She smiles. “I won’t even make you get up and make my coffee for me in the morning. You can sleep late.”
I laugh. “Even better, Ma’am.”
She falls asleep curled in my arms and I wish I had a magic wand to heal both of them. Absolutely, I’d be happy sandwiched between the two of them every night.
It’s just a matter of overcoming a lot of fear all the way around.
And slaying Casey’s demons, if she’d just give me the glimmer of a target to aim for so I can start the process.
Chapter Twenty-One
Now — July
Four weeks until the primary.
We survive that speedbump. Casey comes over to George’s Sunday afternoon and we all talk. We don’t get into Casey’s demons, because she’s not ready to go there yet. But after our talk, the three of us play together, George taking the lead in tying me up and spanking me while Casey rides my face and my cock before she holds me while George fucks me.
It feels like a solid truce, a bridge, a solid path in the right direction.
Finally.
The filing deadline passes without a GOP challenger entering the race, meaning our target is to tout what George has done and who he is more than tilting at any Democratic candidate when we don’t even know who the front-runner will be.
Hell, the Dems don’t seem to know, either. They spend so much time trying to tear each other down instead of taking shots at George that I’m already formulating our main strategy once the primary is over. Including I’ve already highlighted sound bites from their attack ads against each other for our own PR team to use once we have to start airing negative ads closer to the general election.
My strategy is to hold back on the negatives as long as possible to avoid voter burn-out, but once we go dark, we’re going to go for the jugular and leave them reeling and playing catch-up and trying to defend themselves.
George still has the bounce and voter sympathy and excellent poll numbers working for him.
Our travel schedule picks up, and many weekends find me traveling with him and only getting an evening or two here or there with Casey. Three times, we’ve gotten her to come spend the night at George’s on a weeknight after he and I play. The best of both worlds, I get time with her and George gets to sleep.
My hope is that once we’re past this crazy election season maybe we can try do to that more so we’re all getting what we need. She tossed me and George head-first into the deep end of the pool. Maybe if we ease her into the kiddie pool we can get her to come around faster.
As we slide into July with our personal secret remaining intact, we’re all working our asses off, between running the state and running George’s campaign.
Sir and I get to sleep in late this Saturday morning. We had an event last night in Gatlinburg and spent the night in a hotel here. We’re supposed to fly from Gatlinburg to Memphis after lunch, attend an event there tonight, sleep over, attend another event in Memphis Sunday morning, at one of the large churches there, and then fly back to Nashville tomorrow afternoon.
Casey built the late morning into the schedule for us today because it’s been a hell of a week for both of us, and she knew in advance it would be.
God, I love that woman.
This actually works out even better, because it’s been raining off and on most of the week from a tropical system that made it this far inland and stalled, a rain bomb that is now being held in place by two frontal systems.
Meaning crappy flying weather.
Also meaning I’ll need to pump a Xanax into George before we leave for the airport. He’s gotten better about flying in good weather, but the last time he tried to fly in rain without a Xanax, he damn near had a panic attack on the plane. Thank god it was a small, private charter. I ordered his security detail to the front of the plane while I sat there in the back with him as he dissolved a Xanax under his tongue, him crying while I tightly held his hands and talked to him to keep him focused on me until it kicked in.
At least his security detail understandswhyhe’s afraid to fly, and nothing’s yet leaked about it. He’s not just being a pussy—it definitely triggers his PTSD.
This trip is necessary, though. With only four weeks left until the August primary, we need to make use of the free air time, keep reminding people who George is as a person and a lawmaker, not only as the state’s governor, or as a celebrity survivor. That way, by the time we know who his opponent is for the general, he’ll have an established advantage in the polls, and not because he’s the incumbent.
Let me correct my earlier statement—Georgewill get to sleep in late. I lie there, already wide awake even though it’s only a little before five and not even daylight yet, but I resist the urge to reach for either of my phones because I don’t want to awaken George. Last night I ended up on my back, with George snuggled against me, one of his arms slung across my chest and his head tucked against my shoulder with my arm curled around him.
I love watching George sleep. Like this, the worst of the deep creases have been erased from his face, although the dark lines under his eyes concern me. He hasn’t been sleeping as well as I’d like him to.
Fortunately, he hasn’t had many nightmares in the past couple of weeks. The dark lines are from the normal stress of his job, combined with the additional work and exhaustion being on the campaign trail entails.
There’s more grey in his light brown hair than there was a couple of years ago. Casey and I noticed it a few months after his return. I can’t help but wonder if the sudden appearance was due to stress and grief. It must be, right?
