Keir

“That son of a bitch.” I toss my phone, letting it skid across the coffee table. Burying my face in my hands, I release a hard breath. “Why is he starting with the PR so early?”

Connor yanks his glasses off before leaning back against the sofa. “Because he’s a dick. That’s why. Anyway, did you see? Did you read the entire article?”

I huff. “Yeah.”

Hunter’s front-page Washington Post interview included a small section from a local Maryland political analyst who provided a list of five potential contenders.

I was number one.

Grabbing my phone again, I pull up the online article, scoping out my competition and trying to read between the lines. Scrolling down, there’s a photo album of Hunter with Mary Kate. In one photo, they’re feeding ducks at a pond. In another, they’re volunteering at a soup kitchen. There’s even a photo of the two of them from high school, she’s sitting on his lap at a football game, her face painted and ribbons in her hair.

A-fucking-dorable.

Slapping my phone down again, I lean back. I need to think.

“He’s good,” Connor says. “Most people don’t even announce they’re running until November. It’s fucking September. Why the hell does he need a two-month head start?”

“Because he knows he doesn’t stand a chance. His father is a loser. He’s a loser. Nobody knows the Harringtons and if they do, they can’t fucking stand them.”

Connor shrugs. “Hate to burst your bubble, Keir, but he’s doing all right in the preliminaries.”

I smirk. “Yeah, until they find out who he’s running against. I’ll sweep him.”

“If you’re so sure you’re going to sweep him, why are you so worked up?”

“Because I can’t stand that asshole.” He’s truly the most deplorable human being I’ve ever known. I only wish Rowan knew just how big of a bullet she dodged.

Rowan.

I swear every other thought cycling through my head has to do with her lately. When I’m not with her, I’m smelling her on my clothes, I’m wondering what she’s doing.

I need to stop caring. Caring is going to get me in trouble, throw me off my game.

My phone buzzes on the table, and I flip it over. The screen is filled with a text from Rowan.

“That her?” Connor asks.

I nod.

“What’d she say?” He peers across the room at me.

“That she misses me,” I say. “And that she enjoyed meeting my parents this morning.”

His thin lips draw into a smirk. “Ask what she’s doing this week. Plan your next date. You’ve got to keep this going. Just … do something. We’ve got to fast-track this in case we need to move our timeline up. Hunter’s throwing off my plan a little bit.”

Fucking Hunter.

Texting her back, I tell her I miss her too, and that she deserves a gold medal for tolerating brunch with my parents.

Her response comes back a minute later and I sit the phone down.

“What?” Connor asks. “What is it?”

“She just asked me to meet her parents,” I say. “This shit’s getting too real.”

“No, this is good. This is what we want.” He rises, sliding his glasses over his nose and strutting around my living room like a goddamned peacock. Or a factory worker out of Idaho who just won a mega millions jackpot. “You’re doing it, Keir. Text her back. You’re meeting her parents.”

Slumping forward, I rest my elbows on my knees, gathering my composure before I send my response.

“Guess this means she’s your girlfriend now,” Connor says. “You’re definitely taking things to the next level.”

Typing my message, I hesitate before hitting send—not like I have a choice in the matter.

“I’d love to,” I tell her via text.

She replies with a dozen emoji hearts in varying colors.