The Two Week Stand by Samantha Towle
twenty-two
West
“Dillon, are you okay?”
She hasn’t said anything since I told her about my dad. That was a good minute ago, and a minute is a long time to have someone staring at you. Without blinking. She’s starting to look a little scary. I know she’s freaking out because she thinks it’s a big deal. But it’s really not. Not to me anyway. And it’s not like she’s even from the States, so really, it shouldn’t freak her out this much.
“Dillon.”
Her big blue eyes blink at me. “I’m sorry, what? For a moment there, I thought you said your dad is the president. But that would be crazy because—”
“He is the president.”
“Of America?”
“Yes.”
“The United States of America?”
“Uh-huh.”
“As in the president of the United States of America? Lives in the White House? Leader of the free world? That president?”
“That would be the one.”
“And he’s your dad, as in …”
“He provided the sperm that helped make me.”
“Gotcha.”
Silence stretches out between us. Which is definitely not normal.
“I know you’re freaking out. But really, it’s not a big deal. It’s just something you need to know now that you’re coming to the States with me.”
“I’m not freaking out,” she squawks.
“Your voice has gone high, like really high-pitched.”
“It hasn’t,” she squeaks. She looks away and clears her throat. “It hasn’t,” she repeats in a deeper voice, sounding nothing like herself.
It’s actually quite funny. I’d laugh if I didn’t think it might push her over the edge.
“So, um … why didn’t you tell me who your dad was before?”
“Because it wasn’t relevant.”
Accusatory eyes come back to me. “But what if I’d gone home and then found out via the news or something? You might not think it’s a big deal. But a heads-up would have been nice. Especially after all the time we’ve spent together.”
She’s got a point. I blow out a breath. She went from smiling to annoyed in the space of a few minutes. That doesn’t make me feel good at all.
“You’re right. I should have said something.”
“Yeah, you should have.” She’s really pissed off. Her eyes look all fiery. It’s actually kind of a turn-on when she gets mad. “Imagine if I kept from you that my mum were … I don’t know … Elvis.” She throws her hands in the air.
“Well, that would be weird as fuck because he’s been dead for over forty years. And also, he was a dude.”
“You know what I meant! I meant, someone famous. Important or whatever. Stop being a dick.” She climbs up to her feet, standing on the jetty.
I stand, too, putting myself in her path. “I’m not trying to be a dick.”
I so did not see this coming. I thought she might be a bit weird about it. But not mad.
She folds her arms over her chest. “Well, you are being one.”
“Can I ask … why are you mad?”
Her eyes fix on mine. “Because I told you all of my important shit. About my mum and Tim and everything. And you clearly told me nothing of importance.”
“You know that’s not true.” Now, I’m mad.
“I know you told me about your mom.” She bites her lip and looks away. “But you kept from me who your dad was. I wondered why you would clam up whenever I asked about your dad. I just figured you two weren’t close.”
I step up to her and take her chin in my hand, forcing her eyes to mine. “We’re not close. Yes, he’s the president. And, yes, he’s my dad. The former, he’s excellent at. The latter, not so much.”
He was an absent father and a cheating dirtbag of a husband to my mom up until the day she died, but that’s not something Dillon needs to know.
Those gorgeous eyes blink up at me. I brush my thumb over her cheek.
“Him being the president has nothing to do with who I am.”
“But it does have an impact on your life, I’m guessing.”
“Sometimes.” Most of the fucking time.
“And you don’t live in the White House, right? Because you said you live in Baltimore—unless that was a lie.” Her eyes narrow. “Because if it was a lie and you do live there, I’m telling you right now, I’m not staying in the White House.”
I bark out a laugh. “Most people would kill to go stay in the White House.”
“Well, I wouldn’t. I’m sure it’s amazing and everything. It’d be a really nice place to visit. Like Buckingham Palace. But stay there? Nah, thanks. I wouldn’t be able to cope with the pressure. I mean, you’d have to look good and dress nice twenty-four/seven. And then there’d be all those agents there, walking around with guns. I’d never be able to relax. No, when I’m home, I just like to chill and wear my PJs.”
“Sorry to tell you this, but my apartment has a no-clothes policy.”
Her brow lifts. “That right?”
“Mmhmm.”
“Do you have security? What are they called?”
“I talk about nakedness. And you ask about security. Should I be worried, Double D?”
She gives me an unamused look.
“They’re called Secret Service agents, and yeah, I do.”
Her eyes scan the area, like she’s expecting someone to leap out of the water.
“But not here. I don’t technically have to have them by law. Because I’m an adult, it’s my choice. But I have them back home because there are some nutjobs with guns and being the president’s son makes me a target. They’re not on my ass all the time. They stay at a safe distance, so I can still have some sort of normality in my life. But I came here alone without them. I just needed a break.”
“From?”
I sigh and drop my hand from her face. “There was a story in the press. It broke the week before I came here.”
“What story? I didn’t see anything. But then again, I was caught up in crying into my wine bottle over my mum sleeping with my fiancé, so there is that.”
I stare at her in wonder as to how anyone could hurt her. You could. You are an Oakley after all. Hurting women is in your DNA.
“You didn’t kill someone, did you? I can forgive anything but that. Unless they deserved it. Oh, and hurting animals. I hate people who hurt animals.”
“No to the murder. And I love animals.” I exhale. “It was stupid. Just a short video clip from when I was back in my senior year of high school. I was seventeen and still messed up over my mom’s death and angry with the world. I thought I knew it all. My dad was a senator then. Anyway, I was filmed snorting coke off the stomach of some chick I went to high school with. The clip just surfaced now. Some idiot had probably discovered they had it and sold it for big bucks. My dad is running for reelection, so he was pissed off. Not that I give a shit what he thinks. But I got heat from my coach and team bosses. It’s not a good look for them when one of their players is on the news for snorting coke at a party when he was a teenager. They didn’t suspend me.” Not that they would. The son of the president brings in way too much revenue for them to lose. “But we’re in the off-season at the moment, so they told me to lay low. I wanted to get away. So, I booked a plane ticket here.” And I’m so fucking glad that I did.
“You don’t still do coke now, do you?” she asks quietly.
“No. I barely did it back then. I was just a stupid kid, trying stuff out.”
She blows out a breath. “This is really nuts.”
“The drug stuff or president stuff?”
“President stuff.”
“Things are only as big as you make them.”
She stares up at me. “Your dad holds the access codes to nuclear bombs that could start World War Three. Or quite possibly end our world altogether.”
A chuckle escapes me. “I guess that is kind of big now that you mention it. Although I don’t think he has any plans to use those codes, if that helps.”
“Shut up.”
“So … Double D, are you still coming to Baltimore with me?”
She lets out a soft sigh. “Will you stop calling me Double D if I do?”
“Um …” I pretend to think it over. “No.”
“Figures.”
“But I’ll give you lots of orgasms to make up for it.” I run my knuckles down her cheek and brush my lips over hers.
“How many are we talking?” she whispers.
“So many that you’ll lose count.”
She lets out a sweet breath that I take inside of me. “Guess I’ll have to still come then.”
“Yes, you will.”