6. Jamie

I didn't exactly have walk of shame on this year's bingo card, but here I am, quietly entering my building and hoping my downstairs neighbor Mrs. Carter doesn't hear me. Our building is a two story home converted to apartments, so I have to pass her door to get to the stairs leading to mine. Since she's almost always home and somehow has the hearing of a bat even at ninety, she usually pops out to chat whenever she hears me coming in. She's a wonderful woman—kind, surprisingly funny, and maybe a little nosy. And while I usually try to make time to talk with her no matter how busy I am, I really don't want to have to explain to her why I'm coming in at 8:50 a.m. wearing the clothes I left in last night.

When I safely make it into my apartment, I shut the door and lean against it, letting my head fall back as I close my eyes and take a deep breath. Last night was amazing, but now that I've slept and am no longer in Adrian's semi-intoxicating presence, the full magnitude of the night is hitting me. I had occasional flashes of realization last night, but I didn't really let myself sit with them. I was too excited by the possibilities and the feeling of sudden clarity. But now, there's nothing to distract me from thinking about what's next. About what this new identity actually means—for me, for my relationship with my friends and family, for my career.

I'm fairly confident that most of the people in my life will be supportive. I've always surrounded myself with people who are either queer themselves or are loudly vocal allies—which makes sense now, in retrospect. Mina has already been supportive, and my parents are the ones who raised me to believe love is love despite that not being the popular opinion where we're from. But my career…that's the part I'm worried about.

But staying against this door won't help me figure that part out at all. A shower, that's probably what I need right now. So with a sigh, I push myself off the door and start shedding my winter wear. I leave my boots by the door and toss my coat on the back of the couch as I head back to my bedroom. I begin to strip off my outfit from last night, tossing it in the direction of my hamper, which is overflowing. Next to it is a basket of clean, but unfolded clothes, and as I put my phone on the charger next to my unmade bed, I realize I can't even remember the last time I washed my sheets. Okay, maybe I should do a few loads of laundry today. But first, shower.

Wearing just my boxers, I head through the living room to the bathroom, which is near the kitchen. It's an odd layout, but the rent is affordable, which is important since I need to maintain two residences. I turn on the water and brush my teeth as I wait for it to heat up. I avoid looking in the mirror so I don't see the hickeys littering my collarbones that I discovered this morning. Because if I see them, I'll start replaying last night in my head, and I can't spend my whole day doing that.

Once the water's warm enough, I kick off my boxers into the corner, where there's a small pile of dirty laundry I haven't put in the hamper yet, and step into the tub. Yeah, I definitely need to clean my apartment. My mom would probably be horrified at the state of it. She also probably wouldn't like that the reason it's like this is that I've been working myself to the bone. But that's okay. That will give me something to do with my body today so I'm not constantly replaying moments from last night in my head. And I already am thinking about it, even though I only left Adrian's bed a little over an hour ago.

Despite knowing it was a one-night stand going in, there was still a part of me that was tempted to ask for his number when I left this morning. But while he was perfectly polite, everything about his body language said he wanted me gone. And you know what? It's probably for the best that I won't ever see him again. I'm pretty sure if we even tried to have something casual—that's all I would have time for—I'd end up royally fucked.

Honestly, I think I already am because I can still feel his hands on my skin. I can hear his whispered praises as I figured out how to give my first blow job after we'd recovered enough from our first orgasms. God, I can even kind of smell him—that warm, spicy, yet floral scent I couldn't quite place. Heat travels down my spine, arousal pools in my stomach, and—no. I can't go there. I need to try to put him behind me, so I reach behind me and turn the tap to cold, effectively shocking my brain out of its train of thought.

I wash myself quickly, and when I turn the water off, I hear banging on my front door. What the hell? Who could that be at my door on a Sunday morning? And why are they knocking so urgently? I wrap my towel around my waist and step out of the tub, then realize my bathrobe isn't on the hook. Shit, it's probably still in my bedroom.

The knocking continues, and I don't want whoever it is to bother Mrs. Carter, who, come to think of it, must have let the person into our building. The list of people she'd do that for is basically limited to Mina, Daniel, and my parents, and no one but Mina would show up at my door unannounced. So if whatever it is is so urgent that she's banging on my door like a madwoman, she can deal with me being in a towel.

I open the bathroom door and hurry through the living room.

"James Montgomery, I swear to God, if you don't open this door in five seconds," Mina shouts through the door.

I quickly flick the locks and throw open the door. "Mina, what the fuck—?"

She immediately pushes past me. "I've been calling you for the past twenty minutes. Why the hell aren't you answering your phone?"

"It's in my room. I didn't charge it last night, and then I was in the shower."

"Clearly," she says flatly.

