25. Adrian

Despite picking a profession that often requires me to wake up early, I've never been a morning person. If left to my own devices, I will sleep until at least 9:00 a.m. and stay in bed for at least an hour or two after, cuddling with my cats and reading a book—something Sophie says is called "hurkle-durkle." According to her, it's an old Scottish term meaning to lay about in bed past the time you're supposed to get up. I'm not Scottish, but "hurkle-durkle" sounds a lot better than "my anxiety is trying to convince me that the world outside my bed isn't a safe place," or "my cat looked cozy and I didn't have the heart to move her," so I go with it.

And when I'm forced to get up early, the waking up process is always slow going and unpleasant. Apparently, not even waking up in Jamie's arms makes the process more enjoyable. In fact, it kind of has the opposite effect. It makes me want to stay in bed even more. So when the alarm goes off at six thirty, I can't help but groan and burrow further into the soft, jersey-knit sheets.

His arm tightens around me for a moment, then he's gone, leaving my back suddenly cold as he turns over to silence the alarm on his phone. Now that the room is quiet, he presses himself along my back again, hugging my waist. He noses at the nape of my neck, then brushes his lips against my skin.

"We need to get up, darlin'," he murmurs.

I grumble and take his hand to hug it to my chest, effectively keeping him in place. "Ten more minutes."

He chuckles and kisses the back of my neck again. "Nope, none of that. I know you, which means I know that ten minutes is going to turn into another ten, then another five, and so on, and so on. And while we have plenty of time, I also know you'll get anxious if you're not at the train station at least forty minutes before your departure time."

I let out a heavy sigh. I may not like it, but he's right. I do get anxious if I don't get to the train station with plenty of time—worrying that the train will leave early without me, or that there will be something wrong with my ticket that I won't have time to fix because I'm late. The problem is that I'm also anxious about leaving, so my brain is telling me to delay it for as long as possible.

I slowly turn in his arms to face him, then let my eyes blink open. "Just ten, I promise," I say before pressing my lips to his, not caring about morning breath.

He hums against my mouth, deepening the kiss ever-so slightly. Then he pulls away with a sigh, and I know I've won when he rolls over to set a timer on his phone. "Fine, ten more minutes," he says as he returns and drapes his arm over my waist again.

I'm tempted to close my eyes and snooze for another ten minutes, but then I remember that this will be the last time I see him until September when the House is back in session and he'll be back in DC—and who knows if I'll get to see him then. He'll probably be just as busy there as he will be here for the next month.

So instead, I thread my fingers through his sleep-mussed hair and kiss him. Ten minutes isn't really enough time to do anything, but that doesn't stop me from pulling his bottom lip between mine. Or from licking into his mouth when he lets out a surprised gasp. It also doesn't stop him from rolling me onto my back and settling over me or sliding up my T-shirt as his fingers explore my waist.

I hook my legs around him to bring him closer, earning a soft groan that has me smiling against his lips in response. When I pull gently at his hair, he groans again.

Then, his mouth disappears from mine. "Adrian," he says, almost like a warning.

"Shh." I lift my head and kiss him again briefly. "Seven more minutes, baby," I say before another kiss, although I have no idea if that's accurate or not.

He grumbles, and I let my head fall back to the pillow so I can study his face. It looks like about a thousand thoughts are running through his head at once—something I'm more than familiar with.

My hand loosens on his hair and moves to cup his cheek instead. "What is it?"

His head turns so he can press a kiss to my palm, which somehow makes me feel more light-headed than when his tongue was in my mouth a few seconds ago.

"I want to keep doing exactly what we were doing, including what it would lead to if we had time," he says, hesitant.

"We have a little time," I offer, desperate to still put our six minutes to good use.

"Which is what part of my brain is telling me, but there's another part that doesn't want to risk it because I don't want you to get anxious because we're running behind the schedule we discussed last night. Then there's another part reminding me that even if your train wasn't a factor, I still wouldn't have time because I need to get to work." He says it in a rush, his own anxiety plain in his voice.

