For the Love of Gina: The President's Girlfriend by Mallory Monroe

 
    “So
this is where you got off to,” Crader said as he made it by Dutch’s side, and
they began walking together.
    “Any
pressing national security problems?” Dutch asked him.
    “Plenty.”
    “Syria.”
    “Egypt
this time.   Another round of
violence.   More calls for the US to do
more.”
    “Like
hell,” Dutch said.
    “Don’t
worry.   I have hawks at the Pentagon
breathing down my neck, those hawks in Congress ramming it down my throat, but
I’m not about to commit any more to that powder keg than what’s already been
committed.   It’s a mess and there’s no
way around it.   It will not end
well.   Makes you wonder if they should
have ever gotten rid of Mubarak.”
    “I
don’t wonder that,” Dutch said.   “Democracy isn’t pretty, especially in its infancy.   They’ll come around.”
    “So,”
Crader said as they walked, a sure indication that he was dying to change the
subject.   “How’s you and Gina been really
getting along?”
    Dutch
looked at him, curious why he would phrase it that way.   “We’re getting along fine.”
    “Yeah?”
    “Yes.”
    Crader
nodded.   “That’s good.”
    Dutch
hesitated, still studying his old friend. “What about you and Loretta?   How are you two getting on?”
    Crader
nodded his head.   “It’s been good.”
    “Staying
out of trouble?”
    “Who me?”
Crader said with a charming smile.   “Yes,
Daddy, I’m staying out of trouble.”
    “Good.   Because Loretta deserves nothing less.”
    Crader
didn’t respond to that.   He knew it was
true.   And they continued walking.
    Then
Crader smiled.   “You remember all those
crazy things we used to do?” he asked Dutch.   “With the ladies, I mean.”
    Dutch
hesitated.   He knew exactly what he
meant.   “I remember.”
    Crader
laughed.   “Those were some crazy days,
man.   And to imagine you and then I would
eventually become president of this great country makes it all the more
remarkable.”
    “And
scary,” Dutch said, and they laughed.
    “Yeah,”
Crader said, “but those were the days, my friend.”
    Dutch
continued walking, looking down at the top of his expensive shoes as he
did.   He was waiting for more.
    And
Crader gave him more.   “But when you’re
president,” he said, “you’re so limited.”
    Dutch
looked at him.   “What are you getting at,
Crader?”
    Crader
exhaled.   “I’m not used to this.   To being in the fishbowl like this.   When I was VP, it wasn’t like this.”
    “The
scrutiny, you mean?”
    “Yes!   I can’t fart without the press knowing about
it.”
    Dutch
laughed.
    “How
did you do it?   And if I so much as look
at another woman, they want to accuse me of cheating on La.”
    Dutch
almost stopped walking.   “You haven’t,
right?”   He looked at his closest friend.
    “Of
course I haven’t.   I’m no idiot.   But I’m concerned.”
    “About
what?”
    “After
the presidency.   When the cameras are
off.   I’m wondering if it’s going to be
enough.”
    “Crader,
what are you talking about?   If what’s
going to be enough?”
    “One
woman,” Crader admitted.   “I’m not used
to this.”
    For
some reason, his admission inwardly angered Dutch.   “It’s not as if you just got married
yesterday, Crader,” he said.   “Why aren’t
you used to it?”
    “Because
I’m not!   Sometimes I want. . .
more.   I miss it.   The variety I mean.”
    “What
kind of variety?   You mean different
races of women?”
    “No,
hell no.   Of course not.   I used to bed just as many black women as I
did white women.   I’m talking about women
period.   Different women.”
    Dutch
wanted to pounce, but he needed to hear him out.
    Crader
continued.   “LaLa’s wonderful, you know
that.   She’s sweet, she’s smart, she’s
beautiful, she’s even good in bed.   She’s
wonderful.”
    “But?”
    “But
after a while . . .”   Crader looked at
him.   “I love LaLa, don’t misunderstand
me.   I