The Belle and the Beard

by Kate Canterbary

  "I wouldn't have pegged you for a dancer."

  "Babe, you haven't pegged me at all."

  "Not yet," she said with a wicked laugh. "Forget the dance floor. I'm sure there's a locker room or two around here. A lady golfer lounge or something like that. Maybe an extra cloak room or a deserted office."

  I loved this girl. I did, I loved her. "Now you're talking."

  We slipped out the side door and down the hallway past the entry and the huge stone fireplace there. It was quiet out here, the party barely a murmur in the distance, and it seemed certain we'd find a place to be alone.

  Until we ran into Ash and Zelda.

  "What are you doing down here?" I asked.

  "What are we doing here?" he asked, his arm tight around Zelda's waist. "I could ask you the same question."

  "But I asked you first."

  "Boys," Zelda said firmly.

  With an exaggerated sigh and an equally unnecessary eyeroll, Ash leaned toward me, angling himself away from Zelda. "There's a room back there."

  "I figured as much," I said, my voice low.

  "Make sure you lock the door," he murmured. "Uncle Bart got lost on his way to the bathroom and…well, thankfully he has no idea what's going on at any moment ever but make sure you lock it."

  "What are you, seventeen? Of course I'll lock the fucking door." Matching his eyeroll, I said, "You better get back out there. People are starting to think I'm you and congratulating us on the engagement."

  "So? Only a matter of time, isn't it?"

  "Get your girl a scarf or something. You left beard rash all over her neck." He glanced back at Zelda as I muttered, "Amateur."

  He patted my lapels, saying, "Lock the door. All right?"

  We parted, Ash and Zelda heading back to the ballroom as Jasper and I located the door in need of locking. I paid no attention to the room, didn't even look around before popping the lock and shoving Jasper back against the solid panel.

  "We have to make this quick," she whispered against my lips. "Anyone could walk in at any moment."

  She said this though it didn't stop her from palming my cock over my trousers or edging me closer to her with a leg hooked around my hip.

  I groaned into her neck when her rhythm intensified. I pressed my teeth to her skin, not enough to mark but just enough to taste her, to feel the thrum of her pulse beneath her skin. "Then you should hurry, Peach."

  "What should I do?" she asked, her hips bucking against mine. "If I have to be quick, what should I do to you?"

  "Anything you want." I wanted to tear that dress right off her. If we weren't obligated to rejoin this party at some point, I would. "Anything, Jas."

  Her head thunked back against the door as her body arched toward mine. "You're going to get me all wrinkled," she said, her words breathy. "We can't have that."

  "Don't see why not," I said, licking a line up her neck. "We can get away with it. We're madly in love and getting married. Of course I'd drag you into the nearest corner to ravish you."

  The amount of risk involved in saying those words out loud…fuck. It could all go up in flames right now.

  "It seems that we are," she said, laughing. "But I think I'd rather be the one doing the ravishing tonight."

  Jasper slid down the door, working my zipper as she went, and before I could grumble about her slipping out of my hold, she was on her knees with my cock in her mouth. No teasing, no prelude. Just my cock on her tongue and her lips tight around me. I couldn't see, couldn't think. The only sounds were my own gasps and the pulse pounding in my head. I braced my forearms on the door because I couldn't fuck up her hair, even if I wanted to pull it so fucking bad. Without thought, my hips surged forward and an angry, near-vicious growl rattled up from the depths of my chest.

  I'd wanted to hold back a bit. I'd wanted her to set the pace. That was what I'd intended. I didn't succeed. Not when my body was twisting with need like no other, just boiling. I didn't care whether this lasted two minutes or two hours. It was mind-blowing and perfect, and most importantly, I loved her.

  "Peach," I rasped, my hand settling on her shoulder. It was the only part of her I could touch. "Jasper, I'm—oh, fuck, I'm—ah, fuuuuck."

