Filthy Series Page 5

Reagan’s oblivious, staring at the wall behind the coffee pot as she sips her coffee.

  “I’ll be right there, Carl,” I tell him, staring him down until he nods and leaves.

  “I hope you have a good day, Reagan. I look forward to the next time I see you,” I tell her without any recognition from her. I lean into her space until she glances at me out of the corner of her eyes. “And for your information…” I lower my voice with my lips almost touching her ear. “By the way you kissed me back, we’re something, whether you’ll admit it to yourself or not.”

  She’s holding her breath when I back away and stare at her before walking out. Reagan Preston is under my skin, but I know she feels everything I do. She felt the connection last night. She wanted it just as much as I did.

  Who am I lying to?

  I still want it.

  One touch of her lips wasn’t enough.

  * * *

  “What do you think of your opponent?” The reporter shoves the microphone closer to my face.

  “Mr. Solomon is a man with limited experience, more limited than mine. I’ve led men into battle.” I scan the group of reporters as they hang on my every word, holding their recorders and microphones close to me and jockeying for position. “Sonny’s experience is limited to being a prison guard and serving as a small-town mayor. I’m not sure he realizes the gravity of the job he’s running for, and the tenacity it will take to be successful at it.”

  “And what about Representative Preston?” a different reporter asks, jabbing her recorder forward.

  I swallow roughly and clench my fists at my sides. “Representative Preston has experience at the state level, but she comes from a political family. Stan Preston wants his daughter to go to Washington to get special favors. She’s a genuine person, but she doesn’t have enough real-world experience outside of politics to understand the plight of the little person.”

  My stomach’s turning because I know the statement I just made will get back to Reagan. There isn’t anything I said that isn’t true, but that doesn’t make it okay. It’ll hurt her feelings, but it’s politics. There’s no room for feelings when you’re trying to be victorious. Only one of us can win, and I’d prefer if it were me.

  Carl steps in front of me. “No more questions right now. If you’d like to do an interview with Mr. Titan, feel free to contact the press coordinator for the campaign,” he tells them before they scurry away.

  “Did I do something wrong?”

  He shakes his head and smiles. “It was perfect. You’ve given them enough of your time. We have to get on the road.” He glances at his watch and does a mental calculation with his eyes bouncing around. “If we leave now, we won’t make it to the next city before nightfall.”

  “That’s why they invented headlights.” I laugh.

  “Let’s go, smartass. I have a stack of interview submissions we need to go through while we travel. There aren’t enough hours in the day,” he says and starts to walk away.

  It takes me a minute before I follow. This is only the start of my campaign, but I’m already exhausted. It has been years since I left the military, and my body has gotten used to a set schedule. The rigors of traveling remind me of my time in the service, but without worrying about getting my ass shot.

  A woman holds her baby in my direction when I make my way toward the bus. “Jude, a photo, please.” She smiles, pushing the little girl toward me.

  “She’s beautiful,” I say, lifting her into my arms and cradling her against my chest. She coos with wide eyes. “Aren’t you?” I tap her nose gently, and she giggles, creating spit bubbles on her lip before I pose for the photo.

  “Thank you,” the mother says before tucking her phone back into her purse and reaching for her baby. “You’ve earned my vote. Thank you for your service.”

  I tip my head and smile. “Thank you, ma’am.”

  Her cheeks turn a rosy shade of pink. “Cindy,” she says and bites her lip.

  “Cindy, thank you for your vote.”

  She smiles and walks away with a slight skip.

  “The ladies love you,” Carl says to me before sighing. “At least we can count on their votes.”

  “I want to earn their votes on my record, not my face.”

  “I don’t care how you win, as long as you do.” He jerks his head toward the bus, reminding me to get my ass in gear. “No more stopping.”

  I walk slowly, surveying the crowd still left over from the rally. People seem to be in high spirits throughout the parking lot. There’s a team of voter registration people wandering through the crowd, handing out cards to remind everyone to register for Election Day.

