I slip it into my pocket.
At least with the auto delete function in the app, I won’t be tempted to go back and read old messages between them.
* * * *
Wednesday, I start carrying around my personal cell, even to work, but Leo still hasn’t texted me back.
That lonely little message from Sunday night sits there, mocking me with its terseness.
YW. GD.
My instincts are usually pretty damn accurate. When I felt that dark jolt hit me when that message first arrived, I knew it wasn’t good.
By Thursday morning, I am pissedrightthe fuck off.
And I’m damn surenotgoing to embarrass myself any more than I already have by trying to get Leo to pay attention to me. Thursday afternoon, I need to confirm something on Elliot’s schedule—to make sure it’s not a conflict with the president’s schedule—by clearing it through Leo. So instead of walking over there, I text him on his work phone from mine.
He responds in less than thirty seconds.
Motherfucker.
Okay. He can text Elliot all day, and his thumbs obviously aren’t broken, so what the actualfuck?
I fully understand that my anger is really pain and grief struggling to stay productive and focused on anything and anyone except targeting Elliot with it.
Because it’s not his fault Leo’s an asshole.
Who, oh yeah, is still quite capable of texting Elliot on the burner.
Like, what thehell?
I take the burner away from Elliot when we arrive home Thursday evening, drop him hard and deep into subspace, spank and angry fuck him into a happy, gooey blob, and we spend the rest of the night curled up in bed together watching TV and eating Chinese takeout that one of the detail ordered and picked up for us at my request.
My personal cell’s sitting on the nightstand, powered on and fully charged, but Leo still hasn’t broken his silence with me.
Fine.
Just shows me I was stupid to get my hopes up, anyway. My first instinct, as usual, was the correct one—to resign myself to the fact that Leo isn’t going to be inmylife, just Elliot’s.
The First Family’s traveling to Camp David for the weekend, departing tomorrow once the kids are out of school for the day. They’ll pick them up and head straight there. Even Pecan’s making the trip.
I’m assuming Leo’s traveling with them, so that means no talk until next Monday, at the earliest.
Or maybe even half past never, at this rate.
Fucker.
That means I have zero expectations on Friday morning when we arrive at the office and I settle in to work. I’ve returned to the mindset that Elliot is my focus—myonlyfocus.
Leo’s just a coworker I happen to have a past with.
Nothing more.
At least, that’s the lie I tell myself while my day collar practically burns a hole in my pocket against my thigh.
I give Elliot the burner phone. Fuck it, let him have it. We don’t have any events tonight, although we do have a stop at the campaign headquarters after we leave the White House. Then home, where we’ll both probably gorge ourselves on leftovers and fall asleep early in a food coma.
Hopefully. We’ll need the sleep.
