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.