It's like a bucket of cold water for the warm, floaty feeling I had moments ago. Of course he has to get to work. He already spent three, probably valuable campaign days with me, and now I'm asking for more. I'm being selfish, which is so unlike me. I don't even know where it's coming from.

The realization must pass over my face because Jamie's eyes soften with concern.

"No, it's okay," I say before he can say whatever apology is on his tongue. "You have a lot to do. People need you, and I understand that. Your job is more important—"

"No," he says so firmly that I nearly flinch. "My job is important, yes, but it is not more important, okay? You are also important." He punctuates the statement with a hard and fast kiss before I can react. "And so is getting you to the train so you can get home to your fur babies."

"They're cats, not fur babies," I say flatly.

"I watched you swaddle Joseph up in a blanket and carry him around just last week," he retorts.

"He likes it," I say defensively.

He laughs and brushes his lips on mine just as the timer on his phone goes off. He reaches over and shuts it off. "Come on, we need to get up and moving."

He rolls off of me and out of the bed, and with a sigh, I follow suit to get ready for the day.

By eight fifteen, we pull up outside Raleigh Union Station. He puts the car in park and turns on the hazards before unbuckling his seat belt and opening his door. I hesitate for a brief moment, but staying in the car won't delay the inevitable. I unbuckle my own seatbelt, then reach for the door handle, but before I can grab it, the door is already opening from the outside. He ducks down a little and holds out his hand.

I don't even bother protesting that I can get out on my own, and instead just fondly shake my head as I slip my hand into his. His gentlemanly behavior is habit for him, especially after dating women for most of his life. And now that I've met his parents and watched them interact, the way Paul subtly pulled out a chair for his wife at the breakfast table even in their own home, I know it's practically hardwired into him. It's taken some getting used to, but if I'm being honest, I kind of like being doted on. I never thought I'd have that.

I step up onto the curb and wait as he gets my bag out of the trunk. Then, we stand for a moment looking at each other, my bag at our feet. It's a little funny that I nearly chickened out on coming on this trip, and now I don't want it to end. But, God, I really don't want to go. He doesn't seem to want me to either. I'd worry that it's wishful thinking, except the energy in the air between us is a lot like that night a few weeks ago when we finally gave into this… thing between us.

Letting out a small sigh, he gathers me into his arms for a tight hug. "Call me when you get home—and I mean it, okay? Don't try to play the ‘I didn't want to bother you while you're busy' card. I want to know that you're home safe, otherwise I'm going to worry."

I chuckle quietly. "I don't want to bother you while you're busy, though," I tease before stepping back. "I'll text you, how about that?"

"I'll accept that compromise," he says with a soft smile. Then, he leans in and presses a kiss to my cheek just shy of the corner of my mouth. "I'll see you in September?"

I nod, then swallow past the stupid lump in my throat. I don't know why I'm getting emotional. It's only a few weeks. I've gone longer without seeing him. Except that was while this was still fake. Still, there's no reason for me to feel this unsettled.

I mentally shake myself and bend down to hoist my bag onto my shoulder before sending him a smile. "Good luck with campaigning."

"Bye, darlin'," he says, pressing one last kiss to my cheek.

"Bye," I echo. Then I turn and head into the train station, stuffing down any instinct to turn around again.

"Do we want another round?" Casey asks, gesturing toward the bar behind him.

"Yes, please," Sophie exclaims.

He looks at me expectantly. "Adrian?"

I glance down at my still half-full gin and tonic I've been nursing for the last hour, then shake my head. "No, thanks."

He gives me a small, sad smile, then nods and grabs the empty glasses to head to the bar. He knows I'm in a funk. I've been in a funk for almost three weeks, and although I've mostly been refusing to talk about it, he knows why. Which is why he suggested we come out to a board game bar this evening so I could try to get out of my head. It's not working, though. I still have that tight feeling in the pit of my stomach. I still can't stop checking my phone every fifteen minutes for a text I know isn't there since I have my ringer turned on and I haven't heard Jamie's text tone.

