Page 44 of Notorious

“I can do it,” I say, but he’s already up.

On his way back to bed, he opens the curtains, and the ocean I hadn’t seen in the dark last night is gray and misty across Highway 1 below. I take the cloth he hands me and glance around at the art on the walls as I clean myself up. The photographs are mostly landscapes, but there are some bright political posters and a few paintings. One in particular stands out to me. It’s of two men embracing, done in an impressionistic style—loose and rough, but emotional.

“That painting’s awful pretty,” I say, gesturing at it.

“Thank you,” Kurt says quietly, returning to bed.

I turn to look at him. “You did that?”

He nods. “Yeah. I … I don’t get to paint much these days, but I like to.”

“Too busy with the election?”

“That and with work and whatever else.”

“It seems like you need a break.”

“Yeah.” He sighs. “But I can rest later, I guess. It’s fine.”

“I dunno,” I say slowly. “You’re all up in my business, making me work on my mental health. Maybe I need to return the favor.”

I can tell he’s about to deny that he needs help, but then he shrugs. “Maybe so.”

Is there something I can do to take a burden off him?

“I hate to ruin the moment,” he says. “But we should probably get dressed.”

I sigh. The real world is waiting, outside our little bubble. I’m not really eager to leave that bubble, but I can pull on my britches and deal. And while I still feel crappy about needing help, I’m sort of … honored that he’s chosen me to take care of.

Feels nice, honestly.

CHAPTER 16

Kurt

What do you call it when you have sex with your dream man? Hashtag goals sex? Finally-OMG-I-manifested-him sex? I-pined-for-him-through-my-screen-and-now-he-sucked-my-cock sex? I don’t know. I’m not a wordsmith like my speechwriter. There should be a name for it, though. Having Johnny’s mouth and hands on my cock was a fantasy come true. I can’t wait until we can do it again. It’s more than the physical, though. He’s the whole package—kind and caring and sexy—and I genuinely want to get to know him better.

As we get up, shower, and dress, we’re more affectionate than we were last night. Our hips jostle while we brush our teeth and shave.

Johnny’s hand rests on my waist as I make coffee, and he kisses the nape of my neck. I groan into his touch. “You keep that up, and we won’t go anywhere today.”

“I’d be all right with that,” he says. I turn to look at him with an eyebrow raised, and his face falls. “Yeah, okay. I know.”

My amazing housekeeper, Galen, stocks plenty of breakfast food, so we have a hearty meal. When we’re done, Johnny helps me with the dishes, looking right at home in stocking feet with a towel draped over his shoulder. It’s like having the partner I’ve always wanted.

But it doesn’t mean anything. I need to remind myself of that. He’s here because I refused to accept any other outcome. Him being in my house doesn’t make us anything beyond slightly more than strangers in a fucked-up situation.

That doesn’t stop me from checking out his ass in the new, tight, dark Wranglers I bought him. A few times, Johnny looks at me and seems to want to say something, but then he closes his mouth. I assume he’s considering either apologies or something he doesn’t want to say under our honesty policy. I don’t ask. I’ve been pressing him a lot. I can give him a break.

We have some time before we need to head out for his appointment. “Do you mind if I make a few phone calls?” I ask.

He shakes his head, gesturing to the balcony. “I’ll check out the view and give you some privacy.” I like that idea, because there’s nothing for him to hurt himself with out there. I suppose he could jump, but he seems calm.

Watching over someone else’s mental state is so hard. Can I trust him with anything at all? I feel like I can, but I know I need to be careful. I compromise by staying in the living room. That means I can study his stance as he braces himself against the balcony railing, arms straight and ass out.

Damn.

Reminding myself that I’m not allowed to spend all day ogling Johnny, I turn to my phone. First up, my momther.

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