Campaigning for Christopher Read Online Free Page B

train, and he looked down to see high-heeled black shoes on the forest floor. He was disoriented but not afraid. A low, sultry voice hummed “careful” or “stay with me” or “here we go” as he lurched and stumbled. Her hands were strong, the reassuring grasp of her fingers taking good care of him.
    And then suddenly, somehow, he was lying down, staring up at a ceiling—a familiar ceiling, though he couldn’t place it. Where was he? Before he could figure it out, the goddess leaned over him, shaking her head disapprovingly, then angrily, like looking at his face hurt her heart.
    Christopher stared up at the shrouded universe in her eyes, desperately fighting the urge to close his eyes and sleep.
    “Pleeeeeeease,” he groaned, with all the strength he could muster. “Your . . . naaaaaame?”
    Her fingers, which had already unfastened his bow tie and were in the process of unbuttoning his shirt, stilled. She stood up straight, pulled her black hair forward, over her shoulders, and looked directly into his eyes.
    Her eyes were cold and black as endless night as she lifted her chin and whispered, “My name is Wichahpi Mapiya Kangee, Christopher Winslow. And this is for my people.”
    What? Who are your—?
    He desperately tried to concentrate, but the question was too difficult to finish.
    The room swirled . . . and went black.

Chapter 3
     
    “Chris . . . Chris, come on . . . wake up.”
    Christopher groaned, batting his brother’s smacking palm away from his cheek and throwing his arm over his eyes as he fought to hold on to sleep.
    “Come on, man. Get up. It’s almost noon.”
    Cameron. Fucking Cameron.
    Wait. Why was Cameron in his apartment? Cameron had moved out to Margaret Story’s vineyard a couple of months ago.
    “Cam?” he rasped.
    “Yeah. Fucking wake up, man. Sloth.”
    Christopher opened his eyes slowly, adjusting to the light in the dimly lit room. Blinking twice, he took a deep breath and moved his dry tongue around his parched mouth. The first thing he realized? He wasn’t at home.
    “Where am I?” he muttered, closing his eyes again. And why was it so goddamn hard to open his eyes?
    “At the vineyard. On Margaret’s couch. Exactly where we found you last night.”
    Christopher took a deep breath and blinked his eyes open, staring up at the plaster ceiling. The headache he expected to assault him wasn’t forthcoming, so sitting up wasn’t quite as awful as he’d anticipated. He leaned forward and pulled his pants, which were around his knees, up to his hips, focusing his eyes on Cameron, who squatted in front of the sofa with an outstretched cup of coffee.
    “Figure you need this, huh?”
    Christopher rubbed the rough stubble on his cheeks, then reached for the coffee, bringing it gratefully to his lips and taking a bracing sip.
    “What happened?”
    Cameron sat back on the carpet, wrapping his arms around his knees and looking up at Christopher with surprise. “What do you mean?”
    “I mean . . . how come I stayed here last night?”
    “How the fuck do I know? Margaret and I got back here after midnight, and you were half dressed, asleep on the couch, snoring loud enough to scare away wildlife. Meggie covered you with a blanket, and we went to bed.”
    “Half naked,” muttered Christopher, blinking his eyes, which opened a little wider. “Fuuuuck! I wasn’t with someone, was I?”
    Cameron’s eyes danced with incredulity and humor. “Uh, yeah. You definitely were. I mean, you went after that waitress like your life depended on it.”
    “Waitress?” asked Christopher, feeling deeply off-balance and very confused. “What waitress?”
    “Dude, are you kidding me?”
    Christopher rolled his aching shoulders, the consequences of sleeping on a narrow, antique couch starting to assert themselves. “No.”
    Cameron gave him a skeptical look, screwing up his face and pursing his lips. “You know, I really didn’t think you were that drunk. I mean, you didn’t seem that