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He shakes his head. Dark thick locks fall along his forehead, covering part of his right eye. “They're perfect. But do you know what I love most of all, Mess?”

“What?” I whisper. The sudden heaviness of the moment tightens my throat with clogged emotions.

Why the hell is he better at this emotional stuff than I am? I'm the girl, damnit!

“You. Your brilliant mind, quick wit, and giving heart. You think of others before yourself. It's why you're here. It's why you sold your life to Birmingham. You had a chance to make a difference, and you took it no matter the consequences.”

“I was an idiot,” I grumble.

“Maybe a little,” he says with a chuckle.

Shifting my weight, I attempt to roll off him with an annoyed huff. Still laughing, he rolls with me until we're face-to-face lying on our sides. He tucks a rogue lock of dark hair behind my ear. All humor leaves his features, a deep line forming between his brows as he trails his fingertips up and down my bare arm. “You know you have to do it.”

There's no need to question what he's referencing. I knew the second I made the decision not to help the DOJ that it was the wrong choice. I never back away from the fight to help others, and that's exactly what I'd be doing if I chose to hide my head in the sand.

“I know,” I whisper. “But maybe, just for a bit, I wanted to pretend I could walk away, that I didn't have to add this to my already full plate. Sometimes I wish I didn't give a fuck about anyone other than myself.”

“But that's not you. It's never been you.”

I nod with a resigned sigh. “Maybe I should take pointers on how to be more selfish from your mom.” I don't hide my smirk as I search his eyes, hoping he finds me as funny as I find myself.

“A mom joke, seriously?” Reaching around, he smacks my ass, earning a yelp. “And no way in hell would I want you to be around her more than needed to keep up this charade we have going on. I can't believe I have to pretend to be engaged to Jessica.” He groans and rolls to his back, tucking me against his side as he moves. With two fingers, he pinches the bridge of his nose. “I don't think we thought this through well enough.”

Yes and no. We didn't have many options, and this was the lesser of two evils. Do I hate the idea of him parading around town, getting all handsome and scrumptious for various events and galas with her on his arm? Well, yeah. But we were in a damn corner. His mother upped the ante by creating the engagement angle and holding assault with a deadly weapon charge over his head to make him do it. We both knew there was an out, that he could walk away without those charges ever sticking, but that would’ve left my political career in shambles, his mother going on the warpath and turning everyone against me—even more so than they already are. So we did what we had to do.

We're playing the player, who happens to be his own mother. Trying to, at least.

“I know,” I say as I stroke two fingertips down his sternum and back up again. “But now we have time to get my footing here in DC, find out who your snitch is on the team, and be together. It's not ideal, but nothing has been since Kyle stepped into my run-down office over two years ago. We'll make it through it all.”

“Where does that DOJ guy fit in all this?” he asks, his voice guarded.

“Trey.” I groan and seal my forehead against his bicep. “Don't do that.”

“Do what?”

“Be that guy, the jealous type. I have to work with him. We just established there's no way I can refuse to help them gather evidence on Kyle. To do that, I'll have to work alongside Sam.”

His silence tightens my gut with dread.

“Okay,” he says finally. “I don't like it though, Mess.”

“You don't trust him?” The mattress gives as I push up to my elbows to stare down at his handsome face. Stretching, I swipe the hair out of his eyes. “You need a haircut.”

Trey rolls his eyes and shakes his head, dislodging the remaining dark locks from his forehead. “I don't trust him with you.”

“But you have to trust me,” I plead. “Don't make this a big deal. Don't make it awkward or tense for me. Trust me. Can you do that?”

His honey brown eyes connect with my own. A sad smile tugs at the corners of his lips.

“Okay, Randi. I’ll keep it reined in. But if I think he's crossing a line, pushing outside the professional boundary, I'll say something.”

“Oh, you mean likeyoudid during the campaign?” I say with a smirk, trying to lighten the mood.

“Exactly my point,” he grits out through clenched teeth.

Well, shit. That backfired.

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