"Is this because I didn't text you when I got home this morning?" I ask. "I'm sorry. I was going to, but my phone was dying, and honestly, my mind has been a bit preoccupied—"

"A little, because I was kinda worried. But no, I've got a bigger crisis to worry about right now. We both do."

"Crisis?" My stomach sinks. What the hell happened? Is someone hurt?

"Go put some clothes on first, then we'll talk. I'm going to make some coffee." She turns and heads for the kitchen.

I can't help but snap. "Mina, tell me what's going on. Is this work related? Personal? Are my parents okay?"

She sighs, and turns back to face me. "Your parents are fine. Everyone is safe. It's work related. And also personal, I guess. But Jamie, look, please just trust me when I say you're going to want pants for this conversation. Okay?"

I let out a semi-relieved sigh now that I at least know no one is hurt. Although I have no idea what work crisis could possibly pop up on a Sunday morning that would bring Mina barging into my apartment when I didn't answer instead of just going straight to Ben. Especially when she's been trying to get me to have a better work-life balance. But whatever it is, I probably do want pants for it, especially since it's cold as fuck out and my apartment's heating isn't all that consistent.

I head back to my bedroom, and once I'm dressed in a pair of gray sweatpants and my UNC sweatshirt, I grab my phone off the charger. The screen lights up with over a dozen missed calls from Mina that still set off the hairs on the back of my neck even though she's here, now. Whatever this is must be bad.

I start back toward the living room just as her shout comes from the kitchen. "Jamie, your fridge looks like a college frat boy's, minus the beer!"

"What?" I ask as I round the corner to see Mina bending to look in the fridge.

"Take out, take out, suspicious looking cheese," she rattles off before looking up at me. "And no milk."

"There's non-dairy creamer in the cabinet above the coffee maker," I say

"Ew, you and your non-dairy creamer. I'll just drink it black." She hip-checks the fridge shut and turns to my Keurig to grab my City of Pawnee travel mug off the platform. "Do you want me to make you a cup?"

"Too much dairy gives me reflux. And no, I don't want coffee." I'm already feeling a little off between the alcohol from last night, I don't necessarily want to add coffee to that mix. "Now, can you stop criticizing my fridge and tell me what the hell is going on? I'm kind of in the middle of processing a sexuality crisis here."

"I know, but unfortunately your sexuality crisis is why I'm here," she says.

"Mina—"

"Look, I'm just gonna cut straight to it because it's not great. Actually, that's an understatement. This is probably going to be an epic clusterfuck." She takes a deep breath, then releases it sharply. "There are pictures of you and that guy from last night."

"What?" My voice comes out barely above a whisper.

"A friend of Chloe's works at District Buzz and called about an hour ago to tip me off that a coworker of hers had photos of you inside and outside of the club and would be publishing them soon. Ben was my first call, and he's rallying the troops at his place for damage control. The article went live while I was in the Uber over here, but I haven't read it yet. I was too busy calling you to make sure I could get to you before you found it yourself." She glances at her phone, which is lighting up like crazy. "Fuck, that's Ben wondering where we are. Okay we really need to go."

She brushes past me, I guess assuming I'm right behind her, but I can't move. I'm rooted to the spot. No. It's not possible. This isn't happening. I have to be dreaming, or having a nightmare, more likely. Any moment, I'll be waking up, still in Adrian's bed with two cats sitting at the foot of the bed staring at me.

"Jamie?" her hand settles on my shoulder.

"But I was careful." My chest constricts and bile rises up my throat, making my voice crack. "Lavender has a no photography policy. I wore a hat to hide my face on the way in."

She gently turns me to face her, then grabs my other shoulder and squeezes. "I know you're probably reeling, and I really wish I could be your friend right now. But I need to put on my press secretary hat instead if we're going to try to salvage this. So whatever processing you need to do, it needs to be done in the car because we need to get to Ben's. Do you understand?"

"Yeah, sorry. I'll get it together." I take a deep, calming breath, and let it out shakily as I comb my fingers through my wet hair.

"Do you want to change?"

I shove my hands in my sweatshirt pocket and shake my head. I'm not usually a person who leaves the house in sweats unless I'm on my way to the gym. Being as young as I am and in politics, I've always wanted to seem at least a little put together so I'm taken more seriously. But I'm also not usually a person that has a sex scandal so fuck it. Why shouldn't I wear sweats?

She frowns but nods. "Okay, then get your shoes. I'll drive."

Riley's daughter Julie is the one to answer the front door when we get to Ben's townhouse. I should have known she'd be here when Mina said Ben called Riley in for reinforcements. As a single mother, it's not unusual for Riley to bring Julie along when we're working late hours and her usual babysitter isn't available. But there's a difference between Julie doing her homework in the corner of the conference room after school and being at Ben's house while we do damage control for my outing. I'm barely ready to face Ben, Riley, and Daniel after this. How am I supposed to keep it together in front of a twelve-year-old? Oh, God, does she know anything? Has her mother told her what's going on?

