Standing there, he takes my hands and gives them a squeeze. “The house next door is almost identical, except reversed. The master bedroom faces this one. It’d be perfect for you.
A twinge of pain, or maybe fear, rolls through me. “I know we can afford it, but why can’t we live together?”
“We can, and will, but it’ll look really weird and you’ll have a hard time explaining why we live together. Two addresses solves it all.”
I still don’t understand. “Why?”
He grins, the grin I know means I’m along for the ride regardless. “We talked about you running for governor. Have to start somewhere, duh. County commissioner.”
We haven’t discussed those plans in a long time, though. Not since we passed the bar and started working. We’ve all been too busy with work to even think about that.
I study him. “Isn’t there a residency requirement?”
“That’s why we’re buying now. We start living here. By the time we have your campaign structure in place, you’ll meet residency requirements, and just in time to file. No one ever runs against this fucker so he treats it like a cakewalk. Except now, his poll numbers suck, and he’s at his lowest popularity ever. Susa and I already crunched the numbers. You’re going to run for his seat, win, and pick him off like a gimpy gopher tortoise in the middle of I-4 at rush hour.”
“How can you be so sure?”
He cups his hand around the back of my neck and my body wants to respond automatically.
Well-trained.
“Why did you become an attorney?” he softly asks.
He knows this, but I answer anyway. “To help people.”
“Why’d you say you wanted to run for governor?”
“To help people.” Helping Susa become governor is helping people, too.
Right?
“Tohelppeople.” He meets my gaze. “Youreallywant to be governor and help people? Make a difference?”
I nod, a little, not enough to dislodge his hand.
“We starthere. County commissioner, one term. State rep one or two terms, or maybe state senator. We’ll decide that closer to the time, when we look and see who’s most vulnerable in this district. Run poll numbers and see where we focus. Then we run for governor. Iwillget you elected, but that won’t happen without a little political experience under your belt first.”
I meet his gaze and know it’s already decided. By him, by my body.
By my heart. Because this is what I wanted, even if I thought there was no way in hell it’d ever happen.
“Are you in?” Carter asks.
“Yes, Sir.”
“No. This is Carter and Owen time. I need to hear you say it, if you really are in. If this is whatyouwant. You need to ask me for it.”
This all terrifies me for a variety of reasons, some I can verbalize, and some which remain lodged deep inside me. “I can’t do this without you.”
He grips my head in both hands, his expression fierce and hard. “I willneverleave you, Owen. You aremine, and likehellwill I ever give you up. But youhaveto tell me what you want. If you want it, ask me for it. Otherwise, we don’t do it. We’ll just go into practice and forget buying the second house, and we’ll all live here together. Then, when Susa’s ready to run, you and I will run her campaign. But ifyouwant to run for governor, wehaveto have separate houses on paper, staringnow. So tell me what you want, Owen.Askme for it.”
I want it. Almost as much as I want Carter.
Almost as much as I want Susa.
But I wantusmore. “We’ll still live together?”
“Of course. Your house will only be for show and basically an investment property, once we don’t need it any longer.”
