When she climbed on my lap that night, I knew what she wanted. She wanted me to take her virginity when I already believed it to be mine. She was already mine. I just had to wait another year, maybe two. I had to make sure she was ready. I had to make sure I didn’t hurt her or scare her away.

That she gave herself to Connor that first time, I could forgive. I had no business expecting her to wait for me. But when I found her in his bed last summer . . .

Yes, if life gave second chances, I would do that night in college differently. I would do a lot of things differently. The first kiss, the first night we had sex, and the way I handled it when Asia showed up in my living room and told me she would keep the baby.

Liz has always been there. This fixture in my life that always felt out of my reach. And I helped put her there. She stayed beyond my grasp because she was scared to trust me with her heart. I see that now. I don’t know how to make her trust me, and I don’t know how to trust her, but I want to figure it out.

I don’t know how to tell her that, how to explain that I don’t really like the man I’ve become but I’m not sure I can be anyone else. I don’t know how to warn her that having her on my arm tonight started as a political move intended to make my father look good, but already means more to me than that. So I slant my mouth over hers and kiss her deeper, and she softens under me and moans into my mouth.

When I pull back, her tongue sneaks out to her lip, as if she must collect the memory of the kiss there, and I feel myself fall down a couple of rungs on a precariously tall ladder. I’m terrified of what I might find if I fall all the way to the bottom, but for her maybe the risk is worth it.

* * *

Liz

“What was that for?” I ask.

“Do I need a reason to kiss the most beautiful woman I’ve seen all day?”

Don’t say things like that. I’ve already spent the last two days reminding myself that this date with Sam is a matter of convenience for him. He needs a date, and I’m handy. But when he makes me feel so much more precious than that, it’s hard to remember. If he keeps putting on the charm, I’m going to be in trouble. “Thank you.” I climb into the car self-consciously, and he closes the door behind me before coming around to his side and getting in the driver’s seat.

Sam’s broad shoulders seem to overwhelm the small space inside the car, and for a moment I think about what I might do if we were a real couple. Maybe I’d lean my head against his shoulder or we’d hold hands between our seats.

“I’m nervous,” I say, forcing my mind to think about something other than my endless litany of Sam-related what-ifs. “I’m proud of what I wrote, and I know your father liked it, but the idea that so many people are going to be listening to my words, that what they take from those will affect what they think of your father’s campaign and how they talk about it . . .” I shake my head. “It’s intimidating.”

He tilts my chin up with his index finger and looks into my eyes. “My father wouldn’t read anything that wasn’t perfect. Trust me. He is unwavering in his high standards.”

I bite my lip and nod. “I just need to think about something else.”

He drags his gaze over me slowly, his grin growing. “I think I can help you with that.”

Judging by the way he’s looking at me, I assume I know what he means, even though he doesn’t explain. But then he turns the key in the ignition and starts driving without any of the thought-dissolving touches I’m anticipating.

“What should I expect?” I ask when we’re merging onto the highway.

“Lots of people. Lots of money. Lots of bullshit. Most of these people are my dad’s supporters, and they won’t give you any trouble. The only ones you need to watch out for are the journalists. They’ll try to trick you into talking, saying more than you should.”

I tense at the idea of someone trying to get me to spill some campaign secret, and Sam puts his warm hand on my thigh.

“Just smile and stay by my side. I won’t let anyone bother you.” His hand shifts, finding its way under the hem of my skirt as he curls his fingers around my thigh.

The muscles between my legs squeeze at the nearness of his hand. My breath catches and I instinctively scoot my hips toward the edge of the seat, silently urging his hand closer to where I want it. He doesn’t give in.

The whole drive there, we chat intermittently about who will be there and what to expect, and every so often his fingertips sweep over my inner thigh, but never any higher.

When he pulls into the valet parking line, he turns to me. “Your cheeks are a little flushed, Liz. You feeling okay?”

“Yeah, well . . .” I drop my gaze to where his hand is still positioned under my skirt and then look back to his face.

He grins and brushes the center of my panties. After a forty-five-minute drive thinking about exactly that kind of touch, it’s all I can do not to grab him by the wrist and beg for more. He removes his hand. “Not nervous anymore, are you?”

Someone opens my door, and I stare dumbly at the red-vested man offering his hand.

“I think this is the part where you get out of the car,” Sam says.

* * *

Sam

“That’s what I see for the future of this great state,” my father says from the podium on the stage. “The workers, the innovators, the believers—they’re the ones who will bring the jobs back to Indiana, and if you elect me, I will help them make it happen.”