by Hazel Grace
“Hang around, if you can,” I tell her, almost reaching out to shake her hand, but I need it on the little bundle on my shoulder. “What’s your name?”
“Rose McGunis, sir.”
“Rose,” I repeat. “If you’d like, I’d love to do an interview with you. Whatever you want, nothing off the record.”
Her brown eyes widen. “Are you serious?”
I nod. “Yeah. Just let me finish with this little one and—” She extends her palms out.
“Take your time. I’m going to go snap some more pictures and stuff, but I’ll be back.”
“Alright, just come get me when you’re done.”
She begins to back up to leave, eyes still glimmered in shock and excitement. “Thank you so much, Mr. President. I’m so appreciative.”
“Anytime, Rose.” She takes off and another speck of paint hits my nose.
“What are you the president of?” the little girl I’m holding asks me.
“Of the United States,” I reply, turning my body so she can go back to her painting.
“How do you become a president?”
By doing a lot of shady-ass shit, kid.
“Working hard,” I tell her instead.
“Do you get to boss people around?”
“Yep.”
“Do you get to wear a crown?”
I chuckle. “No.”
“I’m going to be a princess then.”
“I think that’s a better job.”
“Why didn’t you become a princess?” I look up at her peering down at me with blue paint now drying on the brush.
“Do you think I’d look good in a dress?”
She wrinkles her nose. “No way.”
“I agree.”
“I second that,” replies a male voice behind us. Pivoting me and the little girl around again, I almost squeeze her poor little leg off. My whole body goes ridged as I stare at Grant Hardison gaping at me like a fucking idiot.
A dead fucking idiot.
The words off the tip of my tongue aren’t for the little girl’s ears that I’ve just adopted for the past few minutes, nor do I want her to think “that one president she met as a kid was a real asshole”.
Setting her down, I squat to align face-to-face with her short frame. “Thank you for helping me. Why don’t you go find your parents so I can do a couple of president things.”
She quickly hands me over the messy brush with blue paint all over the handle. “Okay, I’m going to go do something more fun.”
“You go do that, this is boring.” She doesn’t argue and skips away from me and down the steps of the porch, leaving me with a portion of the bane of my existence. Seeing him brings the vision of that video standing forefront in my mind yet again.
“Senator,” I greet monotonously. “What brings you to grace us with your presence today?”
He takes a step towards me and shrugs. “It’s not every day you have the President of the United States in your midst. Besides, I wanted to show my support to the community. What you’ve started here, Mr. President, is remarkable.”
“Appreciate it,” I deadpan.
He nods to my brush. “Need any help painting?”
“Wouldn’t want to mess up your suit.”
“Ah, that’s true.” He points an index finger at me. “You know my ex-fiancée used to live here.”
I try to keep my face blank. “You don’t say.”
“Yeah, you know her...Reagan Shelton.” My stomach twists at the sound of her name out loud.
What the fuck this dickhead is getting at, I have no idea, but it’s going to end up with him disappearing if he doesn’t get the hell away from me.
“I do know Miss Shelton,” I reply. “She worked with me on my fundraisers.”
“Moved to New York,” he continues. “Good girl.” I don’t respond, just continue staring at him to make whatever point it is he came here for so he can fuck off.
He shifts his weight to his other foot and adjusts his glasses that rest on his nose.
I don’t know what she saw in him.
Why she let him fuck her when clearly he’s a fucking idiot. How she believed marrying him would do something for her. I can clearly say that people like Grant and Demi won’t make life worth living. There is no gold at the end of the rainbow or anything to write home about.
“Should’ve kept her,” he states. “She was…” He stops his next words, letting me fill them in with my colorful imagination.
Thing is, I don’t need his comments to make my insight or imagination make a play of what he’s done.
I’ve fucking seen it.
I know it. I’m fully aware of how much of a dream it is to live in Reagan’s world, how sweet she tastes, how her violet eyes look when she’s about to come in a cloud of ecstasy that I made for her.
Yeah, I’m fully informed.
“If you’re in need of a boy talk about ex-lovers, Hardison,” I surmise. “I’m not the homie kinda guy.”
Grant chuckles. “My bad, Mr. President. You have more important things to deal with besides pussy—you are happily married, after all.”
“Good seeing you,” I dismiss, needing to get the hell out of here. “Feel free to pick up a paintbrush over there—” I point at a house across the street and away from me. “—and make one of the houses in your town look nice.”
Grant glances down at his maroon suit. “Didn’t come prepared.”
“Did you think we were going to stare at the houses and they were going to magically paint themselves, Senator?” His brows furrow.
Yes, Hardison, I’m still the same motherfucking asshole you heard about before I won this gig.
“Thought I’d leave it to the man who bought himself into our hearts,” he retorts.
My lips curl into a smile. “Something you had to dip out of if I remember correctly.”
That’s when I see his face transform. A line appears between his brows, his face turns a shade of pink, and his hands turn into fists at his sides.
“Personal reasons,” he chides with a seriousness to his tone.
