13. Jamie

Adrian Wilks

Mar 16, 10:53 AM

Hey so I remember you said that if there was anything you could do for me in return for helping you all I had to do was ask. Is that offer still on the table?

I let go of the suitcase handle and leave it in the middle of the room to respond.

Mar 16, 6:40 PM

Hey sorry I was on the train almost all day today and haven't had a lot of time to check my personal phone.

Of course the offer is still on the table. What do you need?

Actually can I call?

Yeah, sure

After dialing, I wedge the phone between my shoulder and my ear so I can lug my suitcase onto the bed. The line rings three times before he picks up.

"Hello?"

"Hey, darlin'," I say, letting the pet name roll off my tongue because I can't help myself. I know it affects him, even if I'm not there to see it. It makes me feel better about the fact that the moment I hear his voice, it's like a slight weight lifts off my chest. I'm beginning to think he possesses some sort of magic because every time I've either seen or talked to him since That Night, as I've come to think of it, my reaction has basically been the same. Maybe six weeks worth of video and phone calls aren't enough of a sample size to draw a conclusion off of, but it's not like this is a science experiment. Besides, I'm not even going to pretend that I was any good at science, even if it was one. But even when he texts me, I can't help smiling a little, so I think it's a pretty good theory.

Well, it's a solid theory. I'm not sure whether my fake boyfriend having this kind of effect on me is a good thing. It probably means I'm getting too attached, but I can't help it. My mom has always said I have a big heart. I've always made friends quickly, fallen in love a little too easily, which is why I've never been a one-night-stand person. But it'll be fine. Probably.

As I predicted, he's silent for a moment, then he clears his throat. "How was the train?"

"Long and exhausting," I say with a heavy sigh. "Travel days always feel that way, especially when I take the train instead of driving. But since Ben, Mina, and I had to come back to DC on a weekday, we opted to take the train so we could do some work, and the day wouldn't be a waste."

"Wait, did you just say driving was less exhausting than taking the train?" he asks.

I chuckle. "Yeah, that probably sounds backwards. But I love driving. It calms me. Anytime I'm behind the wheel, it forces me to take a break from the constant multi-tasking and hustling that my life normally consists of now."

"I am the complete opposite. Driving stresses me out to no end. That's partially why I moved back to DC after vet school—so I could get rid of my car."

"Wait, you don't have a car?" I ask as I unpack my suitcase and sort my clothes because the first task on my life reset is laundry—which I admit I haven't properly done in well over two months.

"God, no," he says, sounding almost flabbergasted. "Do you know how difficult parking is in this city? Well, I guess you do, since you have a car. But there's also the almost predatory speed and red light cameras."

"Predatory?" I ask, trying to cover my laugh.

"Yes, the streets here are basically designed so that unless you have the streets perfectly memorized, it's almost impossible to get anywhere without getting some sort of ticket. Whether it's for speeding because they speed limit changed but the sign was in a completely inconvenient spot, or accidentally running a red light because you can't tell which fucking intersection the light is actually for."

This time I can't help the laugh that escapes.

"You're laughing at me," he deadpans, although there's a hint of vulnerability behind it.

"No," I say quickly, then amend it. "Okay, a little, but I don't think I've ever heard you rant about anything before, or curse, for that matter. You're cute when you're all worked up."

"Oh," he says.

And if I'm not mistaken, he sounds a little pleased, so I decide to push my luck. "Although, I think you're cute most of the time, if I'm being honest."

There's a brief pause, then his voice comes out, almost like a warning. "Jamie—"

Okay, yeah, maybe that was too much. "Anyway, you said you had a favor for me?"

"Yeah." Another pause. "So, there's an animal rescue that I volunteer with—District Pets."

Of course he volunteers with an animal rescue—because he couldn't just be hot and smart. He has to have a heart of gold, too. I'm fake dating a damn Disney prince. To be fair, that was probably already evident by him agreeing to help me get through this scandal when he hardly knows me, but this just takes the cake.

"I adopted Joseph and Molly through them," he continues. "They rescue animals from unfit homes and either overcrowded or high-kill shelters all over the DC, Maryland, and Virginia area, and sometimes even into West Virginia and North Carolina. They're a non-profit and run almost exclusively on donations and through volunteers."