Another wave of bile rises up my esophagus, but I swallow it down and try to take a steadying breath. I need everyone to think I'm keeping it together.

"Hi, Mr. Montgomery, Ms. Mina. Everyone is in the dining room," Julie says, stepping aside to let us in. "It's chaos."

"Of course it is," Mina grumbles before heading inside and immediately heading for the dining room, throwing a quick thanks at Julie over her shoulder.

I follow on her heels, but Julie stands in the foyer, looking at me like she wants to say something. I brace myself for whatever question she has, but I'm surprised when she steps forward and throws her arms around my middle, squeezing tight.

When I first met Julie, she was a lot more affectionate, but in the past year as she's fully gotten into pre-teen territory, she's gotten predictably moodier. So I can't help letting out a small laugh as I wrap my arms around her shoulders. "What's this for?"

"Mom said you'd probably be having a bad day today," she says, her voice muffled a little by my coat.

"Thanks, Jules," I say, feeling a little lighter.

Then she's stepping back as suddenly as she hugged me. "You should probably get in there, though. Mr. Ben looks even grouchier than normal, so they probably need you."

"Thanks for the warning."

I slip off my shoes and hang my coat on the hooks by the door, then take a deep breath and drag my feet through toward the dining room. Like Julie said, the room is chaos. The table is covered in the usual campaign supplies since Ben's place acts as our unofficial DC campaign headquarters, but strewn across the top are what I can only assume are printed pictures and news articles. Mina's hunched over it, back to the door, as she scans the pages. Both Ben and Daniel are on the phone. Ben is pacing the width of the room, looking like he's about ready to pop his top as he listens to whoever is on the other end. Even Daniel, who I don't think I've ever seen without a smile on his face, is scowling as he tells who I assume to be a reporter that, for the last time, I'm not available for comment.

They hang up at the same time, and Ben immediately turns to Daniel. "Who was it this time?"

"The Raleigh Tribune," he says as his fingers fly over the open laptop in front of him.

Fuck, it's already back home? God, that means my parents have probably seen it by now. My stomach churns, and I must make some sort of noise because all the eyes in the room dart to me.

"Hey, boss," Daniel says with a smile that feels just on the edge of pity.

Ben opens his mouth, but then Riley appears in the doorway leading to the kitchen. "Coffee's read—Mr. Montgomery." She stops short and her face softens. "How are you doing?"

"I'm fine," I say, shoving my hands into my sweatshirt pocket so they can't see how bad my hands are shaking. But I don't think I'm convincing based on the sympathy on everyones' faces. I can't stand it. It's only making it that much harder for me to not completely fall apart.

The only person who doesn't look like they're about to coddle me is Ben, who does, in fact, look grouchier than normal, like Julie warned. So I focus my attention on him and try to get into business mode. Because while I like to think that the people on my staff are also my friends, at the end of the day, I'm their boss, and I don't want any of them to think I'm incapable of doing my job.

"How bad is this?"

"Well, I'm going to be honest. It's—Oh, for fuc—my phone has not stopped ringing for the last hour. Riley, can you fill him in?" With a grumble, Ben accepts the call and turns to head toward the kitchen. "Ben Gibson."

Once he"s gone, I turn my attention to Riley. "How bad?"

"Do you want to sit and have some coffee?" she asks instead of answering the question. "Or have you eaten anything? There are donuts in the kitchen."

I shake my head. There's no way I could stomach eating anything right now, not when it feels like I'd only throw it back up again. But I do sink into the nearest available wooden chair at the table. "I want to get to work. The faster we figure out how to control this narrative, the better," I say, channeling my best false confidence. Except I don't even know if this is a narrative that can be controlled. Mina wouldn't let me look at the District Buzz article while we were in the car. I have no idea what's being said or by whom. I haven't even seen the pictures.

Riley looks at me for a few moments, then nods. "We're still getting information in pieces since it's only been about an hour since the District Buzz article went live."

"Do you have it? The article."

"You don't want to read it, sir," Daniel says, his face going stony again. "It's tabloid-level garbage."

He's probably right, but unfortunately I think I need to. Whatever is in the article can't be worse than what my imagination is supplying. "I need to see the photos."

"I printed those out separate from the article," Riley says, rifling through the papers strewn across the table. "I figured you'd want to see them. But Daniel is right. You don't need to read the words that go with them, at least not right now."

With slightly trembling hands, I take the photos from her outstretched hand.

