Reagan: You’re pissing me off.
Me: I have to go. I’ve got a thing in 5 min.
Reagan: Great timing. Sweep in, be a dick, and then sweep out.
Me: Check my fucking schedule if you think I’m lying.
Reagan: I’ll talk to you later.
Me: Thanks for working me into your busy tanning schedule.
Reagan: Fuck you, Jude.
I toss my phone onto the thin, lumpy mattress and blow out a breath. I was being a dick, I admit it. But I can only take so much.
She’s in Florida, apparently not missing me much, and “thinking about things.” I need to lay eyes on her and see that’s she’s still mine in every way.
Just like I know I married a stubborn hard-ass of a woman, she knows she married a brooding hard ass of a man.
When I push the curtain aside on the bunk and slide out, I look over and see Tyson and Vanessa sitting at the table.
Christ. I know I was only texting with Reagan and not talking, but I feel invaded as Vanessa eye-fucks me.
Campaign life is a grind. The one person I want close is too far away, and everyone else is constantly up my ass.
Somehow,Vanessa’s managing to appear focused on the strategies she’s reviewing with Tyson and me, but I’m pretty sure it’s her toes tracing along my calf under the table and not Tyson’s.
“Uh…” I clear my throat and move my leg away. “This looks good except I don’t know about moving criticism of the budget to the top of my messaging. Shouldn’t we stay positive with our main talking points?”
“This is polling as the issue voters are most concerned about,” Vanessa says. “And we can mix in some positive with the negative by talking about fiscal responsibility.”
I nod. “Okay. Tyson, can we adjust my stump speech before the next stop?”
“Yeah, we’ve got time.”
I return to reading the charts in front of me. Within a couple seconds, Vanessa’s bare foot is tracing its way back up my leg.
“Tyson, can you see if there’s a place nearby to get some highlighters?” she asks. “I meant to pick some up earlier, but I ran out of time.”
“Uh…” He looks at me, knowing I don’t want him to leave.
Vanessa looks back and forth between us. “What? Am I missing something?”
“We’ll be fine without highlighters,” I say. “Let’s finish up.”
“I don’t see why it’s such a big—”
I cut her off. “Look, Vanessa. I’m not willing to be left alone with you.”
She furrows her brow. “Are you serious?”
I rub my temple. “Yeah. First of all, get your foot off my leg.”
Her cheeks redden as she slips her foot away.
“Second of all, I’m a happily married man. If you’re gonna work on my campaign, keep your hands and feet and whatever else to yourself. Understood?”
Vanessa’s face flushes an even deeper shade of crimson. “I think you misunderstood, Jude.”
