Page 16 of His Red Carnation

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Georgetown was beautiful, but it still didn’t change my mind about not wanting to go there. Callan stayed a few feet behind me and the tour guide, a handsome, eager counselor in his thirties who showed us around with a bit too much enthusiasm.

“We’d love to have you here, Miss Martin,” the counselor said as we wrapped up at the main offices.

“Thanks. It was nice meeting you.” I shook his hand and headed back toward Callan’s SUV.

Ever since Callan made it clear he didn’t want anyone else to have me, all I could think about was him taking me back to his place and properly fucking me. The moment he slid into the driver’s seat, I placed my hand on his thigh again.

“Will you show me your place?” I asked sweetly. “Please?”

He stared at me, as if weighing his options.

“Sloane, you know I can’t do that,” he breathed, his deep, low voice sending a jolt straight between my legs.

I couldn’t help but pout, disappointment clear on my face. His eyes softened.

“You know what will happen if we go to my apartment,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

I sighed, pulling my hand from his thigh as I looked out the window.

“I just want to spend time with you. Can you come back and just…hang out with me?” I asked, almost begging.

“Of course, baby,” he replied softly.

My stomach flipped at the way he called mebaby.Hearing him say my name was always a thrill, but this? This was better than anything, especially because he said it outside of sex.

I quickly smiled and turned to him, the sight of his full lips making me crave them all over again. I hadn’t planned on making a move on him at the White House, but now I wasn’t so sure.

On the way back, I connected my phone to the car’s Bluetooth, sharing all of my favorite songs with him. I was a huge fan of female bands from the ‘90s, especially those from the riot grrrl movement, like Bikini Kill and Bratmobile.

I noticed Callan grinning from ear to ear as we listened to “Demirep” by Bikini Kill.

“What?” I laughed, turning the volume down.

“I like it. You’re a good little punk rock riot girl,” he teased with a laugh.

“A good one, huh?” I asked, surprised that he knew about the movement.

He nodded. “Doesn’t surprise me, though. They’re badass, just like you.”

I couldn’t stop beaming. “What music doyoulike?”

He glanced over at me as we pulled up to the house. “Everything. Rap, hip hop, metal, classical. The Beatles. I’m a man of many tastes.”

He cut the engine, and we lingered in the car for a moment. Now I was grinning just as wide.

“I like getting to know you. What else? Where did you live before you came here?” I asked eagerly.

He looked down at his hands. “Virginia. I was undercover there for a while. Glad to leave it behind, though.”

That piqued my curiosity. “What kind of undercover stuff?”

He side-eyed me, shaking his head. “Stuff I’m not allowed to talk about. Come on, let’s go inside.”

* * *

I led Callan into the hall where bookshelves lined the walls and a grand piano sat off to the side. I sat down at the piano, playing casually while he browsed the books. As I began to play “Let It Be,” I drifted into my own world, softly singing, my eyes closed to fend off any stage fright. After the chorus, I stopped and opened my eyes, realizing Callan was now sitting next to me, his soft, kind eyes locked on me.

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