Page 135 of See You Next Tuesday

“Anya, the field team’s all over that. And the digital team. And the Pennsylvania team.”

“I know, but CNN posted these new exit polls—”

“You always say that exit polls are bullshit,” Gabe reminded her.

“Well they are!” Anya huffed. “They oversample white voters, and affluent voters, people who aren’t rushing back to work or home to get their kids, never mind mail-in voters—”

“Okay, so maybe we don’t freak out about them?” Gabe gently extricated Anya’s phone from her hands and twined his fingers with hers.

“Then what do we do instead?” Anya squeaked. The stress of the day was getting to her.

“I dunno, what did we do the last time we worked in this office?” Gabe grinned.

For the general election, the Sessego team had given up their ragtag digs in DC and moved back to Las Vegas: It was cheaper, easier for staff to find housing on short notice, and geographically closer to a majority of the swing states. The team was over the moon when Kira told them the office from their Senate campaign was available—except this time, instead of a single floor, they were leasing the entire building.

Of course, Anya and Gabe had barely been there. They’d been crisscrossing the country, from Arizona deserts and Georgia barbecue joints to Michigan factories and Wisconsin cornfields. It was thrilling, and exhausting, and all but over. It felt nice to spend Election Day somewhere familiar.

“Last time we worked here? We yelled at each other a lot,” Anya said.

“You deliberately left your shirt unbuttoned to drive me to distraction and win arguments in meetings.” Gabe ran his fingers along the inside of her arm. She really wished they weren’t in a room with glass walls.

“I can think of one thing we didn’t do,” she said. “One thing I really, really wanted to do.”

Gabe locked eyes with her. “Just one thing? Because I can think of several.”

“One thing in particular,” Anya flirted. “Should we head to the tiny conference room?”

—

In less than a minute, Gabe was pushing Anya into a room barely big enough for two chairs, let alone a table. He locked the door behind them, then turned to her with a grin.

“Do you know how many times I’ve thought about this?” he asked.

“I should, you bring it up all the time,” she teased, backing against a wall.

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” He leaned down to kiss her. “Do you not like it when I talk about how constantly I fantasize about fucking you?”

“Hate it, detest it, deplore everything about it.” Anya grabbed his shirt collar and pulled him toward her, kissing him harder. She was grateful she’d worn a skirt so he could run his fingers up her thigh, the same way he’d promised to in all those texts all those months ago. She thought about all the months and years they’d spent fantasizing about each other, unable to act on their impulses. She still found it hard to believe that was over. This was her real life now. This man, and how deliciously cloudy her mind went when he kissed her, the most perfect feeling on earth, available to her anytime she wanted.

He made her feel so beautiful, so safe, so desired. The endless stress of the election faded away as she gave in to his fingers, his mouth, to the intensity of the pleasure as he sank to his knees in front of her, to the force of their connection as he sat in one of the room’s two chairs and pulled her into his lap. He made her believe that love was possible, that better things were possible. He made her believe that when life was difficult, or even devastating, it could still hold joy and promise. That they could weather any storm together. That no matter how dark things might feel, they would always, always, have hope.

She collapsed into his arms, breathing hard. It would be okay. Win or lose, they would keep going. Win or lose, they had each other.

“Hey!” Kira shouted. She was pounding on the door. “Are you guys kidding me?! Put your fucking pants on!”

“How long have we been in here?” Gabe looked dazed, and obscenely beautiful—and still smiling, always smiling.

Anya pulled on her skirt and grabbed her phone off the floor. Oh god, it was after five.

“Hurry!” she urged him, and a few seconds later they wrenched open the door.

Kira and Simone were beaming on the other side.

“We have to go,” Kira said. “The results are in.”

Epilogue

Thirteen years later