I nod. “Of course. Personal reasons.” I stride in his direction to get off this porch and the hell away from this assclown. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to wrap this up and do an interview. Time’s limited.”
“Absolutely, Mr. President.” I want to purposely bump into his shoulder because that’s what us guys do when we can’t lay into someone’s face, but I do what my role tells me to do and take the higher road.
I hit the edge of the steps heading down to the sidewalk, but the asshole in me isn’t done yet.
“And Senator…” He pivots on his heels to face me. “Next time you want to make a change, come prepared. I’m not going to approve a project you’re not willing to roll your sleeves up and do yourself.”
His jaw tightens, but he bows his head before I leave him there to stare daggers at the back of my skull.
I take that back.
I’ll never approve his shit because of the active role he played with the woman who was never supposed to be touched by anyone other than myself.
♫ Malibu Nights — LANY ♫
His warm and wet hand slides up my spine while his lips brush along the column of my neck. Not only is the water extremely warm in this hot tub but my body kicked up a few notches from his hard dick rubbing in between my legs and along the thin fabric of my bathing suit.
He’s teasing us both, but he’ll be the one that caves before I do—he always does. I’m always too in my head most of the time. He can never fully stop the memories or the double-guessing that repeatedly scream at me.
“I’ve waited too long for this,” he mutters against my skin. “When are you coming home for good?” I almost scoff but refrain.
I can’t come back to Connecticut, and he knows this. My reputation took the biggest shit imaginable, and there’s nothing I could do to wipe it clean. My life here is over, crushed, dissipated into ashes—just like Mama’s house
.
“I gotta call it an early night,” I vouch, adjusting myself in his lap. “Mama wants to start moving in the morning.” The pads of his fingertips dig into my lower back like he has a choice in the matter.
He doesn’t.
He’s never going to because he’s not what I need. I’m afraid I’ll never get to that spot again.
“How long do I have?”
“About an hour.” The bottom material of my yellow bikini is moved to the side as Jed presses another kiss to my neck.
“I’m going to fuck you until you can’t forget me,” he whispers, adjusting his bathing suit to take his cock out. “Open your legs wider for me.”
I do, which descends me lower and closer to his hard dick. I don’t wait for permission as I slide down on him, making Jed’s head fall back in pure bliss and torture.
When I come home, we fuck.
When I leave, he whines.
Something you think I’d be used to, but honestly, it was never something I built a tolerance for. Even when we were kids, Jed never wanted to leave me, always wanted to sneak into my house to lay in bed with me.
I swear the guy was insane but ballsy because before Marty left for the Marines, he would’ve gone to prison instead for killing Jed if he found him anywhere near me and a bed.
I try to convince myself that I don’t know why I continue fucking with him, but I know. I just choose to ignore it each and every single time I cave and meet up with him.
It’s because I’m comfortable with him when I’m so uncomfortable in New York. When I’m conflicted because I’m not supposed to be there, I should be home, close to Mama and in my own house. I should be building my old company and thriving underneath all my hard work.
I should let old memories die.
Instead, I’m in a busy city, feeling more lonely than I did before due to bad decision-making and selfishness. I have a groove and steady schedule, it’s just not what I dreamt in my head. I've made some friends, which is a big step for me, but it’s not Mama and Marty and the life I built for us. It’s a whole other existence that doesn’t feel real. I’m just waiting to wake up from it.
In the midst of my “dream”, tack on the other fuck buddy I have named Enzo in New York and you got yourself one hell of a mess named Reagan Shelton. The girl who was sent to exile while the other half of said bad decision-making got to become President of the United States.
You know how Peter Griffin in Family Guy says “it grinds my gears”, well it’s way past that.
His power, he hid behind it. He could use it to make shit “better”. Nothing about his dream was altered or harmed in any way. Mine, however—little ‘ole civilian over here—I’ll never be able to make it right.
Ever.
“I swear, you feel better and better each time,” Jed extolls before slowly pulling out of me just to gradually slide back in.
“Stop teasing me,” I breathe, giving his hair a gentle yank. “Just—” He doesn’t let me finish, already aware of what I’m going to say.
Which is shut up and fuck me.
He begins to pick up the pace. The water splashing in every direction, but it doesn’t deter Jed from plunging into me harder.
“Fuck,” he growls, dragging my bikini top away from one of my tits. He immediately palms it, flicking the nipple, which elicits a faint moan from me. “We could have this every night. Just me and you.”
We could.
If you didn’t remind me of the shit I’ve done.
If I could stop living in the past.
If I could rid myself fully of the man who walked away unscathed.
Not only have I literally fucked Jed over with Grant, but I used him again to crush Wade.
Jed is like a walking, talking pawn that I’ve used for my own gains and sporadic, petty ideas.
I’d tell him that I’m no good for him—I have before, but he refuses to listen to me. He always wants to come back for more.
Come home to him.
And because I like to plunge into my own self-loathing as of late, I dive in headfirst.
I get lost in Jed while I’m home, and I let Enzo screw my brains out when I’m in New York.