  When my feet touch the top stair of the bus, I fumble with the two top buttons of my shirt. I grab a bottle of water from the fridge and collapse onto the couch.

  Carl slides into the banquette across the aisle from me and starts to go through a giant stack of papers. “Let’s start here,” he says and holds out a few sheets to me.

  I glance down and read a few questions. “You already know my answer to these. Can’t you do some of them too?”

  “We’ll do them together. There’s too many for you to do yourself, or we’ll be here until Election Day.”

  I chuckle and reach for the pen he left for me on the edge of the table. My mind is in campaign mode as I start to answer the questions as honestly as I can when my phone dings.

  Unknown: Real nice today. Way to make me feel like a complete asshole.

  I grimace, squinting at the screen.

  “Everything okay?” Carl asks.

  “Yeah,” I lie and type a quick message back to find out who sent it.

  Unknown: Who do you think it is? You know…the rich girl that doesn’t understand the plight of anyone but the wealthy.

  My jaw clenches, and I look around like someone might have seen her message. It’s an irrational response because I know I’m the only one reading it. Only Carl and I are on the bus, but I feel like I might get caught.

  Me: Sorry. It’s politics, right? I thought you had a thicker skin than that.

  Unknown: I do.

  My lips twist at the shortness of her message.

  Me: I read the piece you did for the Times about me. What did you call me, again?

  It both stung and gave me hope when I read her words before hitting the stage today. It was an interview exclusive given this morning shortly after we left the inn.

  Unknown: ;)

  Me: A war hero with no proven track record, using his good looks to win the election.

  She finally admitted I’m good-looking, so I thought of it as a win.

  Unknown: Do you know how hard it is to say something negative about you?

  Me: Cause I’m just that good.

  Unknown: No.

  I chuckle to myself because I can almost picture her face as she read my statement.

  Unknown: How am I supposed to attack a war hero? It’s a no-win situation. I’m fucked.

  I blink a few times, shocked that she used that word. I always thought of her as too classy to use such colorful language.

  Me: Say it again.

  Unknown: I’ve got to go.

  Me: Where are you?

  Unknown: Wouldn’t you like to know?

  Fuck, I would. I’d rather see her cute ass running on a treadmill than sit next to Carl sharing a pizza as we barrel down the highway toward some small town.

  Me: You can’t avoid me forever.

  Unknown: Watch me.

  Me: When you close your eyes, do you feel me?

  “Jude.” Carl clears his throat. “What the hell are you doing over there?”

  I peer up from the screen of my phone and realize I’m smiling. I shake my head and wipe any happiness away. “Nothing, just answering an email.”

  He’s eyeing me closely. “Must be a good one from the looks of you. Put the phone down and get to work.”

  “Fine,” I mumble and tap Add Contact on the screen. “Killjoy.”

 
; I can’t risk using her name. Someone might see it. I rack my brain to come up with something I’ll remember and won’t allow me to mix her up with anyone else. The only thing that pops in my head is Boo, because Reagan looks like her with the biggest brown eyes. I enter it quickly and toss my phone on the couch next to me.

  Carl bores me to death with piles and piles of interview questions until we pull into the hotel just outside of Carterville, almost at the southern tip of Illinois.

  He rubs his eyes, just as exhausted as I am, and I use it as my chance to call it a night. “I’m going to go right to bed,” I tell him when I climb to my feet. “We can pick up where we left off tomorrow after the rally.”

  “There are only a few more,” he replies and lifts his reading glasses from his nose, rubbing his eyes with his thumb and middle finger. “I’ll finish these up before I turn in.”

  “Thanks.” I stretch before it turns into a yawn. “I’ll see you bright and early.”

  “Breakfast is at six. We’ll need to prep before the rally. I’ll get you up.”

  “Works for me.” I climb down the stairs of the bus and plant my feet in the gravel. I barely see a streetlight in the distance, let alone any buildings. Just the small, dingy motel with about twenty rooms and nothing, not even a gas station, as far as my eyes can see.

