by Chelle Bliss
He smiles before walking toward the back of the bus with his head held a little higher than before.
“He’s doing a shitty job, and you know it.” Carl is trying to contain his anger, rubbing his hands together on top of the table.
I wave him off. “It’s one night, Carl. I can use it to my advantage.”
He sighs, puffing out his cheeks. “How?”
“I can get into Preston’s head a little. Throw her off before we even get to the debate.”
He curls his lip and narrows his eyes. “You think you can get to her?”
“She’s easy to rattle. You saw her at the last debate. You said this one is critical. Why not use our location to our advantage?” I’m grasping at straws, because I want to be closer to Reagan. I know if Carl thinks I’m using it as part of my game plan, he’ll be all for it.
“It could work,” he says, brushing his graying hair off his forehead.
“It will work. Now tell me about the rest of the week.”
He rattles on about rallies and small, town hall meetings that he’s scheduled for the entire week. I nod my head every few seconds, pretending I’m listening as I type a message to Reagan.
Me: I hear we’re going to be roomies again.
She doesn’t reply right away, and I turn my attention to Instagram to find out what’s being said about me. But the first image I see is of her. She’s laughing about something and looks relaxed.
But the thing in the photo that catches my attention the most isn’t her beauty—it’s Tom. He’s behind her with that watchful eye, standing entirely too close.
Her message flashes at the top of my screen.
Boo: Peoria?
I close Instagram, but not before I save the photo of Reagan to my phone and send her a reply.
Me: Yeah. It could be fun.
Boo: Or a complete disaster.
Me: Y?
Boo: Tom’s always watching me.
Me: I noticed.
My hand grips the phone tighter, and I punch in another message.
Me: I’m sure Lexi can keep him busy for a few moments.
Boo: Let’s hope.
Me: I need to taste you.
I have to adjust myself after thinking about touching her again. She’s replaced my nightmares most nights, chasing them away with dreams of the future.
Boo: Me too… Gotta run. Chat later.
“Jude, are you listening to a thing I’m saying?”
I glance up to an annoyed Carl with his head cocked and arms crossed. I smile, tossing my phone to the seat. “My head’s in the game. Keep going. You have my full attention.”
He talks while I daydream of Reagan. Her naked. Her moans. Her tiny breaths as I taste her skin. She invades my thoughts with fantasies I plan to make realities in a few short days.
“What floor is the Preston team staying on?” Carl asks the front desk manager at the ritziest hotel in Peoria.
She continues typing on her computer and doesn’t bother to look up. “I can’t answer that, sir.”
I’m barely able to stand still and keep my eyes on anything but the lobby of the hotel. Each dark-haired woman walking through the elegant hotel is Reagan until I see their faces. “Carl, it really doesn’t matter which floor we’re on. I just want a room to relax and prep for tomorrow.”
“We have very limited availability in the hotel this evening, and your room has already been assigned.” She glances up just as I turn. She smiles as her eyes roam over the part of my body that’s visible above the front desk. “But I can see about upgrading you to a suite, Mr. Titan.”
“That would be wonderful.” I lean forward and get a better view of her name tag. “Melinda.”
She blushes. “It would be an honor,” she says and starts to chew on her bottom lip.
I lean against the counter with my arms crossed and scan the room while she pounds away at the keyboard.
“Are there two bedrooms in the suite?”
Fuck. I didn’t think of that. There’s no way I want Carl staying with me. I have one plan during my stay, and it’s to sneak away and spend time with Reagan.
“No,” she says quickly. “Your room is on the floor below Mr. Titan.”
Carl starts to mutter under his breath about bullshit and respect. I don’t bother to add my two cents, because he’s right where I want him—far enough away that I can have some privacy.
“Here are your keys.”
Carl nudges me and holds out my plastic keycard with the number 1011 on the paper holder. Just as I grab it from him, I see her. Walking through the revolving door with her hair blowing in the breeze is Reagan Preston, and standing in the door behind her is Tom Harbor.
She glances up from her phone and catches sight of me, but she doesn’t react besides a small smirk. Tom moves to walk beside her and grabs her arm, stopping her from coming any closer.
My body tenses and I take a step forward, but I stop when her eyes widen and lock with mine. The way he’s putting his hands on her makes my blood boil. Even if there’s something going on between them and I’m being played, he’s being too aggressive for my liking. Tom’s face is tight, and his lips are barely moving as he speaks to her.
“Can you please have our bags delivered?” Carl asks Melinda.
I turn to face them because it’s the only way I can stop myself from marching over and knocking Harbor on his ass. I can see the headline now: “Titan takes down The Barber,” and it would probably ruin my campaign because I’d be portrayed as a maniac.
I bend down and grab my bag. “I’ll get my own, thank you, Melinda.”
She smiles brightly and her cheeks pink. “You’re welcome, Mr. Titan.”
Carl walks away without so much as a thank-you and gets a glimpse of Reagan just as I start to follow behind him. He glances over his shoulder, catching me staring at her as I walk.
“It’s between them, Jude. Don’t get involved,” Carl tells me as if he can read my mind.
“Even if she’s the enemy, no one should touch a woman like that, Carl. No one.”
