I should still be furious at myself over my disastrous debate performance. Normally, I’d be seething and staring daggers at anyone who even tried to talk to me during the bus ride to the hotel.

But instead, I’m feeling warm and achy. Jude came looking for me when he knew I was upset. He risked getting caught so he could kiss away the hurt and coax himself back into my good graces with his strong, capable hands.

It’s not just the feel of him still resonating within me but also his words.

“Then we can be together.”

He wants me to drop out of the race so we can have more than a few stolen, guilt-ridden kisses. Or does he? Maybe Jude is playing me hard—trying to make me fall for him so I’ll drop out and he can coast on to his Senate seat.

That make-out session in my dressing room felt real to me. His heat and his words were laced with the same passion I feel for him. But a voice of doubt still nags in my head.

Why would he want to commit to me when he could have any woman he wants? He doesn’t have to settle down with a woman who busts his balls at every turn—he could have someone who fawns over his every word. Someone who lives to deep throat him while he laces his fingers through her hair and groans with pleasure.

Stop it, Reagan.

I’m tingling with warmth at just the thought. Jude has made me into a parody of myself. I’ve always been strong and decisive. Every man I’ve ever dated has known from Day One that I expected a 50/50 relationship in every way.

But Jude Titan—my supposed nemesis—makes me fantasize about being on my knees before him, eyes big and lips sealed as I wait for him to slowly unzip his pants and give me what I crave.

And I crave it so badly. I told Lexi I need a room to myself tonight at the hotel, and she didn’t even blink, probably thinking I was in one of my moods after my shitty debate showing. But it’s actually because I need to satisfy the clawing need I’m feeling for Jude. It’ll be my hand between my legs in bed tonight, but I’ll be imagining it’s his.

“I know, baby.”

The memory of his deep voice saying those words in such a heartfelt tone, his brow furrowed with concern, makes me lick my lips and take a slow breath in and out. It’s like Jude sparked a fire in me, and try as I might, I can’t put it out.

“I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to resist you.”

He feels it, too. This deep, maddening connection that defies good sense and reason. I’m not the only one who worked hard to get where I am. Jude has worked his ass off and even risked his life to get himself where he is. It’s never easy to be a contender for a Senate seat, but at our young ages, it’s even harder.

Jude wakes up something in me I didn’t even know was there. I actually like that he challenges me and isn’t intimidated by me in the least. It’s brutal, feeling this way about someone and only sneaking in an occasional moment to be honest about it.

We aren’t sneaking it past everyone anymore, though. I meet Lexi’s eyes across the bus and send her a silent question. She takes out her phone, and a few seconds later, a text pops up on my screen.

Lexi: Are we going to talk about this?

Me: Is my campaign manager or my friend asking?

Lexi: Both.

Me: I already know I’m being stupid and careless.

Lexi: I’d never scold you. I love you and respect you. I just don’t want to see you hurt.

Me: I know. It means everything to me that you have my back.

Lexi: He’s got it bad for you. I could see it in his eyes when he came looking for you.

My heart somersaults in my chest as I read her words. When I look up at her, she’s rolling her eyes.

Lexi: You’ve got it bad too, I see. Why didn’t you tell me?

Me: I’m sorry. I knew how stupid I was being, and that’s a hard thing to confess.

Lexi: Do you think your feelings for him affected your debate performance tonight?

I sigh deeply and sit back against the padded bus seat. Ouch. I hadn’t even considered that, but she makes a good point. Jude clouds my judgment, so I’m sure I wasn’t as sharp as I could have been tonight. I’m still considering her text when my phone buzzes with another text.

Jude: I can smell you all over me, and it’s making me fucking crazy.

I force myself not to smile, knowing Lexi is watching.

Me: My lips still sting from the way your facial hair scraped them.

Jude: Just imagine that sting on your inner thighs…

Me: You mean from me sitting on your face?

Jude: Fuck. I’m dead.

The next message that pops up isn’t from Jude.

Lexi: You guys are picking up where u left off. I can see it on your face.

Me: Guilty.

When I meet her eyes across the bus, she’s smiling.

Jude: Tell me you’ll see me again. Say it.

Me: You make it impossible not to.

I’m about to set my phone down and get a bottle of water when it starts ringing. It’s easy to forget my phone actually does the phone call thing sometimes. The name on the screen makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

Dad.

Shit. Might as well face the music.

“Hey, Dad.”

“Are you still doing interviews?”

“No, I’m done.”

He scoffs. “Because no one wants to talk to the loser.”

“Did you just call me a loser?”

“You lost that debate, Reagan,” he says sharply. “You went down in spectacular flames.”

I close my eyes and remind myself fighting with him won’t help anything. “It definitely wasn’t my best night.”

“Your poll numbers were starting to slip before tonight.”

“I’m still leading,” I remind him.

“Not for long. Not after that disaster.”

I sigh with exasperation. “What do you want me to say? I sucked, and I know it. All I can do is work harder tomorrow.”

“I called in a favor from Tom.”

I narrow my eyes. “Tom Harbor?”

“No, Tom Cruise,” he says with sarcasm. “Of course, Tom Harbor. He’s the only one who can save you at this point.”

“I don’t want him on my campaign.”

“Too late, Reagan. It’s that or lose, and you need to win this race.”

“I need to, or you need me to?”

