Georgie—Election Day
“How long has he been gone?” I asked Sean, who seemed comfortable at our kitchen table, reading through the daily newspapers spread out before him. As if today wasn’t Election Day, but just any other random, ordinary day.
“He ran to the precinct,” Sean answered, barely even looking at me.
“Are you kidding me?” I pictured what would be splashed all over the media—Jameson, in his stupid running gear, stepping out of his voting booth. Hopefully, he had enough sense not to wear his beanie. No candidate had ever run to their precinct to vote. I’d wanted to go together, but I was still registered in New Hampshire, so I was driven an hour and a half to go vote in my hometown. That was a fucking nightmare.
As soon as I arrived in Exeter, I was mobbed by the press. They were there, hounding me with question after question. I kept my head down and pushed my way through; a wall of Secret Service agents formed a protective barrier around me and assisted me in getting inside the town hall.
The reception that I received from the election officials was anything but welcoming. The sneers directed toward me told me they thought of me as a nuisance. That meant getting in and out as quickly as possible. There was no time to linger and talk to people who I had known my entire life.
The sound of the front doors slamming open propelled me from the kitchen and toward the foyer, where Jameson stood, breathing heavily, in his ugly navy blue compression tights underneath bright red running shorts. I couldn’t help but laugh. He looked like a patriotic hot mess.
“Too anxious this morning to put on a suit and tie?” I chided him.
Jameson tugged his earbuds out and smirked as he started to peel the layers of clothing from his body. My nipples perked up at the glimpse of his skin beneath the cold-weather gear he wore. Easy girl, I scolded myself silently.
“How long until we leave for the hotel?” Jameson asked, after he was properly and comfortably undressed.
“Still a few hours. Do you want to take a nap? Or … something else?” I tried to make my voice sound sultry and seductive, hoping to entice him upstairs with me for an hour or two of distraction.
After the third and final debate, the final days of the campaign were nonstop for us. From sunrise to sunset, it was go, go, go. As soon as we left Cleveland, we were in a race against time, trying to hit five different states in one day. When we returned to our hotel room each night, Jameson and I were exhausted, the type of exhaustion that you felt deep in your bones. There was barely enough time to get our clothes off before our eyes closed and we fell asleep. We were inseparable, and that made our bond stronger.
When I started to feel disconnected and weary from the near-constant smiling and handshakes, all I needed to do was look down at Jameson’s firm grip on my hand. If I tugged even the slightest, he gave me a piercing look that said, Don’t stray too far.
Now I had him in front of me, with nothing to do for a few hours, and I only wanted to be with him, alone.
I didn’t let him decide. I grabbed his hand and pulled him to the staircase.
“Do not disturb, Sean!” I yelled out because he was the only one at the house. All the staff and volunteers were at the hotel, preparing for Election Day madness.
If Sean responded, then we didn’t hear it, and I probably didn’t want to hear it anyway. Unless it was an extreme emergency, Jameson was all mine for the next few hours.
In the bedroom, I pushed Jameson back onto the bed.
“What are you doing, Georgie?” Jameson asked suspiciously.
“We’re going to relax for a few hours. We’re going to just be together because by the end of the night, our lives will be changed.”
“What do you have in mind?”
I crawled over Jameson and let my thighs straddle his midsection. My hands rested on his chest, and I considered my options. I could strip him totally bare, and we could make love for the next few hours. I craved not only the feel of him filling me completely, but also the connection that existed during our most intimate moments. But there was something else that I desired; something far more intimate.
“Talking,” I murmured, letting my fingers trace lazy patterns on his t-shirt covered chest.
Jameson’s brows shot up with surprise. “Talking?”
“Yes. I want to know more about Jameson the man.”
“Like what?”
“I hardly know any of your favorite songs.” I could only think of one, and that was because only a few days ago, we were dancing to it in Minnesota.
“You don’t?”
“You always ask me mine, but you never shared your own.”
Jameson’s eyes filled with serious concentration. “Well, my favorite song by Bruce Springsteen is a three-way tie between ‘Tenth Avenue Freeze-Out,’ ‘Jungleland,’ and ‘I’m on Fire.’”
“Really? I would have thought ‘Born in the U.S.A.’”
“Too cliché.” Jameson slid his hands up my thighs and settled them on my waist. “You’d be surprised how many songs you named were also my favorites.”
For some reason, that made me feel giddy. Oftentimes, I felt Jameson and I were worlds apart, but knowing we had this one thing in common made me happy.
“And I love the music you added to my iPod. I don’t think I properly thanked you for bringing me into the twenty-first century.”
I leaned forward and kissed him softly. “But why only classic rock?”
Jameson shifted beneath me and slipped me from my perch. I landed next to him and instinctively curled into his side. He turned to face me and placed his large hand on my cheek. His fingers fanned through my hair for a few minutes; his eyes focused on the way the strands glided through them. “It was all my dad and his friends listened to when they got together. His buddies from the Army would come over on the weekends with their families, and we’d have these big cookouts in the backyard. We had an in-ground pool, so everyone came over to our house. They would hang out in the garage, turn on the stereo, and those songs became the soundtrack of every summer ever since I was little.”
“And you wanted to be just like your dad?”
Jameson nodded, a wistful gleam in his eye. “He’s my hero. Served two tours in Vietnam and remained enlisted until he decided to retire. He’s the reason I wanted to go to West Point.”
“Did he want you to go into the Army?”
“At the time, there wasn’t a war going on. The World Trade Center hadn’t been attacked, so he wasn’t too worried. When I reenlisted after my initial commitment, we had a long talk.”
“Were your parents worried when you deployed?”
Jameson nodded. “I think so, but they were never anything but supportive. And I got the best care packages.”
I pictured Jameson’s mother carefully packaging his favorites, and then adding extra because that’s who she was; a nurturer. This talk made me feel content, and I hadn’t realized my own mind had been buzzing with Election Day anxiety until now. The worrying stopped. My mind felt quiet. I cuddled closer to Jameson, refusing to let even the slightest millimeter separate us.
His arms closed tightly around me, and his hands lightly traced paths up and down my back. I felt the hardness of his chin rest on top of my head. “Are you scared?” he whispered.
“Terrified,” I replied honestly.
“Of becoming the first lady?”
“Of losing the election.”
Jameson sighed, and I felt his whole body shake. “Me too.”