21. Adrian

I'm standing on the curb outside of my apartment building, trying not to melt in the late afternoon sun, when a maroon two door car pulls up. Taylor Swift spills out of the open windows and sunroof, and I can't help smiling as I lean down and see Jamie looking the most relaxed I've seen him since that night in Lavender. It's not even the khaki shorts and plain white T-shirt he's wearing, although they are a stark contrast from the button-downs or polos he's usually in. But I've seen him in sweats before. It's more the lack of tension radiating off his body, the way his left arm hangs out of the window and his right hand rests casually on the steering wheel.

"Hey, darlin'," he says, grinning back.

Before I can protest, he unbuckles his seatbelt and gets out. He opens the trunk as he rounds the back of the car, then steps onto the curb and strides up to me. His hand rests on my waist, and I expect him to go for his usual cheek kiss greeting. But he surprises me by cupping the back of my neck and pressing his lips to mine. I hum into the kiss, and he deepens it for a moment, teeth playfully nipping at my bottom lip before breaking it.

"What was that for?" I ask.

"I'm excited," he says, pausing briefly before kissing me again. "I've been looking forward to this for weeks."

I duck my head, feeling my cheeks go a little pink.

"Get in the car. I'll put your bag in the trunk."

"I can—"

He cuts me off with a swift kiss. "Stop arguing and let me dote on you."

I sigh with fond exasperation, but give in and slide into the passenger seat. I glance down at the cup holders to see two iced lemonade refreshers and smile.

"The one in the back cup holder is yours," Jamie says as he climbs into the driver's seat. He reaches forward to plug the address into his phone where it's mounted on the dashboard, then clicks his seatbelt into place. "So we should get to my apartment by around 8:30 p.m. factoring in stopping halfway for dinner."

"Sounds good." I grab my drink out of the cup holder and take a sip.

"Oh, and I made us a playlist, but you can feel free to play DJ using my phone if you prefer," he adds.

I give him an amused look out of the corner of my eye. "You had time to make a playlist?"

"I told you, I've been looking forward to this." He quickly leans over the center console and uses a finger to turn my chin so he can brush his lips against mine. Then, just as quick, he checks his mirrors, puts the car in drive, and pulls away from the curb.

We leave the windows down while we make our way out of the city, but once we're on I-95, we roll them up in favor of air conditioning and actually being able to hear the playlist. It's a surprisingly comfortable drive. I'd been a little nervous seeing as being in a car for extended periods of time has always made me anxious, even if I'm not the one driving. But something about the combination of his hand on my knee for most of the drive and the companionable silence puts me at ease. It gives me hope for the next four and a half days, which I desperately needed since I almost chickened out of coming.

Last night, as I went over my packing checklist for the sixth time to make sure I had everything, the seriousness of this trip hit me hard. Jamie hadn't asked me to come home with him for appearance's sake. He actually wanted me there because I'm his boyfriend—his very real boyfriend whom he has very real and seemingly strong feelings for. And while I realized all of that when he initially asked me a few weeks ago, it hadn't fully hit me that I have no idea what the fuck I'm doing until last night. I've never been someone's boyfriend before. I've never gone to someone's hometown with them before, or met their parents before. It was one thing being his pretend boyfriend. If I messed up because I, again, have no clue what I'm doing, I could tell myself it didn't matter as much. I could just pretend my mistake was as fake as the relationship.

But now, if I make a mistake, it's real. If his parents don't like me, I can't just shrug it off because the "relationship" has an expiration date anyway, so why does it matter? Now, if I mess up at the campaign event, it's not just that Jamie gets bad press and possibly slips in the polls. He could look at me differently. And I like the way he looks at me—that soft expression that makes me feel like I'm the only person in the room.

As if he can sense my inner anxiety, he squeezes my knee. I look over at him from where I was staring out the window at the darkening sky.

"You alright, sweetheart?" he asks.

I hum affirmatively. "I'm just a little tired," I lie.

His hand squeezes my knee again. "Well, we're only about ten minutes away now," he says.

With a nod, I slide my hand over his and let the added contact work to quiet my brain.

As promised, ten minutes later, Jamie is pulling into a numbered parking spot at his apartment complex. We retrieve our bags from the trunk, opting to deal with the trash from our on-the-road dinner and snacks in the morning, then make our way to his second-floor apartment.

He flicks the overhead lights on as we enter and almost immediately drops his bags to the floor. "Ah, home sweet home," he says, and I can't help fondly rolling my eyes. "I caught that, darlin'," he teases.

"You weren't meant not to," I retort as I set my weekender bag down so I can take my shoes off.

"Well, what do you think?" he asks, gesturing around the room.

It's smaller than his DC apartment, a studio from the looks of it rather than a one bedroom. Although, I can't imagine maintaining two apartments is cheap. But if I thought his DC apartment was surprisingly decorated, this one hardly compares. It's filled with color and life. The walls are filled with posters and photos. The bookshelf in the corner is crammed with books and knick-knacks. Every inch of the place gives a little hint at who he is as a person, so much so that I'm almost overwhelmed with where to focus my attention.

