  “We’ll deal with that when we get there.” I grinned cautiously. “At least in this case, I don’t have to worry about a candidate throwing me off his campaign for being a dirty fag.”

  Jesse laughed. “Okay, that’s true.” Touching my face, he said, “Did that ever bother you? Working on my uncle’s campaigns when he was so unsupportive of gay rights?”

  “It kept me awake at night sometimes, believe me,” I said quietly. “The thing is, usually he was just ambivalent about gay rights, whereas he’d be running against someone who was torch-and-pitchfork antigay.”

  “The lesser of two evils, then?”

  “Pretty much. Which is how it works on any level in politics. And if the choice comes down to someone who’s vehemently against an important issue versus someone who isn’t terribly vocal either way…” I shrugged.

  “I guess that makes sense.” A hint of a smirk played at his lips. “I’m assuming you don’t usually get involved with your candidates?”

  I laughed. “Prior to you, Jesse, I’d have said there was a snowball’s chance in hell of me ever getting involved with a candidate.” My humor faded, and I trailed my fingers up and down the side of his neck. “This could be career suicide for both of us, you know.”

  He slid his hand over the back of mine. “But here we are.”

  “The last place in the world we should be,” I whispered, leaning closer to him. “But what can I say? I’m willing to take the risk if you are.”

  His other hand snaked around the back of my neck and into my hair. Just before our lips met, he said, “Damn right I’m willing.”

  I kissed him, and there was no turning back. I’d already had him once, and damned if I was leaving this bed before I had him again, even if there was every reason for us to go our separate ways and pretend tonight had never happened.

  It happened.

  It was happening again.

  And this wouldn’t be the last time.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Jesse

  Like a philanderer trying not to get caught, I returned home as stealthily as I could. I dimmed my headlights on the way up the driveway, thankful for the moonlight that allowed me to make it around the fountain without clipping anything. I parked in front of the garage and left the engine idling as I went around to the side door. Once I’d keyed myself in, I opened the garage door manually—less noise than using the mechanical opener—and pulled my car in. Then I closed the garage door before going inside.

  I cringed as the security system chirped to announce it was disarmed. I swore it wasn’t usually that loud, and I froze, not even breathing, listening to the stillness for any indication Simone was awake.

  After almost a full minute of prolonged, nervous silence, I carefully pocketed my keys so they’d make as little noise as possible. I slipped off my shoes and carried them down the hall to my bedroom. As I closed the door behind me with a quiet—but still panic-inducing—click, I exhaled.

  And now that I was in the clear, I was still and silent for another long moment. I told myself I was just relieved I hadn’t disturbed Simone. It had nothing at all to do with the ache in my muscles or the fact that that ache felt suspiciously like the guilty one beneath my rib cage.

  It wasn’t cheating, I reminded myself again and again. Simone probably would have given me hell if I hadn’t taken Anthony up on the opportunity for a long-overdue night together, but it still didn’t feel right. And it didn’t feel safe with all the cameras and prying eyes watching my every move. But it felt so, so good. And wrong. And amazing.

  I closed my eyes and let my head gently fall back against the door. If there was one thing I was sure of right then, it was that I was too fucking tired to know which way was up, never mind what was right or wrong. Might as well sleep on it, or at least try to, and maybe I could make sense of something in the morning.

  Yeah. Right.

  I shouldered myself off the door, then quickly and quietly got undressed and into bed.

  I was exhausted. I swore my mind ached as much as my body did.

  But surprise, surprise, I couldn’t sleep.

  All too aware of the absence of Anthony’s warm skin against mine, I stared into the darkness. Beneath the covers, I absently turned my wedding ring around my finger with my thumb. Divorcing or not, these trysts ate at me. God, why did I let Roger talk me into running like this? Into running now instead of after I’d had a chance to settle things with Simone and get my life in some semblance of scandal-free order? On the one hand, I probably wouldn’t have met Anthony. On the other, I wouldn’t be trying to get elected as one of those rare honest politicians while using a completely dishonest tactic to polish up my personal life.

  I rubbed my eyes and cursed all the reasons for my sleeplessness. There had to be a way to calm some of this shit down. I could divorce Simone and spare us both the additional headache and heartache of pretending to be what we weren’t. I could, but we were in too deep now. Our public image had been established and was as good as written in blood.

  I sighed. Lots of luck getting the lid back on this can of worms, and I had no one to blame but myself for taking my uncle’s advice. Jesus, Anthony must have thought I was an idiot for that. Then again, I was new to this aspect of politics. I was new to most of it. There wasn’t a doubt in my mind that I could hold my own once I was in office, but this campaigning shit was completely
Greek to me.