“It’s not our business. It’s probably a lover’s quarrel.” His last statement is almost a punch to the gut.
But it is my business. When it comes to Reagan, especially if someone is putting his hands on her, it becomes my business. I have this overwhelming need to claim her and mark her as mine.
It’s been three hours since I checked in and still nothing from Reagan besides a text telling me that she was fine and would text me later.
I’ve already worked out, had something to eat, and am starting to wear a pattern into the tan Berber carpet of my suite. Carl excused himself for the night, heading to the bar across the street to meet with some local Republican bigwigs. I told him I wasn’t feeling up to it and needed to get my head in the game for tomorrow.
After what feels like my hundredth lap around the living room, I pull out my phone and type Reagan a message.
Me: Coast is clear.
Before the message sends, there’s a knock. I almost jog to the door and press my eye against the peephole. I see Reagan outside with a hoodie pulled down so low I can barely see her sunglasses-covered face.
I open the door and pull her inside, pushing her up against the wall and letting the door slam. “What took you so long?” Without giving her a chance to answer, I crush my lips against hers and wrap my arms around her body, pulling her close.
She melts into me and snakes her arms over my shoulders, digging her fingertips into the base of my hair. Her breathy moans match mine as we feed each other air, tangling our tongues together with hunger.
My arms are holding her tightly against me as she lifts her legs, wrapping them around my waist and grinding on my hardened dick.
Even though I want to talk to her, I can’t bring myself to break our kiss. It has been too long since I’ve tasted the sweetness of her mouth and reveled in her softness.
Her hands pull at my shirt and slide underneath. My moans grow louder when her
fingernails scrape down my back, sending tiny shockwaves throughout my system. My hand finds the base of her hoodie, and I start to pull it up, needing to feel our skin touching.
We both lean back, and I pull her hoodie off with one hand as she’s clawing at mine. Her sunglasses get tangled in her hoodie and fall to the floor with our clothes before our lips find each other’s again without skipping a beat.
I push her back against the wall, holding her body with the pressure of mine, and lift her arms straight into the air, holding them with one hand. “Reagan.” My lips are hovering above hers. “Say you’re mine and only mine.”
Her legs wrap tighter around my waist, and her chest is pushed up toward my face. “I’m only yours,” she says in a breathy tone, staring me straight in the eyes.
I pin her hands against the wall and bring my lips down to her neck. “I don’t share,” I growl against her skin as she digs her heels into my ass, pulling our bodies closer.
My lips blaze a path down her neck to her cleavage, and I instantly regret our position. I want to worship her body, but I can’t with her pinned against the wall. I release her hands, and my mouth connects with her as I carry her toward the couch.
“I’ve missed you,” she whispers into my mouth when her body lands against the cushions, and I cover her with my weight.
I lean on one arm and stare down into her beautiful big eyes. “I missed you too,” I confess as I trace the spot where her bra strap meets her flesh before pulling them down her arms one by one.
Just as I’m lowering my mouth to her nipple, there’s a knock at the door. Reagan goes rigid, and my eyes dart to hers. “It’s probably housekeeping. Ignore them,” I tell her because the last thing I want to do is stop.
She nods, pulling her lip into her mouth, and starts to settle back into the cushions.
Two more knocks, but louder this time. “Jude. Answer the damn door,” Carl says.
Reagan’s hands collide with my chest as she pushes me off her. “Fuck,” Reagan whispers. “What the fuck am I going to do?” She rushes to the pile of clothes on the floor and holds them in a bundle against her chest with a look of sheer panic.
I roll to my side and watch her. “Gimme a second!” I call out to Carl to pacify him for a few seconds.
“Hurry up,” he replies.
“Go into the bedroom. He won’t go in there.”
“Get rid of him,” she says, scurrying away with her bra still hanging down her shoulders and the clothes, including my shirt, in her hands.
After the door closes and Reagan’s tucked away, I adjust myself and open the door. “What?”
Carl’s standing outside with a giant smile and a manila folder. “I have it,” he says, brushing right by me.
“What do you have?”
He waves the folder in my face. “I have the very thing to bring down Senator Preston.”
“I’m not running against him, Carl. We’ve been through this shit before.” I walk over to the bar and pour myself a drink. “Want one?” I ask because if I don’t, something will seem off.
“No, I’m not staying. I just wanted to hand-deliver these myself. I know we’ve been over it and that you’re running against Reagan, but you’re running against the family name, not just a person.”
No matter how many times I’ve told him to stop digging into the Preston family, Carl hasn’t listened. “What do you think you have?” I ask, knowing full well Reagan can hear, but I don’t want to take any chances and have Carl stick around longer than he needs to be here. She’s my priority at the moment, not her father’s good name.
“He’s been having an affair with a much younger woman. I have photos that prove it.” Carl throws the folder onto the counter next to me and the photos slide out.
The first photo is of Reagan’s father with his arm slung around a woman’s shoulders, and he’s smiling. Using the back of my fingertips, I push aside the photo and reveal the next. He’s kissing the woman on the cheek while they embrace.
“So you want me to out her father as a philanderer?”