"I know it's kind of cluttered," he says when I don't say anything. "Especially compared to your place."

"No, it's great," I say, turning to him with a smile. I close the gap between us and rest my hands on his waist. "My place looks like it's been staged by a realtor. Yours—both of your places—are very you."

He hums and loops his arms around my neck. "I've been meaning to ask you about that, actually. I just didn't know how to bring it up. Why is your apartment so… for lack of a better word, empty?"

"When you moved as much as I did as a kid, the more annoying it got to pack things like art and knick-knacks," I say with a sigh. "Plus, military moves only allot for so many pounds, so we kind of had a ‘something in, something out' rule."

"I guess that makes sense," he says, although his tone is skeptical. "But you've lived in your place for almost three years and aren't planning on moving any time soon, right?"

I shrug. "Yeah, but it's a habit that's hard to break."

"Well, I can help with that. I'm definitely taking you to the Raleigh Flea Market," he says resolutely. "And we aren't leaving until you get one weird and completely unnecessary thing to put in your apartment."

A small laugh escapes me. "Maybe."

"Nope, it's happening, darlin'. The Raleigh Flea Market is a Montgomery Saturday morning tradition, so don't bother fighting it." He grins, then seals his lips over mine before I can even try to counter him.

I expect the kiss to be short and chaste, seeing as we just spent several hours in the car and he spent the morning at his office beforehand. But then I feel his hands slide into my hair. He tugs the strands, not hard, but enough to pull a surprised moan from me. He echoes the noise and flicks the tip of his tongue against my bottom lip for a second before breaking away from my mouth.

"When you said you were tired, exactly how tired did you mean?" he asks, his voice low.

"Depends on what you have in mind," I murmur once my brain catches up from the kiss enough for me to process what he's asking.

His eyes go the slightest bit wicked, then his mouth is back on mine, hot and demanding. He grabs my hips and starts walking me backward toward the bed in the alcove off the living area. Although there's only maybe fifteen feet between where we started and the bed, he somehow gets us out of most of our clothes on the way. So by the time my knees hit the bed, we're down to our boxers.

He pushes me back, and I barely have time to situate myself more fully on the mattress before he's covering my body with his.

"In a hurry?" I tease.

"Yes," he says, and it's so without shame that I can't help getting turned on by it, especially when he punctuates the statement with a biting kiss and a grind of his half hard cock against mine. He swallows my resulting moan, then scrapes his teeth across my jaw and down to the spot on my neck he claims to be his favorite—the one that always sends sparks down my spine.

He's only had this kind of frantic and demanding energy in bed once in the past few weeks of us sleeping together—something had happened at work that had put him in a particularly good mood. What it was, I have no idea, because he practically pounced on me the moment he stepped through my door, and we immediately fell asleep after. It was probably the best sex I've ever had, and although I very much want a repeat, I don't know that I actually have the energy for it tonight.

"Jamie," I start, but it comes out more like a gasp.

"Yeah, darlin'?" he whispers in my ear.

"I don't want to stop, but I also don't think I'm up for anything besides—" I break off with a moan as his hips circle against mine again. Fuck, even through our boxers, that feels incredible.

"That's okay," he says, trailing his lips back up to mine. "Can we—" He slides his hands down to my ass and pulls me into him — "like this?"

"Boxers off," I say by way of answer.

He nods enthusiastically.

"And lube," I add.

He makes quick work of our remaining clothes, then scrambles in his bedside drawer for a small bottle of lube. It's fast and messy, neither of us bothering to move our hips with any sort of finesse. Our kiss is sloppy, more shared breath and teeth than lips. We just chase our orgasms, taking whatever we can from each other. It shouldn't be as hot as it is, but maybe I should stop being surprised with how good things are with Jamie, even when we're both exhausted after an evening in the car.

He falls over the edge first, a moan that almost sounds like a laugh tumbling from his lips as he spills over our hands and onto my chest. That and a well-timed flick of his wrist are all it takes to drag me over it, too, panting into his mouth as pleasure rolls through me.

Neither of us speaks for a minute, focusing on catching our breath and slowing our heart rates. Then he drops his forehead to my neck and lets out a breathy curse.

"Yeah?" I say, chuckling slightly as I comb my fingers through his hair.

"That was really hot." His lips graze my shoulder. "Although, now I definitely need a shower."

"You need a shower?" I say, a little incredulously.

He lifts his head to give me a questioning look, then lowers his gaze to my chest and laughs. "I'll go get the water started."

Smile softening, he brushes his lips on my forehead. Then he rolls off me and heads across the living area to the bathroom, leaving me to bask in the warm afterglow for a few more minutes before I need to get up and follow him.