  “Casey’s getting elected over my dead body,” I’d said to Roger half a year ago. “I’m ready for this. I know I am.”

  Put me in, Coach. I’m ready. Honest, I am.

  “And I have just the man to run your campaign,” Roger had said. “Do what he says, and the election’s as good as yours. You’re inexperienced, but you’re exactly what California needs.”

  “One slight problem, though.” I’d avoided my uncle’s eyes. “I’m gay.”

  Without missing a beat, he’d said, “Not if you want to win this election, you’re not.”

  “Um, except I’m—”

  “Listen, son.” Hand on my shoulder. Head tilt. “You’ve got something Casey doesn’t, which is a solid marriage.”

  “What about the part where Simone and I are planning to div—”

  “Isn’t important.” He’d waved a hand and shaken his head. “What you have now is a marriage that’s lasted several years without any affairs or public blowups. You want to beat a crowd favorite like Casey? You use every potential advantage you have.”

  “And if Simone’s not on board with this?”

  Roger had given that laugh that bordered on condescending. “She will be, son. You and I both know that.”

  I know, I’d thought. That was what I was afraid of.

  “His weaknesses are your strengths, Jesse,” he’d said. “The voters will love your policies, and you’ll be a breath of fresh air over that idiot. Don’t shoot yourself in the foot by creating a scandal. You’re too early in your career and pushing for too big an office to take that chance. The public’s going to have a hard enough time trusting you. A recently divorced and openly homosexual candidate is a risk, something people just aren’t…aren’t sure about. You need to prove you’re worth putting into office before the people will trust you. You’re inexperienced but more than qualified, son, and the voters will see that. Tell them you’re homosexual and divorcing America’s sweetheart? You’ll never have that chance.”

  I’d wanted to disagree. I wanted to believe California was as progressive as it thought it was. I really did. Just last year, though, a slimy former bank exec who’d been involved in the crash of 2008 won a congressional seat over an openly gay—and spectacularly qualified—opponent. Much as it killed me to admit it, my only shot at winning this election was as a straight man.

  A married straight man.

  “Maybe I shouldn’t run this time, then,” I’d said. “If Simone and I divorce now, by the time the next election comes around—”

  “There isn’t a qualified candidate in sight. It’s you or Casey in California’s future.”

  “But what about Simone? She’s itching to just be done with the divorce, and I don’t want to stress her out with the election.”

  “She’ll be fine,” he’d said with a dismissive gesture.

  “Assuming she doesn’t have a breakdown or something,” I’d said. “You know she doesn’t deal well with stress, and I don’t want to push her over the edge.”

  Roger had fallen silent for a long moment, furrowing his brow and presumably mulling everything over in his head. I’d thought he might agree that running wasn’t wise at this point, but then he’d put his hand on my shoulder again and said, “She’s a strong woman. She’ll be fine, Jesse.”

  Simone had echoed his assurances that she’d be fine and wouldn’t even hear of me refusing to run.

  “This is what you’ve dreamed of all your life,” she’d said with that glowing smile. “Don’t you dare pass up this opportunity.” And with a flippant shrug, she’d added, “It’s only a few months. Maybe a year if we don’t divorce right away after the election. Jesse, honey, it’ll be fine, and it’ll be worth it in the end.”

  And now here we were.

  In spite of stress and my guilty conscience, I eventually fell asleep, and I dreamed about the campaign, sex with Anthony, getting caught having sex with Anthony, and having sex with him anyway, even if it fucked my campaign all to hell. In one dream, I panicked so badly I woke in a cold sweat, certain we really had gotten caught fucking on a hotel balcony in front of hundreds of cameras. After another, I was so beyond giving a shit about anything, especially facing reams of tabloids with their damning photos, I woke with dull apathy still pressing down on my shoulders.

  By the time the sun came up, I was still exhausted from last night and doubly tired from dreaming about it. Guilt still chewed the edges of my conscience, but with that delicious soreness in my legs and hips, I couldn’t help indulging in a damned good mood.

  I got up, swam in my own pool for once, and showered, and as I dried off, I glanced in the mirror. A couple of shadowy marks on my hip brought a grin to my lips. I always had been one to bruise easily, and with someone like Anthony, I supposed it was inevitable. He could be gentle, but my God, when he wanted to, he could let loose and be so, so deliciously rough. If I’d known during my college years just how amazing it would be to let another man top me, I’d have said to hell with discretion and control and all of that nonsense. In exchange for an orgasm like that—like all the ones he’d given me—political suicide just didn’t seem like such a big deal.

