Power Switch: Power Play Series Book 3

by Mitchell, Kennedy L.

  Pleading hazel eyes flick between mine and the floor.

  Unease tightens my gut. Nerves have me shifting on the balls of my feet with eagerness. “And what did he request, Randi?”

  “He doesn't want to look like a fool if we're caught together when he and I are supposedly a couple.”

  “Okay,” I say, not understanding.

  “That means giving up what time we have alone for a while. With the mole we have on the team, it wouldn’t be smart for us to even be together in this house. So we have to put a pause on… on us.”

  I stand before she can finish. The oriental rug slides under the heel of my dress shoes as I turn to put some much-needed space between her and me. Hurt blends with anger merging with heartache as I pace from one side of the library to the other. The back of my neck burns as she tracks my movements.

  “You say you love me, then agree to putting us on hold, all so people don’t think you’re cheating on him? It’s a fake relationship, Randi. That doesn’t make any damn sense.” The knuckles of my fingers pop as I curl them into tight fists at my side.

  “He’s been hurt before and doesn’t want it to happen again. Trey, please understand, I’m doing my best with what I’ve been handed. You think I want to do this? You think I want to keep you at arm’s length until this charade with Sam is done? You know I don’t. But I have to.”

  “You don't have to do anything,” I snarl at the book spines. I can't turn to face her. The pain of betrayal aches too much. I'm not really angry at her, more so the situation we're in. This fucked-up game we're playing that seems to get more complicated by the day.

  “You know I do. You know what I’m up against and what has to be done.”

  “Everything I've done to this point was—is—for you. Going to my parents, agreeing to be with Jessica, attending all the lame-ass parties this city loves to hold, and yet you want me to give up the one piece of us that's fucking holding me together?” Unable to stop, I slam a tight fist into the row of hardback spines that seems to be mocking me.

  “Trey,” Randi yells. There’s a quick clicking of heels against the hardwood floor, and then she's on me, holding me tight, her front against my back. A sliver of the anger melts away with her touch. How does she expect me to give this up even for a day? “Please stop and let me explain.”

  I turn so quick that she teeters back on her heels, eyes wide as she tips backward. Before she can fall, I grab hold of her shoulders. Without overthinking my actions, I haul her close and seal my lips over hers. A faint whimper pours from her mouth as I empty the overpowering emotions from my own body into hers with the devouring kiss. Her fingers wrap around the lapel of my jacket, pulling our bodies tighter together.

  “Don't ask me to give this up. I can’t,” I say against her lips before nipping at her lower one and sinking my teeth into the tender flesh. “Don’t you see how much I need you, Mess? I can’t give you up, not even for one fucking day.”

  With all the unstable aspects of me that have settled since she’s stepped into my life, I’m a little worried that without her, the unbalance will tip the scales once again. I don’t want to go back to being that person, the man without a purpose.

  “I'm not asking you to give me up, Trouble. But like after the campaign, we need to stay at arm’s length for a little while, that’s it. We’ve done it before and survived, and we can do it again. I have to do this. You know I do. Every day, the stakes in this game are rising, and I want you… no, I need you by my side while I figure this out. Please don't give up on me.”

  “What if I say no, Randi? What if this is my line in the sand?”

  “You won't,” she says softly. Hot breath brushes along the skin of my neck as she nuzzles me like she can't get close enough.

  “Oh? And what makes you so sure, Mess?” She's right, but I'd love to hear her reasoning.

  “Because you know if I don't do this, don't play along with the lie I've already created, then I'm back in the crosshairs with Kyle. This gives me a few months to figure things out without his threats. If he believes I’m truly not working with the DOJ, then maybe I’ll have a couple months of no one trying to kill me.”

  I grumble into her hair knowing she's right.

  “What are you more worried about? The distance part or me playing fake girlfriend with Sam?”

  “Fucking both,” I admit. Resting my chin on the crown of her head, I wrap both arms around her, closing any space between us. “He gets to play the part I’ve never had with you. I’ve never been able to take you out on a date, hold your hand in public, touch you when others are looking. He’ll get that with you.”