  “I’ll bring your bag in,” the driver tells me from his seat.

  “I’ll grab it,” I say before making my way to the back of the bus to grab it from the compartment near the rear.

  After checking in and finding my room toward the end of the building, I close myself inside, undress, and set my phone on the nightstand next to me. It’s still early, but I’m too tired to care.

  I can’t help myself. I jump onto the bed and instantly regret my carelessness. The mattress is firm and doesn’t budge, and my body feels the impact like I fell onto cement.

  My feet dangle off the edge of the bed, and I grumble. Tonight would be another shitty night, but for entirely different reasons.

  Just as I close my eyes, my phone beeps and I roll over and look at the screen. My heart skips when I see it’s Boo.

  Chapter 8

  I’m smiling at my phone screen as I see the dots that signify Jude writing back. I knew my message would get an immediate response.

  Me: I do feel something when I close my eyes. It’s very small and kinda hard, so I think it is you.

  I couldn’t save Jude’s contact under his real name, so I chose another JT.

  Justin Timberlake: Bullshit. Take it back.

  Me: I’m not taking back shit.

  Justin Timberlake: I do NOT have a small dick. Would u like a dick pic right now?

  Me: I’m sure you have an album of them, but no, please spare me.

  Justin Timberlake: Where’s the nice girl I hung out with last night?

  Me: I was tired and my defenses were down.

  Justin Timberlake: Liar. You’d kiss me again right now if you could.

  I can’t help rolling my eyes at the phone.

  Me: Have to go, I’ve got an interview with a political blogger from Chicago in 5 minutes. He wants my take on my opponent.

  Justin Timberlake: Do tell. Is he hot AF? Do you moan into his mouth when he kisses you?

  Me: More like cocky AF. With a small dick.

  With a smile, I tuck my phone into my bag and head for the tiny bathroom on my campaign bus. I smooth down my hair and put on some lip gloss, then join Lexi outside the bus so we can walk to my interview with Matt Pollitt. He’s a blogger who leans right, but he’s always treated me fairly.

  The coffee shop we meet Matt at is nearly deserted. He’s waiting for us at a table in the back, wearing red suspenders and a red bow tie, his completely bald head shining when the light hits it.

  “Reagan,” he says, standing up to shake my hand. “And Alexis. Thanks for your time, ladies.”

  “Anytime, Matt,” I say, sitting down. “I’m sending you a blue tie and suspenders, by the way.”

  He laughs, and the wrinkles show up in the corners of his eyes. “I can’t accept a gift from a candidate, but thank you for thinking of me.”

  “I’ll go get us some coffee,” Lexi says to me. Matt’s got some sort of icy coffee drink with whipped cream in front of him on the table.

  “So,” Matt says, his pen poised over a blank sheet of notebook paper, “Jude Titan. How does it feel to be running against a war hero?”

  I give him my practiced smile. “I don’t feel any differently than I did before Mr. Titan entered the race. I’m just focused on meeting as many people as I can and learning how I can best serve them in the Senate, should they believe in me enough to give me their votes.”

  “Do you feel Mr. Titan is qualified to serve in the Senate?”

  “That’s up to the voters,” I say with a shrug. “I would note that he is overconfident and politically inexperienced, though.”

  Matt clears his throat. “Mr. Titan said you, and I quote—” He flips to another page in his notebook for reference “—don’t have enough real-world experience outside of politics to understand the plight of the little person. What’s your response to that?”

  “I bussed tables at a restaurant in college. Many of my coworkers struggled to put food on the table or worked two jobs to make ends meet. I also have several years of experience between campaigning and working as a state representative with serving constituents. I meet with single moms and teachers and college students and veterans often. I hear their concerns. I act on their concerns. My voting record proves that I fight for my district. My parents taught me compassion, especially for those who can’t help themselves.”

