Dirty Work (8 page)

I
can’t stop smiling
. There’s something about being at the fair on a sunny summer afternoon in jeans and flip-flops that makes me really happy. It reminds me of my mom taking my sister and me to the state fair when we were little.

“You’ve got powdered sugar on your nose,” Lexi tells me. “And your chin.”

“There’s no shame in my funnel cake-eating game,” I say. “This thing’s amazing.”

“You sure you want a lemonade shakeup, too?”

“Completely sure.” I rub my fingertips over my nose and chin, brushing off the powdered sugar.

I’m campaigning at a downstate county fair, and Lexi and I are on a break from shaking hands in the county Democratic Party’s tent. I gave everyone else on staff the day off. I’ve been feeling under pressure, and they’ve been doubling down on campaign efforts to help.

I’m still leading in the polls, but I’m taking nothing for granted. With several months until the election, anything could happen.

Lex and I both get a lemonade shakeup, and we walk over to the carnival rides. My excitement level is childlike because I didn’t go to many carnivals as a kid. Since we lived in Chicago, there weren’t many to be found.

“Look at that,” I say to Lexi in a breathy tone.

It’s a huge slide with a wave design. People walk up a bazillion stairs and then slide down on what looks like burlap sacks. I don’t even ask Lexi, I just grab her hand and take off for the stairs.

“Really?” she says skeptically as she sips the last of her shakeup.

“Really.”

She stops. “I think I should stay at the bottom and take your picture. We might be able to use it in campaign materials.”

I laugh heartily. “Or not. I take so much heat for being young, the last thing we need is a picture of me on a slide at the carnival. Titan would have a field day with that.”

“That’s true.” Lexi groans. “Okay, so we’re going on the giant slide.”

“Damn right!” I take her shakeup and drop both of our cups in the trash can on our way to get in line.

I laugh the entire way down the slide, my hair blowing behind me in the breeze and my arms thrown into the air.

“Let’s go again,” I say as soon as Lexi reaches the bottom.

She looks at her watch. “We have thirty-five minutes until you have to kiss the pig.”

“I’m kissing a pig?” I kind of already did that a few days ago, but I don’t mention it.

“It’s for charity. A children’s cancer hospital. People put money into cans to vote for who will have to kiss a pig and you won.”

I shrug. “All right. It’s for a good cause. And I’m guessing the pig won’t think a kiss means I’m putting out like most men assume.”

Lexi snort-laughs. “And he won’t suggest you kiss him a little lower, either.”

“Right? I’m liking this pig more and more.”

“We’ve got time for a couple rides before we have to go over there.”

A giggling little girl glides down the slide on her father’s lap next to where we’re talking. I look at them wistfully. There weren’t any moments like that in my childhood. Dad’s been serving as a senator for twenty-four years now—most of my life. It’s been a demanding career that’s required lots of time away from home.

What if I meet someone I want to marry and start a family with? Would I have to leave my children all the time for work, as my father did? I don’t even want to think about that choice. It was one of the reasons I agreed with my dad when he encouraged me to run now—because I’m able to give everything to my work.

“Let’s do the slide again,” I say to Lex. “Then the Ferris wheel.”

She groans in protest. “Reagan, that Ferris wheel makes me want to puke. The cars are shaking back and forth. And it’s
rusty
.”

“Come on, live a little.”

“Or die a lot.”

I drag her back down the slide and then head for the Ferris wheel.

“I’m not riding that instrument of death,” she says, shaking her head.

“You know, I was thinking that a picture of me at the top of the Ferris wheel would be good for the social media accounts.”

She narrows her eyes at me. “You whore. You know I want to be the best campaign manager ever, and I won’t say no to you.”

“Attagirl.”

“If I die, get rid of the box under the bed in my apartment.”

I laugh at her mournfully serious expression. “Girl, if you die, I think I’ll be sharing your fate. Text your mom about the box before we get on.”

“Oh, God.” Her cheeks darken. “I can’t even think about my mother seeing that box.”

I furrow my brow, curious now. “What the hell is in there?”

“Just…toys and stuff.”

“Stuff?”

She shrugs. “You remember the sports broadcaster I dated. He was a freak.”

“Oh, that’s right.” I laugh so hard I have to cover my mouth. “He was into really weird stuff like numbing cream for his knob.”