“Their entire platform is based on family values, and here’s the proof that it’s a lie. People are voting for her because of her name.” He moves to my side and spreads the photos out more. “Ruin the name, end the candidacy.”
“Leave these with me, and let me think about it overnight,” I tell him before taking a sip of whiskey.
“You passed up too many chances to bring her down, Jude. This is your last chance to tie up your victory before Election Day. If we put these photos out there, then the campaign is over.”
“I’ll think about it, Carl,” I growl.
“Don’t think too long.” He walks toward the door and pauses. “Election Day is near. We won’t have too many chances like this left,” he tells me before walking out, slamming the door on his way.
A few moments later, the bedroom door opens and Reagan walks out, dressed and crying. “It can’t be true. My dad wouldn’t do this to my mom.”
I walk across the room and embrace her. “We can’t control everyone in our lives, Reagan.”
She buries her face against my chest. “He’s always preaching to me about family and not ruining our name, but he’s the one doing it.”
“I’m sorry,” I say with my lips nestled against her hair. “I won’t let Carl release the photos.”
She pulls away and brushes her tears off her cheeks. “I need to see them.”
I don’t say a word as she walks towards the counter and the folder of photos of her father and the other woman. She moves them around for a moment before picking one up. “I wouldn’t believe it unless I saw it with my own eyes.”
Slowly, I walk up behind her and wrap my arms around her waist. She’s staring at the one where her father is kissing the woman on the cheek, and they’re both smiling, blissfully unaware of being photographed.
“I’m so angry with him right now,” she says, setting the photo down and picking up another. “He’s always preaching to me about the family name and how he’s done everything right. He makes me feel so small and inadequate, unworthy of the family name, and he’s been lying to the entire world for God knows how long.”
“I’ll bury these,” I tell her, moving my body closer so we’re flush against each other.
“Thanks,” she says, dropping the photo on top of the others before turning in my arms to face me. “I need to talk to him.”
I brush the tiny stray hairs away from her face, tucking a few behind her ear. “I’ll keep it quiet.”
“Carl won’t let that happen. Not for long, at least.”
“He works for me, Reagan, not the other way around.”
She smiles briefly and lays her hand upon my chest. “You’re so new. Campaign managers don’t always do what we ask or tell them to, Jude. Remember that. They have one goal—to get you elected.”
Using my fingertips, I tilt her chin to bring her eyes to mine. “I promise I’ll do everything in my power for this not to get out.”
She stands on her tiptoes and kisses me softly. “Thanks,” She murmurs against my lips. “I better go. I have to talk to Lexi about this.”
“This isn’t how I planned our night to go.”
We don’t have any other stops on the schedule together and no more debates. This was the last chance I had to spend with Reagan before the election, and Carl found a way to cockblock me without even knowing it.
She places her forehead against my lips, and I close my eyes. “I know,” she whispers, running her fingers across my pec. “Me either.”
“I’ll miss you.” I repeat the very words I spoke before Carl ruined everything.
She tucks her head under my chin and rests her cheek against my chest. “I’ll miss you too.”
I squeeze her tightly, memorizing the way she smells and feels in my arms. The next few weeks will be grueling, and more than anything, I want to stay in this moment. We’re in a bubble in here. The election is out there. Inside my room, we’re Rea
gan and Jude. Just a guy and a girl who want more than we can have.
Whatever happens in the next couple of weeks will influence more than the future of our campaigns; it will determine our fate.
Chapter 22
When I pull onto my parents’ street, my throat tightens with emotion. I don’t want to park in the driveway and see the planters full of brightly colored flowers my mom faithfully waters every morning. I don’t want to walk in the door and see her taking care of the home she thinks she shares with a loving husband. And I sure as hell don’t want to confront my lying, deadbeat father.
I want to just keep driving. Past the house, out of the neighborhood, and eventually, across the state line. I want to hide and nurse the hurt still coursing through me. I don’t see how I’ll be able to campaign now, knowing it’s all been a lie. The father I looked up to was just a fraud.
But like always, I put what I want aside. I slow down and turn into the long, stone driveway. My father’s dark sedan is parked there. I texted him and told him I needed to see him face-to-face and that it was an emergency.
Once inside, I set my purse and keys on the counter. The kitchen is empty, the smell of homemade banana bread in the air.
“Reagan?”
My dad calls out from the hallway and walks into the kitchen.
“What’s going on?” he asks. “What’s this emergency?”
“Where’s Mom?”
“Volunteering for hospice.”
I sigh deeply, feeling like I’m seeing my father for the first time. His salt-and-pepper hair is starting to thin. He’s got crinkles beside his eyes and lines on his forehead. The expectant look he’s giving me—brows arched impatiently—has always made me hop to. But this time, it just aggravates my already raw nerves.
“Dad…” I swallow hard, steeling myself. “What would you say if I told you I was having an affair with a married man?”
He narrows his eyes. “I’d say it’s political suicide. Are you out of your fucking mind, Reagan?”
“Are you?”
“Excuse me?” His low, ominous tone makes me laugh bitterly.
“I’m not having an affair with a married man, Dad. Apparently, I got Mom’s integrity rather than yours.”