They're dark despite the clear editing the reporter did on the photos before posting them with their article. But there's no mistaking that it's me in the photos. Me sitting in the booth with Adrian. Me dragging Adrian onto the dance floor. Me plastered against Adrian's front. Us making out on the dance floor. Leaving the club. Making out again outside the club. Fuck, I knew that wasn't a smart idea at the time too.

I can't really beat myself up too much about the photos inside the club. I was lulled into a false sense of security by the no photography policy that some person violated by sneaking these photos then selling them to a reporter. But outside? That's all me. I wasn't even wearing my hat. I wasn't thinking. For one brief moment, I'd followed Mina's advice to get out of my head a little too well, and now I'm paying for it.

The only bright side to these photos is that Adrian's face is at least partially obscured in every single one. Hopefully that means the media isn't able to find him. I'd hate for him to get dragged into this.

"Who's the reporter?" I ask as I hand the stack of photos back to Riley.

"I've got more information on that," Mina says without looking up from her phone. "Nora—my friend at District Buzz—gave me the details on him. He works on the entertainment beat right now, but apparently he has his sights set on being a political reporter and thought this might help get him there. She couldn't say how the guy got the photos because it could get her fired, though. She already put herself on a bit of a ledge tipping me off the way she did, seeing as she just started working there."

"Why did she tip you off?" Daniel asks.

She frowns and looks up. "She despises these kind of blatant violations of privacy—thinks it's bad journalism. She said she couldn't do anything to convince her coworker not to out Jamie, but she could at least make sure Jamie got a heads up."

It was barely a heads up, but I'm glad for it regardless. As bad as this is, it would have been worse to find out via a notification on my phone. "Thank her for me." My voice cracks a little, so I clear my throat before continuing. "Who else has the story?"

"So far, the only article is the one from District Buzz. But several news outlets have re-tweeted it, and I've fielded calls from people at The Hill, Politico, The Cary Chronicle, and The Raleigh Tribune," Daniel says. Then his computer dings, and he winces as he looks at the notification. "I've got more bad news. Mitchell just tweeted."

"Let me see," Mina says. She leans over the computer, then scoffs. "Pompous asshat."

"What did he say?" I ask.

"Exactly what you'd expect. ‘Coming out of church this morning with my family, I'm disheartened to see a government official acting in such a debaucherous way. It's clear our current representative prioritizes flagrantly flaunting his lifestyle over upholding the values of his constituents'," Mina reads.

And that's what finally makes me snap.

"I wasn't flaunting anything," I exclaim. "He's acting as if I'm the one who posted the photos, like I wanted my private life to be splashed across the internet for everyone to see and comment on." I shove away from the table and begin to pace.

Before anyone can say anything, Ben re-enters the room with a huff. "Well, that was the campaign office. Another donor pulled their support." He drops his phone on the table and brings his fingers up to massage his temples.

Another?

"How many does that make?" I ask, my voice croaking.

"Two, officially," Ben says tightly. "But everyone that Andrea met with yesterday and had all but secured are now on the fence."

Shit. District Buzz first posted the article an hour ago and donors have already pulled their support. It's only a matter of time before more do the same.

The dull pressure in the middle of my sternum grows, and I fumble in my jogger pocket for my keys so I can pop one of the Pepcid I keep in a key-ring pill container. But then I realize Mina still has them since she drove my car here.

Ben lets out a long-suffering sigh and pinches the bridge of his nose. "God, this is a clusterfuck."

Riley immediately sends him a glare. "Ben," she hisses, channeling every ounce of the mom energy I know she has. Although, I've never heard her speak to Ben like that. Hell, I've never heard her use that tone with anyone.

"What?" he snaps back. "There's no point…"

Whatever comes after that, I don't hear. But Ben is right. This is a clusterfuck.

I'm screwed. I'm going to lose this election. Fuck, I'm probably not even going to make it past the primaries. I'm going to lose the Democratic nomination, and I'm going to be another case study for why people under the age of thirty aren't cut out for the House of Representatives.

Suddenly instead of dull pressure, it feels like tight bands are wrapping around my whole chest. My vision narrows. I feel unsteady on my feet. And I can't breathe. Why can't I breathe? Fuck, what is happening? Am I having a heart attack?

"No, sir, this isn't a heart attack." Riley's gentle voice cuts through the thundering in my ears.

Shit, I must have said that out loud. I blink a few times until I can focus on her face. "Then, what—"

"I think you're having a panic attack. Do you think you can make it to a chair?"

I shake my head and desperately try to suck in a breath, but it ends up being more like a gasp.

"Okay, that's fine," she says, her tone much like one a person would use on a spooked horse. "We can sit here on the floor, then. Is it alright if I touch you?"

I nod, and the second her hand wraps around my arm, my knees give out. Fuck.