“
Mandelay
.” Lex bursts into laughter. “And it didn’t help. He was still a minute man.”

“And didn’t he buy you a strap-on?”

She rolls her eyes, still laughing. “Oh, God. He did. It was so freakishly hysterical. I tried to put it on, but I couldn’t even.”

“It’s so hard to find a good man,” I say.

“And good to find a hard one.”

“Word.”

We step into our Ferris wheel car and close the safety bar over our laps. Lex is white-knuckling the metal bar and muttering about dying young. I’m picturing Jude without his shirt on. It’s tough to hear a hard man mentioned and
not
think of him.

He didn’t respond to my text the other night, and we haven’t been in touch since. It’s for the best. Of all the men I could carry on a flirtation with, he’s the worst choice. No matter how attractive he is, I can’t afford to get distracted by him. I’m too close to the finish line to risk screwing it all up.

From the top of the Ferris wheel, I look out over the rural fairgrounds. Past the barns where livestock is being exhibited, green cornfields stretch into the horizon. It’s a beautiful, quiet place.

“How about that picture?” I say to Lex. “If you lean out of the car you can get more of the background in it.”

“Fuck you,” she mumbles.

I laugh and nudge her. “I’ll just take a selfie.”

I take some photos of us, and she tries to smile but looks like she’s on the edge of passing out. Apparently facing her fear of rusty carnival rides wasn’t the key to overcoming it.

The color returns to her face as soon as we get back on the ground. She leads the way to the arena we’re due at, and we find a crowd waiting when we get there.

“Reagan, can I get a picture with you?” a teenage girl asks.

“Of course.”

One picture leads to another, and after I’ve done photos and handshakes with everyone who wants to, a man in jeans with a big belt buckle and cowboy boots leads me over to a small stage.

The arena’s stands are filled with people. Kids are tending to horses and other animals, some with ribbons on their enclosures. There’s an earthy, fresh dirt and grass smell that I suspect won’t last in the summer heat. Soon the arena will smell like sweaty people and animals.

“We’re honored to have Reagan Preston with us today,” the man with the belt buckle says into a microphone. He reads my bio and then talks about the charity the pig-kissing event raised money for.

When he passes me the mic, I only speak for a couple minutes. This doesn’t feel like a political event to me. It’s a place I can unwind and step away from the rigors of campaigning, and when I tell the crowd I’m honored to be here, I absolutely mean it.

When the cowboy comes over to me with a piglet in his arms, the crowd roars to life. It’s little and pink and cute as hell. I wish I could take it with me.

“This is Mortimer,” the cowboy says into the mic. “You ready to pucker up for him?”

I lean over to speak into the mic. “So ready. Mortimer is cuter than most of the guys I’ve been out with.”

The crowd is laughing and clapping as the cowboy holds Mortimer up, and I lean forward to kiss his snout. It’s soft and firm at the same time. I hear the clicking and see the flashing of cameras catching this moment.

The cowboy puts Mortimer in my arms, and I snuggle him close. He roots around my face, sniffing and making piggy sounds. News photographers and my campaign photographer are still taking photos so I enjoy the moment. It makes me wish I had a pet.

“You’re a good sport, Ms. Preston,” the cowboy says into the microphone. “You’re invited to take part in the pig chase too, but we’ll give you a pass if you want to keep your clothes clean.”

He winks at me and is about to continue when I lean over and say, “I’m not worried about my clothes getting dirty.”

The people in the stands clap and yell their approval.

The cowboy gives me a skeptical look. “You think you can catch a muddy pig, city girl?”

“I’ll give it my best shot.”

He throws back his head and laughs. The crowd is loving this. I’m not even sure what I’ve just gotten myself into, but how bad can it be?

I have my answer five minutes later when I’m standing in the center of the arena with a handful of teenagers. Our mission is to catch the tiny pig casually walking around a large,
very muddy
fenced-in area.

Lexi is watching from the sidelines, and I meet her gaze. She’s looking at me like I’ve lost my mind. Maybe I have. Why is it impossible for me to back down from a challenge?

I tie my long hair into a ponytail as the cowboy reads the rules to the entire arena. First one to catch the pig wins $100. I decide to donate the money to the children’s cancer hospital if I win.

