She nods. “Relax. Politics isn’t my thing. I only write human interest pieces.”
I feel like a dick for asking, but you can never be too sure. In my experience, media types have a flexible moral code.
Sort of like politicians.
I press a chaste kiss to her lips. “Thanks.”
“What are friends for?” She cups a hand to the back of my neck and pulls me down on top of her so we’re skin to skin. “You know, besides orgasms.”
“You’re incorrigible.” I fucking love it.
Quinn rolls her hips, bringing my cock to attention. “I learned from the best.”
40
QUINN
Cooper takesthe turnpike exit ramp at an alarming speed, his white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel doing little to put my nerves at ease.
To say it’s been a tense drive from College Park to Philadelphia would be an understatement. Cooper’s shoulders have the rigid look of a man about to face the firing squad and he’s barely said a word during the three-hour drive.
So, yeah, my anxiety is at an all-time high as we near the hotel where we’re supposed to spend the day with the senator and his strongest political supporters.
Cockwaffles. Why did I ever agree to this?
Because Coop looked like he needed a friend after that awful call with his father.
Hell, he looked like he needed a drink.
And since drinking your feelings is frowned upon, I’d opted for the next best thing: sex. Which had the added bonus of multiple orgasms for me.
Unfortunately, sex isn’t an option at the moment.
Too bad. Cooper in a suit is *chef’s kiss*. The soft black fabric hugs his body like it was tailor made for him and his shirt is open at the collar, revealing just enough smooth tan skin to set my pulse thrumming, which definitely isn’t helping with the anxiety sitch.
I don’t want to pry, but I’m starting to question the wisdom of agreeing to this little outing.
Not only because there’s a high probability I’ll embarrass Cooper, but because I’m walking into the situation completely blind.
I know nothing about his family, other than what I gleaned from the internet, and I don’t have the first clue what I’m supposed to say to his parents.
Start small and work up to the big stuff.
“What are your plans after college and the NFL?”
So much for starting small.
Cooper’s head swivels toward me, but his expression is unreadable. “I never said I was going into the NFL.”
“I figured it was a given.” I shift in my seat, angling my back toward the door so I can look at him. “So you’re not planning to play pro ball?”
He shrugs. “It’s complicated.”
“How complicated can it be?” I mirror his shrug. “Either you want to play pro ball or you don’t.”
Talent isn’t even a question. Not for Cooper.
“I’d like to play in the NFL, but my father doesn’t approve.” He rolls his shoulders and adjusts his grip on the steering wheel. “It’s a major point of contention. Please don’t bring it up today.”