  “What would be your single greatest focus if elected to the Senate?”

  Lexi returns and hands me a cup of coffee.

  “Thanks,” I say, taking a sip as she sits down next to me.

  “I don’t have just one focus, but I would say educational reform is very important to me. We can do more for our students and teachers.”

  “And what about Mr. Titan’s accusation that you’d do your father’s bidding in the Senate?”

  I furrow my brow with concern. “He said that?”

  Matt gives me an innocent look. “Well, not in those exact words…”

  “What were his exact words?”

  Flipping to another page in his notebook, Matt reads the answer. “Stan Preston wants his daughter to go to Washington to get special favors.”

  My stomach clenches nervously, but I smile. “Mr. Titan isn’t in a position to know what my father wants. My father is ready to retire, plain and simple.”

  “Do you feel you’ll have an edge with female voters?” Matt asks.

  This interview is all over the place, but I roll with it. “I don’t want women to vote for me just because I’m a woman, but I think if women know what I stand for, they’ll realize I’m the best choice.”

  “You said in an interview that Mr. Titan is using his good looks. Do you think women will vote for him because they find him attractive?”

  My cheeks warm as I take another sip of coffee. Why had I mentioned his looks?

  “I can’t speak to what women will base their votes on,” I say, “but I think Mr. Titan will find out it takes depth to make it to the end of a race like this.”

  “You’re suggesting he doesn’t have depth?”

  I shrug. “We’ll let the voters decide.”

  Matt asks me a few more questions before Lexi says we have to go. The bus is scheduled to leave in ten minutes so we can make our evening rally stop on time. We say good-bye to Matt and then walk back to the bus.

  “I hear Sonny Solomon is about to drop out,” she says in a low tone. “He wants to tell his closest supporters first. Announcing tonight.”

  I sigh softly and think about what that means for me. An uncontested primary means it’s down to Jude and me once Sonny drops out. Jude would have won, anyway. And this way, he won’t have a victory party and won’t pick up as much momentum
.

  “All right,” I say to Lexi.

  “You look tired,” she says.

  “I am.” We step onto the air-conditioned bus, and I slip off my shoes. We have a two-hour drive ahead of us. “I think I’ll take a nap.”

  The bus is outfitted with a small bedroom in back. I lie down on top of the covers and fade to sleep quickly.

  * * *

  The buzz of an incoming text on my phone wakes me up. I was out cold. It takes me a few seconds to remember I’m on my campaign bus on the way to a rally. My phone is on the bed next to me, and I pick it up.

  Justin Timberlake: Overconfident? I’m the humblest guy I know.

  I shake my head and smile as I write back.

  Me: Uh-huh. So humble you make sure your forearms are visible at all times.

  Justin Timberlake: My forearms? If I wanted to show off, that is NOT the body part I’d showcase.

  Me: What is, then?

  Justin Timberlake: I’d rather let you have the full experience and then decide for yourself.

  Me: Very romantic but I’ll pass.

  Justin Timberlake: Romance is overrated. What you need is someone to fill up that smart mouth of yours.

  I press my thighs together to dull the ache I feel when I read his message. He’s brash and arrogant and…absolutely right. I need amazing sex in a bad way. It’s been way too long. But I’m sure as hell not having it with him.

  Me: Maybe I have someone.

  Justin Timberlake: Do you?

  Me: None of your business.

  Justin Timberlake: Either you don’t or he sucks in bed. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be so tense all the time and you wouldn’t have moaned like you did when I kissed you.

  Me: I didn’t moan.

  Justin Timberlake: You did. I think you moaned my name, actually.

  Me: You are so full of yourself.

  Justin Timberlake: Jealous? Wishing you were full of myself instead?

  The bus stops, and Lexi calls my name. We must be at our next stop.

  Me: I have to go.

  Justin Timberlake: You in Rolling Meadows?

  Me: Are you stalking me?

  Justin Timberlake: Just keeping tabs.