  “I guess I get that, but what you and I have had this past year is more than any public date can offer. Our stolen moments, the time we get to spend together, I cherish all of it. You know it will all be fake between Sam and me. He knows it's not real.”

  “You sure about that?”

  Pulling back, she searches my face. “Yeah, he knows. It’s just about someone else finding out. That’s why he’s asking me to be so cautious.”

  “Right, that’s it,” I say with an incredulous huff. “You're smart, beautiful, and fun to be around. What guy wouldn't jump on the opportunity to make the moves on you? He will, I know he will, and that's also what I'm dreading. That and the no sex part.” I smirk, trying to hide the nerves drowning me inside. “The AAG prick thinks we were just a fling. At least with Jessica, she knows who has my heart. She knows about you.”

  “Not that that's stopping her,” she grumbles.

  I purse my lips to keep from saying something I might regret.

  “It’ll be fine. You'll see, Trey.” Stepping close once again, she wraps her arms around my waist, resting her cheek on my chest.

  Eyes closed, I take a deep, relaxing breath in. “And what’s worse is I’ll have a front row seat to it all. You’re lucky you don’t have to see me and Jessica together since you never go to those parties Mother forces me to attend to bolster my political future.”

  Her back muscles tense beneath my palms, putting me on alert.

  “Randi?”

  “Sam wants us to attend as many of those parties as possible. To solidify us as a couple to Kyle but also to give him an inside eye and ear. He hopes he can make connections or see something that will aid in the investigation.”

  “Great.”

  “Trouble?” The shake in her voice slips through the wall of anger, breaking down my defenses. “Please don't be mad.”

  I'm not mad with her, not upset that she took this avenue. I'm fucking pissed we're even at this point. And maybe a little worried that this isn't the last of the hurdles we'll have to face together.

  How much more will we have to endure before it becomes too much?

  Will we hold on?

  Will we stay true to the end goal—us together, no games, no Kyle, Jessica, Shawn, or Sam?

  Only one thing is certain at this point.

  Letting go would be the easy route, even if just the thought rips my heart in two.

  * * *

  “Bud Light,” I grumble over the wooden bar to the older man behind it as I slide onto the creaky stool directly beside Tank. “Fuck, what a day.”

  A single grunt of agreement is his only response, his attention still riveted on the large-screen TV above the row of liquor bottles showing the final World Series game.

  “What do you have to complain about?” I nod my thanks to the bartender and accept the outstretched longneck in his hand. The cold glass chills my sweaty palm from the muggy temperatures outside. How it's still hot as balls when it should be fall is beyond me.

  After a long pull of the ice-cold beverage, I wipe the few remaining drops from my lip with a swipe of my thumb.

  “What do I have to complain about?” T says with an incredulous tone. “What do I have to complain about?”

  “That's what I said,” I say, giving him the side eye. What the hell is his problem? I'm the one with women issues, not him. He h
as Sarah. Amazing, no complications, a bit crazy and scary Sarah. I have a bit crazy and scary Randi who I miss like hell, even though we're together most days, and also a lot crazy—and way too clingy—Jessica, who I can't stand to be around longer than a few seconds when we're forced to interact.

  Faster than I can react, his palm smacks across the back of my head. With a harsh curse, I press a couple fingers against my skull.

  “What was that for?” I snap. Frowning, I tip the bottle back and drain the contents.

  “For being obtuse.”

  “Me? Obtuse?”

  “Yes. You act surprised,” Tank huffs, finally turning his attention to me. Not breaking his expecting stare, he takes a sip of his drink, the tiny fuchsia-and-teal umbrella brushing against the tip of his nose.

  “You're so damn embarrassing,” I say, giving a pointed glance to the decorative addition to his drink.

  “I'm embarrassing?”

  “Fucking hell,” I groan. “Stop taking everything and turning it around like a question, like I'm some dumbass who's not catching on to what's going on around him.”