It’s me, three teenage boys, and one teenage girl. The boy next to me is staring at my chest, and I give him a pointed look. He just grins and tips his John Deere cap at me.

When the cowboy tells us to go, the teenagers take off at a run. I lag behind, my flip-flops squishing through the mud.

The small pig sees what’s up and takes off for the other side of the enclosure. One of the boys dives for it and ends up face planting into the mud.

It’s coming my way, so I bend down and creep closer. I’m just a few feet from the pig when one of my flip-flops slides in the mud, and I fall flat on my ass.

The crowd roars with amusement. The mud is thick and wet, and I’m covered in it. I figure I’m all in now, so I might as well get that pig. I crawl toward it on my hands and knees, seeing two of the boys edging in on the other side. One of them lunges for it, and the pig squeals and takes off in my direction.

I reach for it, grabbing ahold of it for just a second before it slips through my very muddy fingers. Then I slide out of control and end up facedown in the mud.

Well, this was
not
my best idea. I’ve got mud everywhere, from my hair to in between my toes. My campaign bus is a mile away, so that’ll be a fun walk.

If I stand, I’ll just slide and fall over again, so I crawl over to the edge of the enclosure. I’m debating whether to keep chasing the pig I’ll never be able to catch when I see a pair of shiny black dress shoes on someone standing on the outside of the enclosure. I’m only a couple feet away, and I almost hate to look up because I have a sinking feeling in my gut.

I draw a mud-covered hand over my face to move my hair away from my eyes as I look up. The shoes lead to a tailored dark suit, a bright red tie over a crisp white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and then up to a face covered in dark scruff wearing a smirk I know all too well.

“Hello, Reagan,” Jude says.

E
ven covered in mud
, she’s stunning. This is a side of Reagan I never expected to see, especially not in the middle of a campaign. I watched from the stands as she chased the pig, unable to control my laughter when she fell on her ass.

I wasn’t looking forward to the fair until I heard Reagan would be there too. I had our reunion planned out differently in my head, but this is almost better.

“Jude,” she says with wide eyes like she’s a deer stuck in the beam of headlights as she peers up at me. She smoothes back another clump of muddy hair and clears her throat. “What are you doing here?”

“Same thing as you, but I don’t plan on kissing a pig.”

She shrugs and a small smile creeps across her face. “It wasn’t my first.”

She’s trying to get to me, but I don’t let her. “I’m sure I can find something better for you to kiss.”

She raises a coated eyebrow. The darkness of the mud makes her eyes stand out more and appear larger. “I’m good,” she says with a snarl.

“How have you been?” I feel bad that I haven’t messaged her in days. After running into Jim, everything fell by the wayside except for campaigning and prep. I wasn’t in the mind space to talk to her either. Any playfulness I had vanished until tonight.

Seeing her again caused my stomach to flip and made everything else fall away.

“Fine.” Her answer’s short and abrasive. “I have to go get cleaned up. It was good to see you.” She starts to walk away, but I grab her arm.

I loosen my grip when she glares at my hand around her bicep. “Reagan, don’t go.”

Her narrowed eyes come to mine. “Get your hands off me, Jude.”

My hand drops and is now covered in mud, but I don’t even care. I’m not ready for her to walk away yet. “I’m sorry I haven’t texted you.”

She shrugs at my side and looks straight ahead, avoiding my eyes. “You don’t owe me an apology.”

“I do.” I step backward and into her line of sight again. My fingers find their way to her chin and force her to look at me, forgetting where we are.

“Don’t,” she whispers and closes her eyes. “People will see us.”

I grit my teeth but drop my hand. “I’ve had a bad few days. I wanted to talk to you, but I just couldn’t find the words.”

“Hello isn’t really hard.”

I can see the pain in her eyes, and it guts me. “I know. Will you meet me tonight? I need to talk to you.”

She eyes me with suspicion and twists her muddy hands together in front of her. “I don’t know, Jude.”

“Please, Reagan,” I beg.

Her lips purse when she finally drags her eyes back to mine. “Fine. Where are you staying? I’ll try to sneak out.”

I exhale, relieved she finally agreed. “I’m at the Plaza.”

“Fuck,” she mutters and covers her face with a muddy hand. “Me too.”