  Goose bumps prickled along the length of my spine, following the path his lips had taken during a slow interlude while we’d caught our breath last night. This morning? Sometime before I came home, anyway.

  Before I came home at oh dark thirty and hoped to God I didn’t wake my wife.

  At that, I groaned, and my good mood threatened to fade. I swallowed the rising guilt, though, and reminded myself I hadn’t broken any rules. I hadn’t done anything wrong. Still, Simone had to know where I’d gone last night, and I couldn’t imagine she was thrilled about it.

  Whether or not she was happy about last night, she certainly made a good show of being cheerful when I walked into the kitchen.

  She looked up from pouring cream into her coffee and smiled. “Morning.”

  “Morning.”

  “Coffee?”

  “God, yes.”

  She snickered. “Tired, are we?”

  I eyed her as I reached into the cabinet for a mug. “A little.”

  The knowing grin on her face twisted my gut into knots, but I needed some caffeine before I even tried to broach the subject.

  As I poured my coffee, Simone said, “By the way, you’ll be pleased to know that after you and Anthony left, I had a lovely evening with your family. Especially Chris and Julie.” She emphasized my sister-in-law’s name with a note of disgust.

  I grimaced. “Sorry.”

  With an exaggerated scowl, she said, “You owe me so big.”

  “Name your price.”

  “How about a free pass to get out of the Cameron family dinner engagement of my choosing?”

  I laughed and cradled my coffee cup between both hands, waiting for it to cool enough to drink. “Hey, if you get a pass like that, I want one too.”

  “They’re your family,” she said with a shrug. “You’re stuck with them. I’m not. Daughter-in-law’s privilege.”

  “Where was that in the rule book?”

  “Page thirty-seven, section three,” she said. “Under the section marked ‘how a girl can stay sane when she’s married into a fucked-up family like this.’”

  I chuckled.

  “So what’s on your agenda today?” she asked.

  “Same shit, different day.” I tested the sides of my coffee cup to see if it had cooled at all. “I can’t even keep track of what’s going on most of the time. I just go where Anthony and Ranya tell me to.”

  “Sounds like a good plan.” She sipped her coffee. “I don’t know how you keep up with those two. They send me or my assistant a calendar, and I about have heart failure.”

  “At least they both understand things like physics and travel time,” I said. “Roger’s campaign manager before Anthony, oh my God.” I rolled my eyes. “He’d line Roger up for appearances in San Diego and San Jose in the same afternoon, and expect
him in Sacramento for a dinner.”

  “Oh, God. I might have had to hurt someone.”

  “No kidding.”

  “Oh, that reminds me,” she said. “Speaking of people who I sometimes want to hurt, I got a call from my agent yesterday.”

  “Is that right?” I brought my coffee cup to my lips and cautiously took a sip.

  She nodded. “About a potential sequel to Black River.”

  “Seriously?” I leaned against the counter. “I didn’t think they were going to do a sequel to that one.”

  Simone shrugged. “Apparently Edwin’s got a hair up his ass and wants to direct a second, possibly a third film.”

  “You going to do it?”

  “I want to see the script before I sign anything in blood,” she said. “But if anyone can pull it off, it’s Edwin. So, probably.”

  “That’s great,” I said. “If it’s anything like the first one, people will love it.”

  She held up her free hand with her fingers crossed. “Here’s hoping.” She set her coffee cup down and reached for the pot. “So did you and Anthony have a good time last night?”

  I nearly dropped my own coffee. “What? I…um…”

  Simone laughed. “Come on, I know you two weren’t dealing with campaign crap last night. Not after the way you guys spent dinner eye fucking each other from across the table.” My face burned, and she giggled. “It’s okay, Jess. You know I’m fine with it.”

  “Well, yeah, I know, but…” I hesitated. “Are you really sure this doesn’t bother you?”

  She laughed again, too easily this time. “No, of course it doesn’t.” She playfully narrowed her eyes. “And I know what you two were doing, so don’t even try to deny it.”

  I cleared my throat and dropped my gaze, focusing on my coffee. “We…um…yeah, we had a good time.”

  “So he’s good, then?”

  “Simone!”

  She snickered. “Oh come on. He’s gorgeous, but he’s gay. At least indulge me and let me live vicariously through you.”