  “You are that dumbass. These past few weeks have been hell for all of us, Playboy.”

  My eyes widen in surprise. “What? Why?”

  “The tension between you and Randi is extreme. We’re walking on eggshells around her, and you're no better. I'd say you both need to get laid to stop this madness, but that won’t help since you can't be together, and if either of you slept with someone else, it would be like dropping a damn atom bomb on our lives.”

  “Has she mentioned wanting to sleep with someone else?”

  His dark eyes roll to the ceiling, and he shakes his head and takes another sip of his Long Island iced tea. Most bars don't add the umbrella. Oh no, my best friend asks for it specifically. If you ask me, it’s his signal that he’s looking for a reason to fight. Just waiting for some smartass to make fun of him.

  “That umbrella match your panties?” I ask with a knowing grin.

  Yep, I'm that smartass who's also looking for a fight.

  He's not wrong about the tension around the house. It's palpable. And I'm at the center of it every single day. I need something to help me let off some steam since I haven’t been able to get to the club lately to row. Taking Mess to Central Park at midnight is the worst idea I’ve had in a really long time, but asking for a beating from a cousin of the Hulk is a close second.

  “I know what you're doing,” he replies. “Get your rocks off with someone else.”

  “I'm not asking to backdoor you.”

  “Fucking hell, Benson,” Tank chastises with a chuckle. “You're a damn moron. Me kicking your ass won't make things better. She'll still be keeping her distance, and you'll still have that constant hard-on at work.”

  “Why can't she wear more clothes around the house?” I grumble. Lifting the empty longneck in the air, I wait until I make eye contact with the bartender and lower it back to the bar with a thunk.

  “Because it's hot outside.”

  “She's always cold. Why this week did she decide that shorts and tank tops were acceptable after work? And do her suits have to fit her ass so well? I mean, fuck, it’s like a little taunt every time she moves.”

  “You're a terrible human being.” Tank laughs, smiling into his drink. “Have you not noticed anything besides her ass and legs this week?”

  The bartender slides another cold one down the bar. The second it’s in my hand, I take a quick sip flipping through my memories of the week.

  “I'm sure I did, but you have to admit her ass is distracting.”

  “Only to you.”

  “Did you have a point besides making me think about her butt?” With my free hand, I adjust my hardening dick. I can't help that every move, every breath of hers turns me on. It'd be one thing if it was just her body I was attracted to. That I could turn off easily. But oh no, not Randi Sawyer. No, that woman has enraptured me heart and soul with her wit, quick mind, and slight crazy.

  His attention flicks down to where I'm adjusting myself. “Maybe I should kick your ass, take the edge off.”

  “Can't believe I'm saying this, but yes, please.”

  Tank's loud rumbling laugh draws a few other patrons’ attention. “When you have a black eye for your fancy-ass dinner tomorrow night, don't blame me.” He nods to his drink and pushes the bar stool back. “You’re buying. Meet me out back. And, Benson, if you poke me with that thing, I'm breaking it.”

  At his words, my cock softens and practically scurries up into my belly.

  Huh, now I know what works better than a cold shower. I just need a voice memo of Tank threatening to crack my dick off to ease the constant boner I have at work nowadays.

  A few quick swallows later, I skim the empty bottle a few inches along the bar. After tossing a couple twenties on the wet bar top, I slide off the hard stool and make my way through the growing crowd.

  The humid, suffocating air smacks my face the moment I open the door. I suck in a quick breath and hold it, hoping it’ll help fight off the rising panic swelling in my gut. I'm teetering on the edge if I'm this close to snapping to memories of past deployments with just a flash of heat. The past few years I've done better at managing the instant tightness in my muscles, the dread and nerves the heat causes. But with my nerves at a constant high lately, it’s no wonder my buried emotions are on a hair trigger.

  “You okay?” Tank asks, sensing my unease.

  “Yeah. Let's do this.”

