Her lips were red, her skin tan, and her scent exotic.

And I felt my desire steadily growing, as did my need to lead her away to somewhere dark and quiet.

“I saw your interview,” she said, meeting my eyes again. “I thought it was wonderful.”

I nodded, not really caring to talk about the interview.

She continued. “I don’t know if you still feel like you have something to prove, Tyler, but I can tell you, even if I had never met you, I would vote for you.”

In that moment, as I looked down at her, my lungs emptied.

I’d been told by friends and wives of friends, employees and colleagues, that I had their vote when election time arrived about a year from now, but I hadn’t realized hers was the only one I’d wanted.

She actually thought I was worth a damn.

I couldn’t keep the grin off my face as I stared at the Stricher in front of us. “The first moment I saw you” – I inched closer to her – “scowling at that Degas like it was shit on canvas…” I looked at her. “I wanted you more than I’d ever wanted anything.”

The moment I’d set eyes on her, I had to have her.

A thoughtful expression appeared on her face. “A lot’s changed.”

“Nothing has changed,” I shot back.

She turned to me and then looked around at something behind me. “Are you with Tessa McAuliffe tonight?” she prodded, and I glanced back to see Tessa in a beige evening gown happily schmoozing in the crowd.

I hadn’t arrived with Tessa, nor did I plan to leave with her, but we’d had lunch before the interview last week and had spoken this evening.

“Some relationships need to be maintained,” I pointed out. “Even though they’re only professional.”

“She needs you,” Easton bit out. “You don’t need her.”

I reached out, grazing her cheek with my thumb. “I always loved it when you got angry,” I mused, start to feel whole again.

She hesitated, letting me touch her, but then tilted her face away, breaking the connection.

“You must be proud of Christian.” She changed the subject. “Transferring into AP History and also qualifying for advanced placement in Biology.”

I dropped my hand, suddenly needing more air. “Yes.” I sighed. “I’m taking him and some of his friends to an LSU game next Saturday to celebrate.”

“He seems happy.” She shot me a taunting smirk. “I think he’s starting to like you.”

I snorted. “I don’t know,” I grumbled under my breath. “Is one of the warning signs an aptitude for blackmailing me?” I asked. “Somehow he’s weaseled a birthday bash at JAX Brewery out of me if he gets straight As this semester.”

She breathed out a smile, shaking her head.

“Hello, Ms. Bradbury,” Jay chirped, coming up next to me, and I inwardly groaned.

“Tyler.” He leaned in, speaking in a low voice. “The archbishop is here.”

I sighed, frowning.

Archbishop Dias was a big supporter, and I needed to at least greet him.

I glanced to Easton, torn between either taking her with me or telling her I’d see her later, but I had no right to infringe on her evening. I was the one to break it off, after all.

“Excuse me,” I said, but she just turned back to the paintings without a word.

After saying hello to the archbishop and talking about the year to come, I moved from circle to circle, chatting with members of the media, local politicians, influential voters, and it was fucking painful.

I could do it. I wanted to do it.

But over the past few weeks I’d started to feel like I was trying to walk on one leg. Nothing came easy anymore, because something was missing.

I looked up every once in a while, scanning the party for Easton. She eventually moved from the outside of the scene to the center, sitting at a table with her brother and, I assumed, some of his fellow interns as they nibbled on hors d’oeuvres.

After a while I saw her in a group, laughing.

I looked at my watch, seeing that it was ten thirty, and I texted Christian to check in one last time for the night. He was crashing at a friend’s house, since they had gone to the Krewe of Boo parade with his friend’s parents.

How’s it going? I texted.

I walked up to the bar and ordered another Chivas on the rocks.

We’re hanging out, he texted back.

Where?

But after I’d gotten my drink and tipped the bartender, I continued to stand at the marble bar top, waiting.

Christian? I prompted again.

Taqueria Corona, he shot back.

I scowled, checking my watch again.

Are Charlie’s parents with you? I typed, and hit Send.

Except I didn’t get an answer, and heat rose from my neck up to my forehead.

Either get back to Charlie’s, or I’m sending Patrick for you, I threatened, taking his silence as a no.

Taqueria Corona was a bar. A restaurant bar, but still a bar with a loud crowd, and how the hell did his friend’s fucking parents not have them in the house yet? They were fourteen years old, for Christ’s sake.

Come on! he challenged.

Are you arguing? I threw back to him.

The phone buzzed immediately. No.

I cocked an eyebrow, and another message came through immediately after.

Yes, he corrected, owning up. All right, we’re heading to Charlie’s.

I smiled, gloating, as I took a sip of whiskey.