Page 99 of The Americana Playbook

The table moves with a thump and Cam jumps. But I know, Josh—all three hundred pounds of him—is all bark, and no bite.

I clear my throat. “Cam, this is Josh Lawrence. Josh, this is Congressman”—I fold my lips in for a minute—“Congressman Holdings. We all went to high school together.”

Josh doesn’t lift a hand when Cam does. I nudge him with my hip. “Fitz told me. I heard you rowedcrew.”

I stomp on his foot. “Would you excuse me? I?—”

“I was looking for you.” A warm set of arms snake around my waist. “I need to steal my gorgeous bride for a minute.”

Has healwayssounded that way?Fitz’s voice is so deep and smooth I’d listen to him read a grocery list on repeat.

Fitz’s lips find my cheek. “How is going, Cam?” he says against my skin, flooding my body with goosebumps. I secure my hand on top of his that are now locked against my middle and he only tightens his hold.

I want to sneak away, to excuse myself, but I can’t. It was easier before. God, it was so much easier. But now I know what it’s like to have Fitz steal my breath and swallow it down like it was meant for him all along. Now I know how being beneath his weight is somehow a delicious mixture of too much and not enough all at the same time.

“I need you outside for a second. Josh, look after Congressman Cam for me, would you?”

Josh’s face hardens. “Happy to.”

I smile awkwardly around the room at those who stare while Fitz leads me outside onto the path rounding the south lawn. He stops and turns but doesn’t let go of my hand. He takes the other so he holds both.

“Is someone watching?” It’s a stupid question. This is the White House. It’s not a matter of someone watching. In a hidden room, a bunker, an off-site, there’s probably a team of people looking at us in this exact moment.

Fitz shakes his head.

I look down at his hands holding mine. “What was that about?”

“Are you cold?” Fitz ignores my question, letting go of my hands and rubbing my shoulders. “You have goosebumps.”

I would think Fitz is lying if I didn’t look down and see the small prickles on the top of my chest, something you definitely don’t see on a late June evening in Washington, DC. It’s like there’s a disconnect between my mind and body, between reality and fiction. I can’t quite feel anything. Except Fitz.

“You didn’t have to send your lineman to protect me. Cam is harmless.”

Fitz’s jaw tics.

I sigh. “Fitz…I’m serious. Cam doesn’t matter.”

I watch his lips disappear into a fine line and I scoff, feeling his protectiveness is too much, all things considering. But then I remember earlier.

“Did you have a crush on me in high school?”

His hands freeze for a moment before he drops them and laughs. It’s nervous, a little awkward, the kind you produce when you want to redirect the question to another matter entirely.

Part of me finds it oddly adorable. But that’s surpassed by something greater—confusion.

“I’m only asking?—”

“Parker,” Fitz interjects. “You were pretty and smart and a badass. On any given day, I’m sure there were a dozen Thacher boys crushing on you. IncludingCam.”

“I’d like to think I’mstillsmart.”

“You are,” Fitz says without missing a beat. “And for the record,nowyou’re beautiful, not just pretty.”

I shake my head. “You keepdoingthat.”

Fitz’s thick brows creep together. “Doing what?”

I lift my hands slightly in frustration. “Talking like you mean every word.”

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