My smile is unstoppable. “Serendipity.”

“Poor planning,” she tells me as she shakes her head.

“What’s your room number?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Text me the number after you’re cleaned up, and I’ll come by.”

“No!” Her eyes grow wide. “We’ll have to find somewhere else to meet.”

“Fine, come to my room,” I tell her. “It’s 407.”

“Ugh,” she grunts. “I think I’m in 409.”

I wiggle my eyebrows, and a sly grin creeps across my face. “You know what my room has?”

“What?” She rolls her eyes and sighs.

“A connecting door.”

“Oh fuck,” she groans. “It can’t be.”

“Come on.” I lift my chin and smile wider. “It’s perfect. No one can see us if we don’t even have to leave our rooms to see each other.”

“Fabulous,” she says in a snarky tone.

“Reagan!” Lexi yells and is coming toward us fast and furious. Her eyes are bouncing between us. “Jude.”

“Hey, Lexi. It’s good to see you again.”

“It’s always a pleasure,” Lexi says and touches her neck just over her pulse. “Going to get dirty in there?” She motions toward the arena behind her.

“I’m looking to get dirty later, but not with a pig.” I glance at Reagan, but she doesn’t seem amused.

Lexi’s mouth opens and closes as her eyebrows furrow. “Well… Um…”

“I’ll let you ladies go. Reagan.” I nod to her and then wave good-bye to them as I walk away.

I don’t even have to look to know that Reagan is shooting daggers at me with her eyes. Their whispers are too quiet, but I clearly hear my name. Wandering through the gates of the arena, I wipe the mud from my palm and toss my handkerchief into the nearby trash can.

“Jude. Oh my God, it’s Jude Titan,” a woman yells and catches the attention of a small crowd about ten feet away.

“Hello,” I say and dip my head, preparing myself for the rush of the people as they scurry in my direction.

This is becoming the norm. I can’t move freely without being spotted after appearing on television more and more lately. Carl has my face prominently displayed in every television ad. He said I have a face that shouldn’t be hidden. Someone else might be offended he’s using my looks to gain the female vote, but after getting Kurt’s letter, I don’t care what it takes to win. I’ll do it.

Except for Reagan.

I’d never do anything to ruin her that involved me. Our kiss will never become public knowledge, even if I’m losing in the polls the night before the election. She’s my hardline. I’m honorable in that way… Others, not so much.

I stick around until I shake every hand and answer the questions of the people who have gathered around. Although I’m trying to keep my mind focused on my responses, all I can think about is Reagan. I smile every time I picture her covered in mud.

“I’m sorry to pull him away, folks,” Carl says from behind me, and I’m thankful for the save. “I hope you’ll be at our rally tomorrow downtown.”

“Oh, yes. We wouldn’t miss it,” a beautiful woman says before she and her friends break into a fit of laughter. “We love Jude.”

“Thank you,” I say and smile. “I look forward to seeing you all again tomorrow.” I try not to talk directly to the women, but to the entire crowd.

Carl’s been very strict about my interaction with female voters. I’m to be kind, smile a lot, but under no circumstances am I to appear to be flirting. I’m definitely not allowed to seem like I’m catering to the women in the crowds either.

* * *

T
hree hours
and a whole lot of carnival food later, I head back to the hotel. After calming Carl down when he realized we were at the same hotel again, I head straight for my room. By the time I’m on the fourth floor, I’m practically skipping down the hallway.

I check the numbers as I pass by, making sure her room is next to mine. I’m impatient and insert the keycard the wrong way, slamming into the door when I try to open it. “Damn it,” I whisper, turning the card in my hand.

When I finally make it inside, I resist the urge to knock on her door immediately. I need a shower. It was more humid than usual for this time of year, and my sweat mingled with greasy fried foods didn’t do me any favors.

I shower quicker than normal, not wanting to linger and worried Reagan will pass out from exhaustion. I slide on my favorite track pants and a tank even though I’d rather go shirtless. If someone were to see us, they’d think something else was going on. I can’t risk it.

I don’t want to give Reagan the wrong idea either. We need to talk tonight and nothing more. She gets me so worked up, but it’s not good for either of our careers.

A few spritzes of cologne later, I drag my hands through my hair and smooth it down. When I’m about to knock, I freeze. It’s only nine, and I wonder if Lexi’s in there, meeting with Reagan.

