I pause before answering, waiting to see if he’s going to hit me with criticism. “Thanks, Dad.”
“I know I’m hard on you sometimes, but I want you to know I’m proud of you. Having been through so many campaigns myself, I just want to save you from my missteps. But you may not want that.”
I slide my dark sunglasses up and meet his eyes. “I appreciate the help, Dad. I wouldn’t be here without you. Some days I’m so stressed I feel like I can’t handle one more thing, but it’s not your fault.”
He smiles and crinkles form in the corners of his eyes. “Been there. I’m here if you need me, okay?”
“Thanks. I know you’re busy, too.”
“Never too busy for one of my children. And the offer stands on Tom Harbor. He’s on standby if you decide you need him.”
I sigh softly. “Maybe a consultation with him wouldn’t hurt. We could do a conference call or something.”
“Up to you.”
My mom walks out the French doors that lead to the patio, a tray with a pitcher of lemonade in her hands. She sets it between us and pours us each a glass. When my dad pats her hand as he takes a glass, she smiles at him broadly.
Will I ever have what they do? They’ve been together for thirty-four years after being introduced by mutual friends.
My phone buzzes with a text, and I pick it up and slide my finger across the screen. I turn it to make sure only I can see it and pull up a photo of Jude. He’s shirtless and seems to be on a boat on the water, the sun shining brightly on his already bronzed skin. Wearing a White Sox baseball hat and holding a bottle of beer, he looks relaxed. His lazy grin is sexy as hell.
Jude: My current situation.
I smile and write back.
Me: Looks like fun. I’m off today too.
Jude: Oh, I’m not off. This is the CTU president’s boat. We’re spending the day together.
My mouth falls open in horror. That union is backing me. It’s inconceivable they would even give him the time of day. I can’t find the words to text him back when another message appears.
Jude: Kidding, gorgeous. This is my buddy’s boat. I’m off too.
Me: You’re an asshole.
Jude: On occasion. Where’s my pic of you in a bikini?
Me: I’m at my parents’ house.
Jude: Hey, that’s cool. Ask your dad to snap a pic you can send me.
Me: Not even funny.
Jude: You miss me?
Me: Maybe.
Jude: I miss you. Even though you pretty much called me a misogynist the other day in that interview.
I smile, because I was wondering if he’d catch the veiled dig I’d made at him.
Me: The closer we get to Election Day, the dirtier it’ll get, Titan.
Jude: Dirty, huh? I like the sound of that.
“Reagan, do you feel like taking a walk around the neighborhood?” my mom asks me.
“Sure.”
