Page 61 of The Press Secretary's Passion

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

“What do you have to be sorry for?” he asks, his brows narrowing together.

“That you know that’s who I am.” I shrug my shoulders.

“You are not them,” he says, his voice low in warning. “You are never going to be them.”

“I hope not,” I admit. “I try not to be.”

“You are not them.”

“How can you tell?”

“Because I just know,” he says, his voice low. “I would not sink my dick in that, and if I thought you were like that, you would have never had me.”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” he agrees, and I squeeze my legs together at the thought of him sinking his dick into me. One would have to agree that Ryan definitely has a way with words.

“So… Texas?”

“Yeah.” He smiles now that we’re on even footing again.

“What part?” I ask.

“A little itty-bitty town in East Texas called Tall Pines,” he answers.

“No kidding!” I laugh. “I have a friend there.”

“I know. She married the ball player, right?”

“Yes. Angie,” I answer. “She married Cody Reynolds, and they have a little girl now. Do you know them?”

“I’m about ten years older than Reynolds and his crowd,” he says. “But like I said, it’s a little town, so everyone knows everyone else. I think one of my younger sisters knew him in school.”

“You have sisters?” I ask as our lunch is served.

“Two,” he answers. “MacKenzie and Amelia.”

“What do they do?” I ask, and he smiles proudly.

“They’re both Marines.”

“You’re kidding.”

“No, Mack flies F-35s, and Amelia flies the Osprey.”

“What’s that?” I ask.

“A big helicopter to move people and things,” he answers.

“So you’re the only one who’s not a pilot?”

“Who said I wasn’t a pilot?” He laughs. “Our granddaddy was a Marine, and when he got out, he flew oil pipeline planes, and the girls and I all used to love to go up with him. We’ve all been flying since we were kids.”

“That’s crazy.”

“There’s not much to do in East Texas, and my mom threatened death if we got into trouble with drugs or booze or pregnancy scares, so flying was a lot safer.”