Another scoff. “Yes, I’ll admit that after all my undefeated Senate elections, it will be a major embarrassment to me if my own daughter can’t pull this off. I’m leaving with record-high approval ratings.”

“That’s you, Dad. I’m me. Jude Titan is no lightweight opponent.”

“He has weaknesses. Everyone does. Just watch Tom in action, and you’ll see.”

I blow out an exasperated breath.

“Reagan, trust me,” my father says. “I know how to help you. I’ve been there.”

I can’t argue with that. He has. And since I won’t tell him why I’m so opposed to Tom joining my campaign, I know he believes this will help.

Hell, maybe it will. I’m certainly not killing it without Tom on board.

“Okay,” I say, sounding as weary as I feel. The pre-debate adrenaline high has come crashing down.

“Tom will join you in Chicago tomorrow.”

“He can just work from the Chicago office,” I say.

“No, he’ll be on the trail with you.”

I shake my head and close my eyes. Why even bother? My dad doesn’t see me as capable of anything. And after tonight, my confidence in my ability to win this election on my own is shaken.

“Fine. Have him text Lexi about it.”

“We can still pull this together, Reagan. I have a lead on a soldier who served with Titan who may be willing to discredit him.”

I lower my brows skeptically. “That can’t be legit.”

“Just leave it to me, okay?”

“I’m not lying to win. I won’t let anyone lie to help me, either. It’s a deal-breaker.”

“Tom will infuse your campaign with a new approach,” Dad says, dismissing me. “Get some rest, and we’ll talk soon.”

The line goes dead, and I exhale deeply. Lexi is giving me a sympathetic look.

“Tom?” she asks, already knowing the answer.

I just nod.

“We can handle him,” she says. “Don’t worry, okay?”

She walks over to the fridge and digs to the back, taking out a bottle of champagne. I break into a fit of laughter.

“To celebrate the debate win?” I say with a small snort.

She shrugs. “Or to commiserate. The beauty of booze is that it works both ways.”

“Definitely commiserating.”

Lexi opens the bottle and pours a red Solo cup for everyone onboard the bus but our driver.

“To fightin’ Titan tomorrow,” my speechwriter, Shawn, says with a wink.

We clink our plastic cups together and down the sweet peach champagne. Lexi digs out another bottle, and by the time we get to our hotel for the night, we’ve knocked both of them out and the mood on the bus is lighter.

Lexi hugs me in the elevator on the way up to the eighth floor, where our rooms are.

“Take a nice hot bubble bath and watch some trash TV,” she says. “Tomorrow’s a new day.”

“Thanks. I love you.”

“Love you, too.”

The elevator doors open, and I find my room, tossing my bag on a chair and kicking off my heels as soon as I walk in.

Lexi’s suggestion of a bubble bath sounds nice. I dig through my bag and find a bath melt. The bathtub in my room is small but extra deep. I undress and run the water until it’s filled with steam and bubbles.

Sinking into the tub feels like heaven. I’m still pleasantly buzzed from the champagne, and my worries feel far, far away. I scroll through news sites on my phone, avoiding coverage of the debate.

I look up Jude’s website and see a photo of him in his military dress uniform. His somber expression touches something deep inside me. He didn’t have to put his life on the line for his country; he chose to. I think back to his friend’s letter, and tears pool in my eyes. I can’t imagine what they went through. Even those who came home will always carry a heavy burden.

There are other photos of Jude: shaking hands with a smiling woman as her friends look on adoringly—shocker—dressed in hunting gear and holding a rifle, and listening to a man in a hard hat talk, his brow creased slightly in concentration. His sleeves are rolled up in the last photo, and I admire the dark ink on his muscled forearm.

Jude Titan, you’re going to undo me.

On cue, he texts me, making my pulse quicken.

Jude: You alone?

Me: Yes.

Jude: What r u doing?

I’m sure as hell not telling him I’m admiring photos of him. Even the thought makes me roll my eyes.

Me: Taking a bath.

Jude: Pic?

I take a photo of my pink-painted toenails against the bathtub wall, my calves showing but covered in a thick layer of bubbles.

Jude: Tease.

Me: Where’s my pic?

I close my eyes, hoping he doesn’t send me a dick pic. It doesn’t seem like his style, but still…men can be unpredictable when it comes to their peens.

A photo of Jude lying in bed pops up on my phone screen. He’s shirtless, his dark hair a contrast to the white pillowcase. I lick my lips against my will.

Good Lord, he’s handsome. I won’t be able to delete this photo, no matter how dangerous it is to keep it on my phone.

Emboldened by the champagne, I hold up my phone and take a photo of my face, my hair tied up and bubbles covering me nearly up to the swell of my breasts. When I send it, I feel a mixture of nervousness and excitement.

A few seconds later, another text pops up.

Jude: You’re so fucking beautiful, Reagan. All I can think about is how much I want to make up for my shitty behavior tonight.

Me: All’s fair in love and war, Titan.

Jude: Bullshit. I’ll never make you cry again. You have my word.

I’m melting, and it’s not from the steaming bath water. Jude always seems to know exactly what I need, whether it’s sweet words, a good argument, or a little distance. And the closer we get, the less distance I want.

Me: I miss you. I wish you were here with me right now.

Jude: Me too. FaceTime?

My heartbeat races at the thought. I’m so turned on right now—and so naked. But I want to. God, do I want to. I swallow hard and text him back.

Me: Okay.