He closes his eyes and exhales, muttering something that sounds a lot like Thank God. Not exactly a moment potential voters would find charming. Then again, I’m not a potential voter. I’m his son.

I make myself breathe. I inhale and clench my hands into fists, exhale and release them. It’s all I can do not to jump out of my chair and start shouting, but my father isn’t the enemy. I know he’s only thinking of me.

“I didn’t want her to get an abortion,” I finally say when I have my anger under control. “I begged her to keep the baby. I told her I’d take care of her. And at one point, I thought she was going to. She told me she would. But she ended up getting the abortion anyway, and now she’s threatening to go to the media and tell them that I forced her to do it, that I coerced and threatened her. None of it’s true, but she knows about your campaign and she wants money.”

“Who is this woman? Someone local?”

Now it’s harder to hold his gaze. “A stripper from Indy.”

Dad’s face hardens with sharp but fragile lines of disappointment. “You fucked a stripper and got her pregnant.”

My throat is thick. There’s nothing worse than disappointing my father.

“How much does she want?”

“Ten thousand dollars.”

Dad settles his elbows on his desk and rests his head in his hands. I finish my brandy and stand to pour myself more.

“I’m sorry, Dad.” I study the amber liquid. “I never thought my mistake could come back on you like this, but I should have known.”

“We’ll take care of it. I’ll get my guys on it. We need to find out some facts first—was she really pregnant, was an abortion actually performed? She can’t prove much, and with a woman like that, there’s a good chance it wasn’t even your baby, but she knows this will look bad, even if we can’t prove a thing.”

I nod.

“In the meantime, don’t talk to her. Don’t take her calls and don’t let her get you alone. Give her information to Connor, and we’ll damage-control this situation as best we can.” He downs the rest of his brandy and studies me. “Is there anything else you need to tell me? Any other skeletons in your closet I should be prepared to have jump out at me?”

“No, sir.”

“I’ll see you at the house tonight. Your mom wants all her kids there for dinner.”

I nod in agreement and leave his office, ready to put this shit day behind me.

* * *

Liz

“Weddings make me horny.”

My younger sister Maggie chokes on her beer, and my friend Cally giggles into her martini. A few middle-aged women at the table behind us turn to cast disapproving looks in my direction. Screw them. Weddings probably make them horny too, but after years of granny panties and stool softeners, they’re too insecure to admit it.

We’re at The Wire, where Mom invited all the out-of-town guests for cocktails. Tomorrow we’ll caravan to Brown County for the wedding weekend.

Tonight, it’s more than my sister’s upcoming vows that are doing a number on me. That would be enough—there’s something about one man promising forever to one woman that leaves me craving smexy times with the nearest male. But tonight, the general go-get-’em attitude of my sex drive has less to do with marriage vows and more to do with the promises made to me by a complete stranger. Last night’s chat with River was cut too short for my liking, leaving me all tense and wound-up and needy. My body was disappointed when it had to settle for my hand to take care of business when my brain had been weaving all kinds of fantasies promising . . . Sam.

“What?” I say when my friends and sisters keep staring at me. “It’s been a while. I’m glad I can still get horny. If I go much longer, my coochie is in danger of drying up.”

“A while? Really?” Nix cocks an eyebrow in disbelief. “How long?”

I bite my lip and study her. She doesn’t believe I’ve actually been abstaining. “A few months,” I say.

She lifts a brow. “You had sex a few months ago and you’re looking for sympathy from me?”

“You have my sympathies,” Maggie says.

Cally chimes in with, “Mine too.”

I scowl. I don’t want to talk about this. Not really. Not when Cally, Maggie, and my own freaking twin are on their men like marathon bull riders. “Eight months.” That’s how long it’s been since my Super Summer Screw-Up. “If we’re talking actual peen-meets-vag sex, longer.”

Nix taps her foot. No sympathy. “How long?” she repeats.

“Fourteen months,” I say under my breath.

Maggie and Cally’s jaws drop.

“Lizzy!” Nix screeches. “You’re saying you haven’t had sex since you hooked up with Sam at Will and Cally’s wedding?”

“Quiet down!” I grind between my teeth, but Club Disapproval at the next table is shooting me evil looks again. “Your math skills are remarkable,” I mutter to Nix.

“Jesus,” she says. “Even I’ve had sex more recently than that. Are you sure you aren’t forgetting a hookup?”

“I haven’t had sex in I’m-at-risk-of-growing-a-new-hymen months, Nix. Trust me. I wouldn’t forget.”

Maggie snorts. “I think abstinence is starting to get to her too,” she says to Nix. “Yesterday, I caught her eyeing the bratwurst in my fridge.”