It's been like this since about five days after I got back from Raleigh. At first, I was okay. I had a stretch of four shifts in a row since I'd had to switch some around to go to North Carolina in the first place. And it kept me busy so I didn't really notice the uneasy feeling in my chest. But on that fifth day, I finally had off, and the realization that Jamie and I would be in different states for a whole month settled over me like a suffocating blanket.

We've been texting almost constantly. Or, at least, I've been texting him—just little things throughout my day, like weird pet names, funny lines from the book I'm currently reading, or pictures of Joseph and Molly. He always responds, sometimes it's late at night, but he does. More often than not, he'll call instead of texting back, and it always seems like he's happy to hear from me. But the small voice in the back of my head keeps whispering that I'm bothering him. That he's busy, and I should let him work without distracting him. That I'm being clingy. Dependent.

I don't want to be clingy. That's not who I am. If I were a clingy person, I wouldn't be able to go from one-night-stand to one-night-stand with ease. Right? If I were a dependent person, this wouldn't be my first relationship.

Except, maybe I am clingy and dependent, and that's why I've been so against long-term attachments of any kind. Did I know deep down that if I did ever get into a relationship, I would be like this?

"Adrian?"

I mentally shake myself and turn my gaze from where I zoned out toward Sophie. "Sorry, what?"

She gestures at the board. "It's your turn."

"Oh." I blink at the table for a moment, then grab the dice and roll them.

"Oh, yay, brick!" she claps and plucks her resource from the piles.

Mindlessly, I collect my resources and set the dice in front of Casey's seat.

"And it looks like Casey got more sheep." She takes a card and puts it face up on his stack of cards. "Are you going to build anything?"

"Um…" I take a quick glance at my cards, then place a road heading vaguely in the direction of the nearest port. I don't really have a strategy right now. I've never been great at this game, even when I have my full focus on it.

Just in time for his turn, Casey returns with new drinks. "What did I miss—Sheep? Again? You've got to be kidding me."

Sophie giggles as he sets her drink in front of her. "It's your turn, sheep farmer."

He sighs and sinks into his seat. "Fucking sheep," he grumbles as he rolls the dice.

I'm not sure how many more turns it ends up taking, but eventually Sophie wins, placing a final road and stealing the Longest Road title from Casey.

"Ha!" she exclaims, playfully sticking her tongue out at him.

"I was playing nice," he says with a roll of his eyes.

"Sure, sure. Do we want to play another game?" she asks. "Adrian?"

Before I can answer, my phone dings on the table. Even though it's not my text tone, I reflexively check it anyway. Disappointment mixed with a little self-loathing flows through me as I swipe away the news notification.

"Sorry, I know I'm being terrible company tonight," I say, pinching the bridge of my nose.

"It's okay," Sophie says immediately. She reaches across the table and squeezes my arm. "I know you don't want to talk about it, but you're allowed to miss him, you know."

Finally, I break. "This isn't even the longest I've gone without seeing him," I say, frustrated. "I didn't see him at all between my birthday and DC pride, and I was fine."

"Yeah, but you weren't in your honeymoon phase, then," Casey points out.

"Honeymoon phase?"

"Come on, you read romance novels, occasionally. You know what a honeymoon phase is," Sophie says pointedly.

"Well, yeah, but isn't a honeymoon phase usually at the beginning of a relationship?" I counter. "We're not exactly at the beginning. We've been doing this since February."

"For show, not for real," Casey says.

"I just—" I bite the corner of my lip. "I guess I just feel… silly."

"Love makes you silly," Sophie says, then her eyes widen and she immediately adds, "not that I‘m saying you love him. Just that you clearly care about him, and sometimes those fuzzy romantic feelings can make you silly. And that's normal. It's also great."

It doesn't feel great. It feels nausea-inducing. It feels like all I want to do is bolt in the opposite direction. But I know that's just the anxiety voice in the back of my head—the one I've been promising myself I'd try to stop listening to, at least where Jamie's concerned.

Except ignoring that voice was a lot easier when he was still here.