"Like you," I say as I gather the pile of dirty clothes I don't need to have dry-cleaned and carry them into the hall where my laundry closet is. "What do you do for them? I assume you're not a foster since you have two cats of your own."

"No, I'm not. I know myself, and I would never have the heart to give a cat up once I bonded with them." He chuckles.

A soft smile creeps onto my face. Yup, Disney prince. God, I think I'm fucked.

"I originally applied to volunteer as a record and invoice admin, but when they realized I'm a vet, we struck up a different deal where any foster families in the area can come to the clinic, and I would take on the responsibility of inputting the visit summary, invoices, and test results into the rescue's system."

"Is it hard seeing the animals when they've first been rescued?" I ask tentatively. It has nothing to do with the favor he has to ask me, but he's being more forthcoming than usual and I'll be damned if I'm not going take advantage of that and try to get him to open up to me a little more. "I imagine some of them might be in bad shape depending on where they came from."

He hums. "Sometimes, but it's also really fulfilling being able to help them. Usually I have Sophie assist me. She has this way of calming animals—if I believed in magic, that's what I'd call it."

"Well, you said she's into crystals and stuff, right? So maybe it is magic," I say.

"Maybe," he says.

"So, what favor do you need for the shelter?" I ask when he falls silent.

"Well, the thing is, I'm not really sure if you even can help, but I said I'd ask just in case. So, the rescue has been trying to establish an intake and processing center—somewhere we can temporarily keep animals when we've picked them up, fosters can pick up new pets, and potential adopters can do a meet and greet with animals. We've been trying to raise money, but most of the donations we get go toward the animals. There was this grant with the city we were trying to get, but it got denied, so it looks like it might never happen.

"Like I said, I'm not sure if you can really do anything seeing as it's not your district, but I was hoping you might know someone who could help. Maybe someone with the city. Or someone who knows someone with the city. Or even if there's maybe some federal grant we could apply for. But if not, I understand."

He says it all in a rush, and I can tell he's nervous about asking—not that he has any reason to be. I told him I'd do whatever he wanted as long as it didn't violate the congressional code of ethics. When I offered it, I'd expected something a little more self-serving, like a tour of the White House, even though technically that would have to go through his own representative. His nervousness is endearing on its own, but him using his favor to do something completely selfless has my heart clenching.

"Well, you're right about me not being able to help, at least directly, since you're not my district and neither is the rescue. But I definitely know people. I'm on the Oversight Committee with Congresswoman Sanderson—the DC delegate—and we're pretty friendly, so I'll talk to her tomorrow to see if she can do anything."

He lets out a sigh of relief. "Thank you. I really appreciate it."

"Of course. It's my pleasure," I say, smiling even though I know he can't see it. "I'll also start looking into federal grants. It'll have to be in my off time since, again, technically I can't do any official work for someone outside my constituency, but—"

"You don't have to do that," he blurts. "You work enough as it is, so I don't want to inconvenience you."

"Helping you with something that clearly means something to you isn't an inconvenience to me," I say sincerely. I want to say that he isn't an inconvenience to me, which I'm almost certain is what he actually meant, but I don't want to push it.

"I don't want to get you in trouble, though," he says.

"You won't," I insist. "If there is a grant or federal funding, I'll direct you and the rescue to Congresswoman Sanderson's office to apply for it. But I can still help research. I promised you I'd help, and I follow through on my promises. But promises aside, I want to help with this. Getting to help with things like this makes all the bullshit that goes along with this job worth it."

He says nothing for a moment, long enough that I start to feel a little nervous myself.

"Adrian?"

"Yeah, sorry, I'm here," he says quickly. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," I say, then before I can muffle it, a yawn escapes. "Ugh sorry. Trains do really drain me, and I've been trying to cut back on my caffeine intake."

"Heeding my advice and taking better care of yourself?" he says, almost teasing.

"More like trying to heed the advice of my doctor, so I don't do irreparable damage to my esophagus, but as you can probably guess, I kind of suck at it," I tease back.

"Are you alright?" he asks, suddenly concerned.

"Oh, yeah. My doctor thinks I have GERD—acid reflux," I amend since I've had to explain it to most people I've mentioned it to.

"Yeah, I'm familiar," he says.

"Right, I wasn't sure how much you know about human ailments," I say with a small laugh.

"Not a lot, although enough to administer first aid in an emergency. But actually, dogs and some cats can get acid reflux."