  She hummed around me and that was the ballgame. That was it. She dug her nails into my thighs, my ass, and every last inch of me vibrated. My hips snapped against her face in fast, almost frantic thrusts. Her tongue worked the underside of my shaft in the most amazing way. There was pale pink lipstick all over me and, for reasons I didn't understand at all, that pushed me over the edge.

  A snarling roar came loose from inside as I rode out the bone-shaking spasms and I kept that hand steady on her, my fingers rubbing small circles into her shoulder while she swallowed me down. A shudder moved through me as I continued jerking and pulsing on her tongue. It seemed endless, as if orgasms achieved in moments like these were that much longer.

  When it was over, Jasper took my shaft in hand, still thick and heavy and throbbing for more, and dusted light kisses over my skin before tucking me back into my pants. I cupped her chin, tipped her face up, and stroked my thumb over her lips. I loved her.

  For a moment, we stayed right there, Jasper in a pool of barely-yellow sunlight and me looming over her. I wanted to tell her—to tell her everything—but there were no words for this moment. And they didn't belong here, not really. This wasn't the place for those confessions. Not the right time.

  "Here's what's going to happen now," I said, my thumb still tracing her lips. They were pink and swollen, and I bet they tasted like me. "I'm going to help you to your feet and I'm going to give you a minute to fix your face before we go back out there. Then, we're saying our goodbyes. Don't you dare think about chatting anyone up. If you do, you're the one who will suffer. It's an hour between here and home and I like watching you squirm so I won't be the one to make you feel better until you're stripped bare and flat on our bed. Understand, Peach?"

  A rebellious breath burst from her lips and she arched her brows up. "Maybe I'll be the one to make myself feel better."

  I held out my hand. There was a second where it seemed like she wasn't interested in taking it but she did. She also ran her tits along my chest as she stood so we were even. "You can try but you won't get what you need."

  "Mmhmm." She raked a glance over me, saying, "Seems like we should be on our way then."

  25

  Jasper

  This bathroom gave new meaning to vintage. It was the sort of throwback that was almost old enough to be in fashion again but in an antique, historical way. Unlike the rest of Midge's house, this room wasn't falling apart or the site of any unfortunate bat nesting. It was just really old.

  Sitting on the lip of the tub, I ran a hand down the mint green tiles that covered the walls and the border of shiny black tiles capped off the art deco look. The problem was, all of this minty splendor seemed to be in decent condition. It wasn't moldy or cracked or even faded. It was just…old. That, and I knew nothing about fixing up bathrooms, which left me with nothing to do in here.

  If I didn't have a week or two of work in the bathroom, I had to put my energy into Midge's room instead. There was nothing else for me to do. It was the bathroom or the only other room I'd avoided. I didn't make the rules.

  "All right. I guess I'm ripping out some tile," I said to the empty space.

  Before I could lift my trusty crowbar to the mint chip, my phone vibrated across the floor, a number I didn't recognize flashing on the screen.

  I knew better than to answer calls from unknown numbers but— "Hello?"

  "Hey! Is this Jasper-Anne Cleary?"

  Immediately, I went on high alert. I should not have answered. It was a bad idea to take calls from anyone. I didn't need to fumble my way through a "no comment" with another reporter.

  "Yes," I said, though it came out like a question.

  "Okay, great, cool. This is Dino Thatcher-Wheelwright with the NCVC."

  He paused and I had to believe t
hat pause was meant for me to respond with something like "Oh, the NCVC, of course, how's Marsha doing these days? She still with you guys or what?" but I had no idea. It could be the North Carolina Veterans' Coalition or the Nevada Commission on Visitor Commerce or—

  "Northern California Voters Count," he said, chuckling just enough to forgive me for not knowing. "I bet you see your share of acronyms, huh?"

  "Show me someone in this business who hasn't." My words sounded rusty, like I hadn't spoken out loud in days.

  "The reason for my call, Jasper-Anne"—I didn't invite him to call me Jasper because I needed to know what he wanted before I could do anything else—"is we're hoping you want to come on out to California and help us get a few new members of Congress elected."

