Page 48

Curious gazes shift our way at Sam's full, real laugh rumbling through the politely quiet conversations going on around us.

“Now that I'd like to see.”

“Same.” I shift my weight from one foot to the other. “How much longer do you need to stay here?”

Sam's gaze scans the room before settling on me. “A while. There are several campaign supporters here tonight who I haven’t spoken to before. Ready to leave so soon?”

“Hell yes. This thing is killing me slowly. I’m pretty sure my lungs are only functioning at 5 percent.”

“Your dress?” His brows rise up his forehead as he lowers his gaze to my midsection, pausing briefly at the small amount of cleavage on display.

“Yes, I swear it has a built in girdle meant to squish all my organs. I’m dying slowly here.” His gaze remains low. Snapping my fingers at my belly button, I draw his attention back up to my face. “Eyes up here, boyfriend.”

“Okay, girlfriend.” Humor dances in his green eyes. For a moment, I relish the ease of the conversation, the simple back-and-forth. I miss doing this with Trey, but since he seems unable to play nice right now, I guess I’ll have to get my friendship fix from Sam.

“What are you doing for Thanksgiving?” I ask, once again looking out amongst the crowd in hopes of a glimpse at Trey. The last time I saw him and Jessica, they were entertaining a group of old fat guys, also known as several of our key senators and congressmen.

They were holding hands.

Holding hands!

I feel like that's breach of contract or something. Maybe when I suggested this whole “on hold” scenario, we should've hashed out the parameters. As in no physical contact with the people we’re pretending to date/be engaged to.

Just as I think that, Sam rests his hand on my shoulder. I stare at his thick knuckles and wide fingers for half a second, enjoying the touch, before carefully stepping away.

Awareness at being watched prickles at my neck. Searching over my shoulder, my gaze locks with a pair of furious honey brown ones.

Back and forth, his gaze bounces between the shoulder Sam touched and my eyes. With a slight tilt of his head, he whispers something to Jessica and then moves through the crowd in the direction he'd just indicated, leaving her behind.

My heart races. The glass between my fingers trembles. Careful to not spill a drop, I secure my palm over the top of flute.

“I'll be right back,” I say to Sam. I take a step only for my next to be halted. Turning, I look between his hand around my elbow and his face.

“Do not leave without me, Randi.” Lips pursed, he shakes his head. “It worried me the last time you did that and I couldn’t find you.”

Whoops. Okay, yeah, he does have reason to be concerned. Last week I bounced from a party without telling him because I just couldn't take it anymore. One more minute faking it and I was going to crack and show everyone just how crazy I really am.

Which is scary because I don't even know the extent of my crazy. It seems to get deeper with each passing year. Probably something I should work on containing, but, meh, next year. Maybe when I'm forty, things will even out and I'll be just as normal as normal can be.

Or maybe fifty. It can be a stretch goal.

“Sixty seems like a good age.”

“What are you talking about, Randi?”

I smile to Sam. “Nothing, and noted that I’m not to leave unless I send you a text.”

“Not. At. All.” His eyes narrow like he's trying to make a point.

“You know, you give off this bad guy vibe with your dark hair, tattoos, and emotionless face, but I see through you.”

“Oh?” he asks, clearly amused.

“Yep.”

“Go, Randi,” he says with a confused smile. “I'll be doing our espionage job alone while you're gone.”

Two fingers to my brow, I give him a mock salute.