It takes the edge off.
It makes me slightly buzzed and high without the weed. It helps me believe that I can survive and withstand the things that have happened in the course of a year.
The nights alone are the worst though. That’s when I break out a joint and inhale myself into an alpine high just to sleep.
Jed’s hands land on my hips. “Stand up, babe.” I do what he asks, and he twirls me around to sit on the edge of the hot tub. The steam off our bodies floats around us as he pulls out a condom from his shorts lying on the edge of the hot tub and rips the wrapper with his teeth. Sheathed, he looms forward and shoves my bottoms away again.
His lips press into mine, slowly taking his time before he positions himself against my clit. Rubbing his head along my sensitive area, he breaks his mouth from mine and pulls back to look into my eyes. Then he slowly enters me, his jaw slack as my pussy squeezes around him.
Just the look of pleasure on his face makes me wetter. That my body is something that he lavishes in makes me feel beautiful and wanted—things I haven’t felt in a long time from someone that I wanted to feel those things with.
“Mhmm...Rea…” He nudges deeper into me. “Wrap your legs around me.”
Shrouding around him, he’s able to get closer, deeper until we’re chest to chest and he’s balls deep inside me.
He starts to pump leisurely inside me, watching my face to get off more. His eyes are dark in the moonlight, burrowing into me as he picks up his momentum.
“Yeah,” I moan. “Just like that.” He bites his lower lip, keeping his hands on either side of me but taunting me without his touch.
One thing about Jed is that he keeps me wanting more when he gets going. He may nag me to come home to be with him, but when it comes to sex, he knows how to rope me in and keep me landing back here.
He glances down between us, watching himself enter in and out of me, always linked somehow no matter what has happened in our lives.
“You’re so fucking wet,” he growls. “I wonder if I touch your clit if you’ll soak my cock up with this pussy.” I practically mewl at the thought, but he does nothing to test his theory.
He wants me to beg, knowing that I’ll stretch my pride and drive myself crazy thinking about it.
Craning his head back to eye level with me, he nudges himself a little deeper than the last thrust just to watch my head tilt back some. “That feel good, Rea?”
I nod, pride and all, and watch a smirk slowly appear on his face.
“Are you going to come all over my cock for me?”
Another nod.
“Am I going to hear my name off your lips?”
No.
The pad of his thumb brushes my clit, and I sway towards him as he begins to torturously work my sensitive nub.
“Shit,” I rumble, seizing his shoulders and squeezing his muscles.
“I’m going to go faster,” he states. “I need to feel how much this pussy wants to milk my cock.”
He picks up his momentum, still strumming my clit, while my stomach clenches and builds.
“Fuck me, yes,” he groans as I slide a little off the edge to take him deeper. “My girl wants more. I’m going to give you all of it, every inch, baby.”
“Don’t stop,” I order, on the verge of breaking apart. “Give it to me.”
That was the key sentence for him to break out all his pent-up frustration because Jed starts to pound into me like his life depended on it, hitting the right spot over and over again.
“Yes,” I pant. “Yes, yes…” I rupture over the edge in pure euphoria as Jed continues to drive himself into me. A second later, he pulls out, jerking his cock and finishing into his condom.
Exalted, I can’t move, tired and flying high right now in the spacious clouds in the sky. Jed remove
s his condom and pulls me to him, sinking us deeper into the hot water that immediately relaxes my whole body.
We don’t speak, for many reasons.
He’s caught up in his head already about my leaving to go back to New York. I won’t be back home for a while because I have a wedding next week then another event for an art gallery.
And I’m deflecting guilt away from this moment.
Jed deserves more than me.
I'll never be able to give him what he needs. Especially since half of my heart is missing.
The click of my lock echoes behind the door, reminding me that Mama is already tucked away in her new home and I’m alone again. That I have to finally face it because before I was able to hide behind her and now my curtain is gone.
Stepping inside, the moon seeps through the open windows, illuminating the sectional couch and coffee table. The cheap hardwood floors are clean, ricocheting the light off the white cabinets of my kitchen. My kitchen island stares back at me, forcing me to remember.
Forcing me to remember him.
Him and his carryout bags as he made himself comfortable in my home. A place where no other man has entered besides my buddy, Andy. The way his crystal blue eyes dredged into my chest and melted through my steel walls.
It feels like he’s still here. Like he’s penetrated into the structure of my home and will forever be within it.
With my back against the door, I lock it along with a deep breath. I only have to be in this home for a few hours. Mama is all moved in, she forced me to come here to get my “things back in order” and apparently spending the night two times in a row at her crib wasn’t going to fly.
Flicking on the lights in my kitchen, I open the fridge for a beer, only to find lemonade and milk. Marty has been gone since right after Christmas so Mama has already cleaned it out probably over a dozen times.
Glancing back over to my living room, I eye the couch, thinking it might be my best option for sleep tonight. My bedroom is tainted with flashbacks that I don’t want to relive but the sectional isn’t any better for me.