  "I want—what? What did you say?"

  "I hear ya, this is a big change of pace. NorCal is a totally different world, and that's just in regard to the rest of California, never mind the East Coast politics game."

  I found myself saying, "Mmhmm."

  "And we know you're a big-time player in that game while we're small potatoes but we also know you've had your fill of business as usual in Washington."

  Again— "Mmhmm."

  "I'll be straight with you," he continued. "We don't have the humanpower to get it done by ourselves. We're damn good at turning out voters and we've had some early success fielding a bench of candidates to run in state and local races, but we don't have the smarts to get them elected. That's where you come in."

  By now, I was in the mint green tub, my knees to my chest and my head on the wall and my hand cramping because my grip on the phone could be categorized as one of those crazy adrenaline feats of strength. "Mmhmm."

  "The team is pumped about getting to know you. We would love it if we could get a day or two with you, on site, to see if this is the path you want to tumble down next."

  It took me a moment to realize it was my turn to speak. "On site," I repeated. "You're looking for me to visit you in California?"

  "I know it's short notice but we could fly you out tomorrow. If you can't swing that, we can make it work later in the week."

  "Tomorrow." My entire conversational strategy centered around repeating him—and it seemed to be working.

  "Yeah, obviously it's suuuuuuper short notice but we figured you didn't have too much going on right now."

  That hurt. A little. Just enough to get me out of this echo stupor. "Dino, I appreciate the call. Great to hear about what you're doing and I'm all for initiatives like this one. Before I can commit to flying to California, I need to engage in some due diligence and see if my schedule has any flexibility."

  "Got it, got it. Here's what I can do for you. I'll shoot you some of our documents and a snapshot of the team's availability this week and early next. If you feel like our paths might align, I'll have our ops manager reach out to coordinate the travel arrangements. We're running a lean show here so I can't promise anything like you're used to but—"

  I snorted. "Don't worry about that part, Dino. Every campaign operates on a shoestring. Even the ones that look like they have it made."

  "It's those insider secrets we need," he said with a laugh. "That and enough dirty tricks to send a few incumbents packing."

  There were too many emotions exploding inside me to properly process Dino's parting remarks. There was some denial in there, to be sure, but I let excitement and relief and pride—I was back!—crowd out the unsavory bits.

  I was out of the bathtub and sprinting across the backyard in an instant, the raw November wind cutting through my clothes in a too-late reminder I'd left Midge's house without my coat. But it didn't matter. I was nearly home and I'd warm up while I looked into the NCVC, the organization that wanted me to transform Northern California's political scene.

  It sounded simple enough but that region was a mosaic of people and competing interests, and it was nothing like Southern California. The opportunity to get in there and make something happen was immense. And it would be all mine.

  When I reached my laptop on the kitchen table, my hands were shaking so hard from the rush of it all, I couldn't type. I just sat there, my entire body caught in an endless shiver, and let the tears fill my eyes.

  I'd kept going. I'd put my head down and let it all blow over. Just like always, I'd survived. I'd made it through. I'd survived.

  26

  Linden

  I returned home to find Jasper crying in the kitchen. Elbows on the closed lid of her laptop, head in her hands, hiccup-gasp crying.

  Seeing as this wasn't the first time I'd come upon Jasper crying, I could've learned something from the past rather than repeating those mistakes. Instead, I dropped a wooden crate of assorted cranberry products gifted to me from a client on the countertop and asked, "What happened?"

  Jasper started, of course, popping out of her seat and flattening a hand to her chest. She blotted her cheeks on her sleeve and sucked in a steadying breath. "You scared the hell out of me. What are you slamming and yelling for?"

  "I came home and you're sitting here crying, Peach. I don't like seeing that. Who did this to you? If it's that ex of yours bothering you again, he can direct his inquiries to me. I'll handle Preston from this point forward, okay?"

  She tore a wad of paper towel from the roll. "It's not Preston but your vehemence is extra special today."

  I set my hands on her waist and waited as she thoroughly blew her nose. "Should I keep guessing?"