My ass finds the edge of the bed, and I grab my phone that I tossed there when I undressed.

Me: I’m back.

There’s not a reply right away, but I hear voices through the door. Quickly, I rise from the bed and rest my ear against the wood and hold my breath.

“I’m tired,” Reagan says and does an over-the-top yawn that I can hear.

“It’s late. You better turn in. We’re here for one more day, so you can relax a little bit. I’ll see you at breakfast, yeah?” Lexi asks.

“I’m going to work out in the morning. I’ll be down to breakfast around nine.”

I guess I’ll be up early for my workout too. I wouldn’t miss seeing her in her tight spandex and sports bra, especially if it’s between that and sleep.

“Perfect,” Lexi says, and then I hear Reagan’s door open and close.

I back away in case she opens it, and I sit on the edge of the bed to play it cool. I’m waiting, but nothing happens. Maybe she’s decided not to talk to me tonight. The thought alone has my stomach in knots.

Me: Can we please talk?

When the lock on our connecting door turns, I jump to my feet and tuck my hands in my pockets. I’m trying to play it cool like I haven’t been staring at the door, waiting for her to open it.

“Hey,” I say and smile.

“Hi.” The look on her face doesn’t say she’s as excited as I am, but she opened the door, and that means something.

“Do you want to come in?”

She nods and steps slowly into my room and looks around. “Hmm,” she mumbles with her lips closed.

“What?” I ask and follow her eyes.

“I thought it would be messier in here.”

I laugh and hold my stomach. “The military doesn’t allow for messiness. Some habits die hard.”

I’m mostly being honest. There are nights when I get to a hotel that I toss my clothes on the floor and don’t give a shit if the room is neat. I’m just too tired to care.

“Would you like a drink?” I’m being cordial and feeling her out. Things are tense between us—more tense than the night I kissed her.

“Water would be nice.”

“I have beer or whiskey,” I lie.

She wanders toward the table and chairs near the window and sits with a straight back, folding her hands in her lap. “Whiskey, neat.”

My heart pounds inside my chest, and I’m trying to play it cool as I start to pour her drink and one for myself. She’s casual with her hair in a messy bun on top of her head, still damp from the shower, and colorful leggings with an oversized T-shirt. “I’m sorry for not messaging you,” I say when I sit down across from her and slide her glass across the table.

“We’re both busy.” She shrugs it off and stares into the amber liquor. “You have no loyalty to me, Titan, and you certainly don’t owe me an excuse.”

“But you’re wrong.” I wait until she looks up at me before I speak again. “I know you think I’m toying with your head, Reagan, but I’m not.” I give her a halfhearted smile, but her face is unreadable. “When I kissed you, we were just two people sitting on a bench and in the moment. I wasn’t Jude Titan, your opposition. Just a guy and a girl acting on the attraction we both feel.”

She doesn’t say anything to me, but her eyes drift back to her glass so I continue.

“After I saw you, the day I never replied, I ran into an old Marine buddy. We fought together and were part of the same unit in Anbar that came under attack. He came to give me some news, and I haven’t been able to get beyond what he said to me.” Tears could easily fall if I don’t keep my eyes trained on her.

“Jude,” she whispers, peering up from under her lashes.

I shake my head, clearing my throat and feeling that I need to explain it all to her. “It’s like I’m in a tunnel, helpless to find the light I so badly need. No matter how hard I chase it…it stays out of reach.” My fingers dig into my hair, and I fist it in my hands. “Sometimes I fall into the pattern and let my past dictate the moment, but I’ve grown better at moving beyond the paralysis it causes. Until I saw Jim.”

“What did he say?” she asks softly.

“He brought a letter from a man we both served with—someone who couldn’t make his way to the end of the tunnel. He became trapped and crippled by darkness. Jim delivered a letter Kurt wrote before he took his own life.”

She sits in silence, her chin quivering as she stares up at me. She reaches across the table and sets her hand on top of mine. “It’s not your fault,” she says softly, stroking my skin under her fingertips.

“I’ll always feel I’m partially to blame.” I sigh, but I don’t move my hand away. Her touch calms me. “I wasn’t there for him when he needed me the most, Reagan. Everyone failed him.”