“Coors? Really?” He reaches for the only beer in the fridge.
“Beggars can’t be choosers.” I snort. “I’m hardly prepared to host a beer snob in this place.”
“I’m not a beer snob.”
I shrug. “Most of my friends in Oregon are. It’s all craft microbrews. None of the best stuff makes it out to the East Coast.”
I take a step toward Jared, blocking his exit from my kitchen. “Where are you from, anyway, Jared?”
“All over.”
“Zzzzttt,” I mimic a game show buzzer. “Wrong answer.”
Jared takes a long drink of beer before answering. “Born in Kimberling City, Missouri. That’s a little ways west of Branson. Missouri State for undergrad. Grad school at UCLA. Campaign-hopping since then. Happy?”
I marvel at how little he manages to reveal about himself in that glib answer. “A little.” I slip past Jared and grab a sparkling water from my fridge for myself. I walk to my living room and step out of my heels, sink into my leather couch, and put my feet on the coffee table.
I take a long sip. Jared’s staring at me.
“What? It’s my place.”
“You just look … really comfortable.”
I put my feet on the floor. “I am. I’m comfortable with myself. I’m staring forty in the face and you know what? I like myself. I like my life. And I’m pretty much in love with my possibilities for the future. But what I don’t like is a man who makes me feel like shit because he pulls a disappearing act. I deserve better.”
Jared has the good grace to look chastened as he moves to the living room, occupying a chair opposite me. “You do. I already told you that.”
“And you told me you can’t … I don’t know, what? You can’t have a relationship?”
“Something like that.”
“No relationship, period? Or just not with me?” I’m trying to keep hurt out of my voice, but it’s too raw to go unnoticed.
“Not like this.” Jared stands and paces away from me, his hand deep in his hair, frustration radiating off him. I don’t know what he’s getting at, but he’s clearly not willing to tell me.
Finally, my patience snaps. “So why are you here, Jared? Because you can’t seem to stay away.”
“I told you in the text. I needed to talk to you. We’ve done image management, and you’re getting solid on the issues, and now we’ve got to do the vetting.”
I snort. “I find it extremely interesting that you put image first.”
“Don’t take it personally. It’s like reverse damage control. Fix what you can that’s going to be in the recent public eye as quickly as possible, so that down the line you have it to draw on. It’s a pretty typical strategy.”
“And this couldn’t have waited until morning?”
Jared’s eyes narrow. “The truth, Grace? It could wait. But I couldn’t wait to see you.”
“Oh.” Jared’s admission floors me, tosses me on waves of emotion, hot and cold, feeling loss when he pulls away and then a rush of pleasure when he says something like that.
I take another sip of my water, the wine from dinner still working its relaxing magic through my body, and put my feet back up on the table. “Then what do we have to work through tonight?”
Jared pulls his chair forward until he’s near enough to me to reach my feet. He pulls them into his lap and presses his thumb into the ball of my foot, and I can’t contain my involuntary moan.
He chuckles. “Secret weapon.”
“I’ll say. I’d give up national security secrets for more of this.”
“Don’t even joke about that, Grace.” Jared’s tone darkens.
“Sorry. Vetting humor.” I relax into the smooth arc of Jared’s fingers along my instep. “So what do we have to do to get through this?”
“Vetting is about the past helping us predict the future. We can look at who a candidate is today, his résumé, his voting record, and get a pretty clear picture of what we’re getting if we endorse him or get him on the ticket.”
Jared shifts to my other foot and I bite my lip to suppress the moan. “Did you already do that to me?”
“Before we even approached you, yes.”
“And I passed?”
“With flying colors.” He pauses and smiles, and for once, it’s not laced with underlying lust.
“I’m still mad at you for picking me up at that bar. When you knew me. You knew who I was, Jared, and you let me just go with you like it would be a one-night stand that meant nothing.”
Jared’s eyes darken and he leans toward me. He picks up my hand and curls his fingers within mine, drawing my fingers to his lips. His stubble brushes across my knuckles, lips just grazing them. It’s not a kiss, not quite, but the tenderness arrests me.