  Leaning back against the cabinets, she said, "I got a job offer."

  "You—what? When?"

  She waved with the balled-up paper towels. "This afternoon. I got a call from a candidate farm and—"

  "In English, Jasper. English."

  Again with the paper towel, she said, "An organization that prioritizes races and develops a roster of candidates to take out incumbents or go after historically uncontested or uncompetitive seats. They raise money to grow candidates."

  "And…" I couldn't finish that sentence.

  "And they want me to fly out to California to meet with their team. They want me to run the farm."

  As was always the case with Jasper, several things were true at once. She sounded happy but she was shaking, there was a proud, slightly haughty gleam in her eye but she'd been sobbing a minute ago, and she hated this stuff but clearly believed the offer was a step forward after taking a million steps back.

  And she wanted me to share her enthusiasm even when this job was an airplane flight away.

  "Where exactly is this job? This farm?"

  "Northern California. The office is based in Sacramento but the work would include everything north of San Francisco." The way she said this told me it hadn't occurred to her that was the opposite side of the country. If she knew, she didn't care. "Come on. Say something. You can't just stand there, staring at me. My day went from almost demolishing a bathroom—"

  "You almost did what?"

  "—to a political action committee wanting me to run their operation. It's been a day, Lin."

  "I'm happy for you," I managed. "But, Jasper, babe, Peach, I didn't think you wanted to do that anymore."

  A beat passed before she deflated, her shoulders dropping, her gaze falling to the floor. Even the hand clutching the paper towels drooped to her side.

  "I have to do something."

  "No, you don't. There's no reason you have to do anything. You've said it yourself. You can swing a couple more months before you make any decisions."

  "Just because I can doesn't mean I should," she replied.

  "Maybe it does, Jas."

  "I can't—I can't sit here all day, painting and repainting walls and organizing old junk. Okay? I can't do this. But I can go to California and raise some viable candidates. So what if I hate it? So what? Everyone hates their job. It's not special to me. It's everyone. And I'm good at it! I am good at this, even if I hate it. It's the best I've got. Okay?"

  I shook my head and that was not the right response, not b
y a mile, but I wasn't going to watch her lie to herself. "Then stop repainting walls. Do something else. Do whatever the fuck you want but only because you want to do it."

  "Maybe I want to run a candidate farm. Have you considered that? Maybe I want to shake up Northern California. It's a lot less progressive than people expect."

  I crossed my arms over my chest. "Is that right?"

  "Very much. I can't ignore the opportunity to do something important."

  "It's interesting how you can't ignore this but you can ignore your own needs and interests indefinitely."

  An irritable sound rattled in her throat. "Why can't you just be happy for me?"

  "Why can't you stop punishing yourself?"

  The look on her face—I thought I'd seen every shade of Jasper's fury but I was wrong. Irrevocably wrong. "You have no clue what you're talking about."

  "No? Really? You're sure about that?" Her only response was a glare that reminded me of the day we met—and how my first impression was that she could destroy humans without breaking a sweat. "You worked for Timbrooks to spite your backward family. You stayed married to a guy after he left the country. You forced yourself to stay in Midge's cottage despite the squalor over there, and you've chosen to be a victim the past few months rather than the hero everyone who's fed up with the bullshit political games thinks you are."

  "Once again, you know everything about me."

  "Once again," I countered, "I know what I see. For fuck's sake, Jasper, you dressed as Cruella de Vil for Halloween because you think you are some awful devil woman."

  "Would you just get over the Cruella thing? My god. I knew I should've said I was Moira Rose but I figured kids wouldn't understand the Schitt's Creek reference."

  She tossed the paper towel to the table and closed her fingers around the back of a chair. Her hair was a wreck, as if she'd been shoving her fingers through it, and her eyes were swollen. She looked like she'd lived through something significant the same way people in hundred-year-old photographs did. Haunted, wary—and un-fucking-stoppable. She was still standing and she wasn't going to let me forget it.