"Really?" I ask, suddenly fascinated.

"Yeah, it's more common in brachycephalic breeds," he explains, then adds, "uh, the flat-faced breeds, like pugs."

"Thanks for that. I had no idea what brachy—you know what? I'm not even gonna try," I say, earning a laugh. "But anyway, I'm fine. You don't need to worry about me," I say, although from what I learned during our conversation last night, telling him not to worry about something is probably like telling a bird not to fly. "I have also taken your advice and am currently at home cleaning instead of at work, though—which I realize probably doesn't sound like relaxing, but it's also very necessary since I've been neglecting it."

"Self-care can't always just be face masks or bubble baths," he says.

I grin as the image of him in a bathtub wearing a sheet mask and cucumbers on his eyes pops into my head, and surprisingly, I find it more endearing than arousing. "Is that what you do for self care?"

"More like reading a book with a blanket and a cat on my lap and a record on in the background. And yes, I'm fully aware that makes me sound like a grandpa."

I laugh because it definitely does, but somehow that image is even better than the bathtub one. Oh my god, I need to get a grip.

"Is that what you were doing when I called?" I ask.

"Perhaps," he says slowly.

And I can't help laughing again. "Well, I'll let you get back to it, then."

"Actually, um, I had another… I guess favor to ask."

"What's up?"

"Well, I know that something like this wasn't really in our original agreement, but my birthday is coming up, and usually I don't like to make a big deal out of it. I hate being the center of attention like that, but my parents and friends like to at least do something, so we usually just go to dinner. But this year… well, you remember I told my parents about us—well, the fake story—and Casey pointed out that they'd probably find it weird if my so-called boyfriend wasn't at my birthday so—"

"Are you trying to invite me to your birthday dinner?" I ask, unable to stop my face from splitting into a grin.

He huffs. "Yeah."

"That's hardly a favor. I'd love to be there. I know our arrangement is a little weird, but I'd like to think we're at least friends."

"Are you sure? It would be a weekend, and I know you usually go back to your district—"

"My district won't miss me for one weekend," I say, cutting him off. "When is it?"

"April 9th at my apartment."

"And your actual birthday?"

"The eleventh."

"I'll be there. Thank you for inviting me. And thank you for giving me enough of a heads up to get you a present."

"Oh, you don't have to get me anything," he says.

"What kind of boyfriend would your parents think I am if I didn't get you a present?" I ask incredulously.

"One who knows me well enough to know that I don't really like gifts, especially in situations where I might be expected to open them in front of everyone," he counters.

I sigh because I can't really argue with that one. "Fine. But you have to let me bring something. My mom raised me better than to show up to a party empty-handed."

"It's not a party. It's just my parents, Casey, and Sophie. And maybe Sophie's boyfriend, if he actually comes."

The way he says that last part has me immediately curious about the backstory there, but he continues before I can be nosy enough to ask.

"All you have to bring is yourself. Oh, and Sophie instructed me to tell you to bring your friend Mina because we quote, ‘could use more female energy in this friend group.' But also, you'll be meeting a lot of new people, so if you wanted a familiar face there to make you more comfortable, I'd understand."

"I love meeting new people, so don't you worry about me, darlin'. But I appreciate it. I'm sure she'd love to come," I say, which is a much nicer version of saying that she'd probably kill me if I denied her this opportunity to vibe check him again.

"Okay, um, good. Well, I'll let you get back to your cleaning," he says, slightly awkward.

"And I'll let you get back to your cat cuddles and book. I'm assuming you have at least Joseph on your lap?"

"Yeah, Molly gave me an offended look and ran off the moment my phone rang."

"Well, offer my apologies to Molly," I say with a laugh.

"I can already tell you she won't accept. She's persnickety like that," he says, although there's nothing but fondness in his tone.

"Bye," I say.

"Bye."

I hang up the phone, and it's only a minute before my phone buzzes with a text. From Adrian. Fumbling only slightly, I tap the notification, pulling up our messages to see a picture of his two cats—Joseph stretched out on Adrian's blanket-covered legs, and Molly sitting primly at his feet.

Perhaps she forgives the intrusion after all

And with the swooping feeling my stomach does, paired with what I'm sure is a dopey grin on my face, there's really no doubt about it. I've got a raging crush on my fake boyfriend. God, I'm fucked.