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The sneaking around, watching me from the sidelines, it's getting to him.

I want to say yes.

Every piece of my untrusting heart begs me to scream yes.

So why haven't I?

“I can feel you thinking.” Trey's soft lips move along my tattooed skin before pressing a quick kiss to my bicep. “What time is it?”

“Almost three,” I say on a sigh. “Which means it’s time for me to get going.”

The mention of me leaving shifts the comforting silence to something weighted with dread.

“You know what I hate the most about all this?” he says, tucking his hands behind his head.

“What?” I whisper. The long strands of his dark hair glide through my fingers. What I wouldn’t give to do this every night.

“When you’re here, I can't fully enjoy our time together because I know it’ll end. You'll leave, and I'll wake up here alone.”

“I know. Trey, I've been thinking—”

A sharp knock at the bedroom door cuts me off. Trey leaps from the bed, gloriously naked, and takes the two steps to the door.

It opens an inch, pouring more bright light into the dark room. “We need to leave, Madam President,” a muffled voice says through the small crack in the door.

Trey smacks the heel of his hand against the wood, slamming it shut in the other agent's face.

“Stay,” he says without turning. “Just tonight, stay.”

Pursing my lips, I shuffle along the sheets and reach to the floor for the clothes Trey ripped off me a couple hours ago. The heavy silence stretches, making the distance between us feel farther than the few feet. Whipping my dark hair out from the collar of the gray T–shirt, I twist it up into a makeshift bun, securing it with a rubber band I discovered in the back pocket of my jean shorts.

After sliding my flip-flops on, I shuffle to the door where Trey still stands, his forehead pressed to the wood.

Both arms secure around his waist, squeezing tightly, I squish my chest to his bare back. Nose pressed to his spine, I infuse my lungs with the scent that's all him.

“It wouldn't be any easier,” I whisper against his skin. “There isn't a good choice in this.”

“Yes there is, you're just too scared to make it. I don't know what’s holding you back, Randi, but I wish you'd stop fighting it.”

“I love you, Trey,” I say, tightening my arms in an attempt to mold us into one.

“That's never been the issue, Randi.” Turning, he wraps his arms around my shoulders. For several moments, we hold on to each other like a lifeline. “I love you, Randi. I will always love you. And I'll wait until my last breath for you to be ready. Just know when you're done doubting, done debating the options, I'll be here.”

“Ma'am,” says a deep voice from the other side of the door. “We need to leave now.”

With one last squeeze, he releases me and reaches behind him to open the door. I blink past the bright light that spills through the room.

“Trouble,” I say, my voice quivering. Each time I leave, it's been harder to say goodbye. Tonight is the worst yet because for the first time, he’s asked me to stay.

“Go, Randi. I'll see you tomorrow. We're good.” With a quick peck to my lips, he urges me out the door with a hand to my lower back.

What am I doing? Why do I think I have to choose? Men have been married, had relationships for years as president, so why can’t I? Why do I feel this strange sense of needing to prove I’m capable on my own because I’m a woman?

Yes, I can do this on my own. I’ve done this thing called life, living and working, all on my own. I put myself through undergrad, I worked my ass off through Harvard, and I passed the bar in Texas.

And I’m so tired. Exhausted from proving to everyone that I can do this on my own.

But behind me is a man. A man desperately trying to show me I don’t have to. That he won’t control me, won’t hold me back but instead challenge me and encourage me.