  “Not if you're not in the right mental space. You with me, Benson?”

  I shrug off my suit jacket and nod. “Fine.”

  “You're not fine.” The streetlights engulf his face in a dull yellow glow. “Talk to me.”

  “It's just the same as always. I'm fine.”

  “It's getting worse?”

  “Not worse, just… closer to the surface.”

  “That's worse.”

  “This will help.” I roll up my cuffs and shove them over my elbows while he shrugs out of his own jacket. “I have to get some of this… whatever it is out.”

  “I think it’s called feelings. And normal people go to therapy or work out, just so you know.”

  “I haven’t made time to get to the club between Randi, Jessica, and my mother’s constant need for me to come by the estate. And really I know I just need Randi,” I mutter, not happy that it's the truth. “No amount of exercise or talking to some stranger will fix that. It's only been a year, and somehow that woman is the one thing I need to stay sane. How is that?”

  Instead of waiting for his answer, I take two quick steps and throw a hard right hook, knowing full well he'll block it. His forearm slams against my own, keeping my fist inches from his face. With a quick push, he shoves me back three steps.

  “She's just as miserable as you,” he says, holding his own fists up, preparing for another attack.

  My raised hands drop an inch. “What?”

  “That's why I asked if you've noticed anything besides her ass this week. Have you seen her face? She's miserable. The desperate glances she sends your way are enough to break my own heart, you son of a bitch.”

  I duck in time to miss his fist slamming into my skull.

  “Really?”

  “I swear you’re a fool and don't deserve her. Yes, she's just as miserable without you as you are without her. Pull your head out of your ass, Trey. Look at her. Really look at her.”

  My elbow ricochets off his thick bicep just as his slams into my ribs. All the air explodes from my lungs as pain shoots through my side. Not giving in to the desire to fold over and nurse my bruised ribs, I take a step back to catch a breath.

  “Don't you think I know that?” I wheeze. Fuck, he might have broken a bone. “I think you punctured a lung.”

  “Told you this was a bad idea. Better yet?”

  A snarl pulls at my upper lip. “Not even close.”

  Shadows dip across his face as he leans forward. “Then what are yo
u waiting for, pussy? Fight.”

  I start forward only to pause. “Wait. Are we talking about this fight or a metaphorical fight for my relationship with Randi?”

  “You really aren't as smart as you think you are.”

  I hold up a hand, palm out. “Is that a yes? Wait, which is it?” Leaning back against the building’s crumbling brick, I scrub a calloused palm across my face. “I need a damn road map for this conversation.”

  “Both. Neither. Which is worth fighting for?”

  The noises of the city filter down the dark alley. Glaring at the concerning oily puddle at my feet, I search the nasty asphalt for the right answer.

  “Both.” My tone is firm with the knowledge that my best friend is a brilliant man. The brick scrapes across both palms as I push off it, standing tall once again. “Now, where were we?”

  A sinister smirk pulls at his lips, showing off his brilliant white teeth.

  I swallow hard as I step closer, fists up.

  I really am an idiot.

  Fuck, this is going to hurt.

  12

  Randi

  November

  The glass of champagne between my pinched fingers has long since warmed, and the last of the dying bubbles pop to the top. My fake smile hasn’t faltered once since we arrived as I nod, laugh when appropriate, and offer phony words of agreement.

  At least the party was an excuse to buy a new pair of shoes.

  Flicking my gaze down to the floor, I smile at the nude high-heel sandals. Sure, they cost a fortune, but they make me happy. And goodness knows I need some happy in my life right now since I can’t be with Trey.

  Just the thought makes the practiced smile falter. Scanning the room, I press the balls of my toes harder to the floor as I stretch high in hopes of catching a glimpse of Trey.

  Disappointment washes through me, making the sadness from the past couple weeks come rushing back. The past three weeks have been miserable. The worst three weeks of my adult life so far.

  Okay, that's a bit dramatic. Being poisoned was obviously the worst week of my adult life.