“I’m the kind of man who has fought for everything that he has. This house, the job I got you at the White House… Everything came from my hard work. From my sacrifices. That’s the kind of man I am. Not that you can see it, Lance… You know nothing about hard work or sacrifice.”
“This is your wife, Dad,” Lance says with sarcasm in his voice. “You might want to take care of her.”
“Don’t tell me who to take care of,” Michael shoots back. “If I had any sense, I should have let the state keep you after your Mom died. You’re nothing but an embarrassment to me now. This campaign is your one chance to redeem yourself.”
I feel Lance tensing up, and as he opens up his mouth to speak, I grab his arm, stopping him. When he looks at me, I simply shake my head. Escalating this won’t help matters.
“I’m going back to my office,” Michael says curtly, walking between Lance and I without glancing at us. We stay there in silence, hearing the click of Michael’s shoes across the hallway, and then the door opening and slamming shut.
“That fucking bastard…” Lance whispers to no one in particular, heading out of the office as if he were in a trance. He’s seething; even though he won’t show it, I know that his father's words have gotten to him. I follow him to the living room, trying to forget Michael’s words as I get out of his office. They hurt, sure, but I’m used to his coldness by now.#p#分页标题#e#
Lance is sitting on the couch in the family room, staring blankly at the TV. There’s some old movie from the early 00s going, a romantic movie of sorts, but I doubt he’s actually seeing any of it.
After a few minutes I hear Michael walking down the hall and opening the front door. He slams the door and I hear his motorcade start up and drive away.
I have no idea what to say to Lance, but I sit down next to him all the same, placing one leg up on the couch as I turn to face him.
“Thank you,” I say, looking him in the eyes and trying to steer the conversation away from his father. “I don’t know what would have happened if you didn’t show up when you did…” I shudder, the memories of what just happened flooding me again.
“Hey, don’t worry… It’s over, that’s all that matters.” His expression softens as he speaks, a smile dawning on his lips. God, I could kiss him right now… I could just lean in, take his hand in mine and press my mouth against his. It would be so easy. Too easy.
I turn to face the TV, my heart beating fast. Breathing in, I try to calm myself and watch the movie on TV, but much like Lance, all I can do is stare absently at the moving pictures, unable to focus on whatever’s happening.
We sit in silence for a long while, simply staring at the TV—there, a half-naked young Keanu Reeves is kissing Charlize Theron. Even though I’ve already watched it when I was younger, the name of the movie simply alludes. Then, suddenly remembering it, I squeal like a young girl, grabbing Lance’s arm.
“Oh, I love this movie… Sweet November!” I lay down on the couch, placing both my legs across Lance’s lap.
“Never saw it,” he responds, smiling as he sets his forearms across my legs. A shiver goes up my spine as I feel his skin on mine, but I try and push forbidden thoughts to the back of my mind, tucking them away. It’s harder than it seems, though.
“You should,” I respond, grabbing the remote and pulling the movie back to the beginning. “And you will,” I add with a grin. Oh, God, what am I doing?
“You’re really making me watch a romantic comedy?” he asks, raising one eyebrow playfully.
“Of course,” I tell him. “And it’s not a romantic comedy… It’s a drama, actually.” I’m speaking, but I can barely hear my own voice. All that I can think about is that I’m on the couch with Lance, and we have the house completely to ourselves.
“Oh, even better,” he says, rolling his eyes with a smile. I sit up briefly, flexing my abs to punch him lightly on the shoulder, my heart tightening as I feel the hard contour of his bicep, and then turn my attention to the TV. I lay there as the opening credits roll by, suddenly feeling extremely self-aware of the fact that my legs are sitting on Lance’s lap. He has his hands resting on them, his long fingers spread over my tanned skin… Thank God I changed into shorts when I got home... Oh, what am I saying? Pull yourself together, Jocelyn!
Easier said than done, of course. The warmness of his fingers spreads up my legs and into my thighs, and I start breathing harder. Slightly moving his fingers, Lance starts massaging the muscles in my upper legs, rolling his hands back and forth over my skin. His touch is an innocent one—at first—but I start to grow wet all the same, my whole body burning from the inside out. There’s just no way I can control it, so don’t try to blame me.