The Two Week Stand by Samantha Towle
twenty-four
Dillon
West has a few days before he has to go back training, so he’s taking me out to do some sightseeing. He asked if there was anything specific that I wanted to do, but considering I don’t know much about Baltimore, I wasn’t sure, so I said I’d leave it up to him.
We’re in his car, which is a black Range Rover, destination unknown. He said he wanted to surprise me. He’s wearing a ball cap. I have a feeling he wears a ball cap a lot when he’s out. I’m not sure I like it. I can’t see his hair, and I happen to really like his hair.
His Secret Service guards are following us in a black car. It’s weird, having people following you and guarding you. Not that they’re guarding me, but I’d like to think that if some wacko with a gun tried to shoot me, they’d do something about it.
It’s kind of cool if you think about it. First time in America, and I have government security. Well, West’s security, but still, it’s cool as hell.
Although I kind of get the impression that West isn’t so keen on the security. Not the guys. He seems to like them well enough. Just the whole people following him around thing. I sense that it bugs the shit out of him.
“Question.”
“Will I want to answer?”
“Possibly.”
“Hit me.”
“Literally?”
He slides me a look before looking back to the road. “Funny.”
“I know.”
“So, are you gonna ask me or not?”
“Oh yeah. Do you dislike the security? Not Nick and Aiden, just having to have them?”
“You’re on a first-name basis with the agents?”
“Of course. Aren’t you?”
“Well, yeah, but they’ve been guarding me for the last four years. You’ve been here two days. Do you make friends with everyone?”
I roll my eyes. “Not everyone. But it’d be rude not to know the names of the men who are guarding your life.”
“Guarding my life sounds a little dramatic.”
“Well, what would you say they do?”
He goes silent a moment. “Follow me around in case someone decides to make an attempt on my life.”
“That’s the same thing!” I laugh.
He slides me another look, his expression impish. “Nuh-uh.”
I shake my head, exasperated. “So, back to my question. I get the impression you’re not so keen on it.”
“I’m not. When I was a teenager, we used to have security with my dad being a senator back then. It was annoying, them following me around. I couldn’t do anything.”
“You managed to go to a party and snort coke.”
He chuckles. “True. But they were around a lot. When I got older, I figured I had freedom from all of that. Then, my dad got himself elected president, and here we are. I fought the security at first, but the threats that came in couldn’t be ignored, so I had to accept the way it is. But hopefully for not much longer.”
“How long has your dad been president for?”
“He’s three years into his first term.”
“They serve for four years, right? And can do up to two terms?”
“Someone knows her American politics.”
“I really don’t. Just that. You said he’s running for a second term, right?”
West sighs. “Yeah. If he gets elected again, I’ll have to live with this for four more years, and then I’ll be free.” He goes quiet for a moment. “I feel like shit for thinking this because all things aside, he is a great president, but I really don’t want him to get elected for another term. I want my life back. Once I’m out of the public eye, the security will go, and I can just get back to playing ball without all of his political shit following me around. I’ll be talked about for my football again and not the fact that I’m his son. I’m twenty-seven; I’m at my peak. If he leaves the White House this next election, I’ll have my good years left, where I can really make my mark as a ball player and not the president’s son. If he gets reelected, I’ll be nearly thirty-two when he’s out of the White House, and I’ll be heading for retirement a few years later.”
My heart squeezes painfully for him. For once, I actually don’t know what to say. So, instead of words, I slide my hand into his, link our fingers, and give his hand a squeeze. For a moment, he stares down at our entwined hands, like he’s never seen me hold his hand before.
Which is weird because we’ve held hands tons of times before.
But not like this. In a comforting way.
Not wanting to freak him out, I slide my hand out of his with the pretense of getting something out of my bag.
I’m still rummaging around in it, looking for the fake thing, when he says, “We’re here.”
He pulls into a parking spot outside this huge gray stone building and turns off the engine. Unclipping my seat belt, I get out of the car. I notice the black car belonging to the Secret Service agents pulling up behind the Range Rover.
I stare up at the building. Above the door, engraved into the stone, it says Peabody Institute.
West meets me on the pavement.
“You know, where I’m from, institute means a place where the mentally ill go.” I slide my eyes to his. “I know I act a little crazy. Even talk crazy sometimes. But please tell me that you’ve not brought me to a mental institution.” I’m only half-joking.
“No.” He laughs. “It’s not that kind of institution. This is one I think you’ll like.”
Taking me by the hand, he tugs me forward, and I follow him up the steps. He pushes the door open and leads me inside.
And holy mother of God.
My heart actually stops with true happiness.
I step a little farther inside, my hands pressed to my chest. “It’s a library.”
But it’s like no library I’ve ever seen. It’s huge. I count up five stories high. All filled with shelves that are loaded with books.
There is a heaven after all, and I’m standing right in the entrance of it.
“You like it?” West steps behind me, a hand sliding to my waist.
“I love it,” I breathe, unable to take my eyes off it. I can’t stop staring. It’s just so beautiful. “You literally couldn’t have brought me to a better place.”
I can practically feel his smile.
“Well, I figured a writer would want to see the library that we have here.”
I turn so that I’m facing him. “This isn’t a library. It’s paradise. And you are frigging awesome.” I plant a kiss on his lips before I whirl back around. “I’ve never seen anything like this. When I was a kid, I used to spend a lot of time in my local library, but it was nothing like this. The whole library could fit in the reception area here.”
His fingers sweep my hair aside and brush over my neck. “Such a little book nerd.”
“I wear that badge with pride.”
“Lucky for you, I like nerds.”
I glance back at him. “Lucky for you, I like okayish-looking American football players.”
“You can just call it football, you know. And okayish-looking?” He lifts a brow.
“Fine. Better than okayish. And, no, I can’t just call it football. Because football is a game played with a round ball and said ball is kicked around by the feet. You carry the ball.”
“You know, we kick the ball sometimes too.”
“Still not football. More like rugby. Except you guys wear all that protective equipment and rugby players don’t.”
“It’s nothing like rugby. It’s football.”
“Beg to differ. You know, if you weren’t so much older than me—”
“Four years, Double D. I’m hardly your sugar daddy in this scenario.”
“And if I’d lived in America and we’d gone to school together,” I continue, ignoring him, “you’d have been the hot football player, and I’d have been the book nerd who you didn’t give the time of day to.”
“You sure about that?”
“That you wouldn’t have given me the time of day? Yep.”
He stares down at me, the ball cap shading his eyes. “You look anything like you do now when you were at school?”
“Nope. I had braces and a bad haircut.”
“Then, yeah, you’re right. I wouldn’t have looked at you twice.”
“Ass,” I murmur, bumping mine back into his hips.
He hisses, gripping hold of my hip. His lips come to my ear. “Do that again, and I’ll find a dark corner to fuck you in.”
A thrill runs through me. “I bet there’re a lot of dark corners in this library. But what about Nick and Aiden?”
“I don’t want to fuck them.”
That makes me laugh. “I meant, they have eyes on you at all times.”
“Not all the time.”
Well then …
“Let’s go exploring then. Let me see all of the books and pick them up and smell them and—”
“Smell them?” He looks mildly disturbed.
“It’s a book-nerd thing. Books have a smell to them, new and old. Especially old. They smell of history.”
“Book-smelling? Well, that’s killed my hard-on.”
I snort and then smother the laugh with my hand. “Sorry.”
“Come on,” he grumbles, tugging on my hand, leading me into the library. “Let’s go and look around, so you can smell some musty, old books.”