8. Adrian

The moment I close the door, I sink back against it with a sigh. I press the heels of my hands into my eyes and take a few deep breaths. God, all I want to do is take a Xanax and crawl into bed with Joseph, who's been following me around ever since I got home from work like he can sense the anxiety rolling off of me. Whoever says cats can't be emotional support animals clearly hasn't met a clingy ginger. But I know I can't. I need to figure out what the hell to say to Jamie's proposition, and I have no idea what I want to do.

The logical thing would be to say no. Jamie said that he wouldn't blame me if I did—and as much as I like to pretend I'm not a people pleaser, I definitely am, so the out meant a lot. Actually, the logical thing would have been to say no immediately, but instead, I said I'd think about it. Now that I've had a moment to breathe, I realize I didn't say it as a way to avoid rejecting him in person. It's something I do a lot—say I'll think about something to avoid an in person conflict, then say no via text or email which are my preferred methods of communication.

No, I think I'm actually considering it, which makes me feel a little insane. If the photos that didn't even really show my face or have my name attached to them were enough to send me into a panic attack at work and in front of a person who I've never had one around before, then the idea of being a politician's partner during an election cycle should have me running for the hills. But Jamie was so earnest when he talked about why he's running, and from everything I saw today during my borderline internet stalking of him, he's good at his job. We need more people like him in congress—kind, good, competent, willing to learn and admit when he's wrong. It would be a shame for a media scandal of a relatively innocent night out to ruin his chances to do more good. That's why, going into this conversation with Jamie, I'd already planned on telling him that I'd keep my mouth shut about our night together no matter what the media offered me if they eventually find me. Or more likely, when they find me. I'm not delusional. If determined enough, reporters will always find a way to get their story. It would be the least I could do.

But fake dating? There's no way I could convincingly do that. I don't know that I have what it takes to be the partner of a politician. I wouldn't exactly consider myself the most politically active person, especially given the area I live in. I mean, I'm informed, of course. I've voted in every election since I turned eighteen and have never walked into the polls without having made a well-researched decision on who I'm going to vote for. I keep as up to date on the news as I can without it turning into a detriment to my mental health. But would that be enough? Would I be expected to actually help with his campaign? I have to rehearse exactly what I'm going to say when I call the doctor's office. I can't canvas or cold call people. And how much help could I even be since I'm not from his district or even his home state?

God, I think I need to talk to someone about this. I feel like my brain is on a loop, moving way too fast for me to think logically. I'm not going to be able to make sense of this enough to make a decision, which I promised Jamie I'd give him by tomorrow. Because no matter what I decide, his team is going to have to start rolling with their damage control plan soon if they're going to have any chance at recovering from this.

Peeling myself away from the door, I head to the kitchen to pour myself another cup of passionflower tea. As I pour, I pull out my phone to text Casey, but my hands are shaking a little too much to reliably text, so even though I barely feel up to talking anymore, I call him instead.

"Hey, how are you doing? And be honest," Casey says when he picks up after one ring, almost like he's been waiting by his phone for me to call. Actually, he probably was, thinking about it. That's why I love him. He's always there for me, but also lets me come to him in my own time.

I sigh and shuffle out to the living room with my mug. "I've been better."

"Sophie called me after she convinced you to go home and filled me in. Do you need me to come over?" he asks.

"Honestly, I think if I see anyone else today, I might lose it." I settle onto the couch and barely have enough time to pull a blanket over my lap before Joseph is clamoring into my lap, purring aggressively.

"Have people been harassing you? From what I've seen, the media still doesn't know who the congressman's mystery man is."

One of the dozens of knots in my stomach loosens at that. Despite having spent most of the day on the internet figuring out what I could about Jamie's congressional career, I carefully avoided reading any article about last night. Once I read the original District Buzz article—the disgusting violation of privacy that it was—I decided it was best for my anxiety if I didn't read any more. I both did and didn't want to know if there were any updates on my status as the mystery man. I'm glad Casey kept an eye out for me. "No, and I locked down my social media at Jamie's press secretary's suggestion. So unless they somehow find me at the clinic or the shelter, I should be safe."

"You talked to his press secretary? He had his office reach out to you instead of doing it himself, as if he isn't the reason your photo is all over social media?" Casey asks, a little outraged.

"Case, he was outed. That's not his fault," I snap because while I understand my best friend is protective, he didn't see just how much this is affecting Jamie, so I can't help feeling a little protective myself.

I can hear him grimace on the other end.

"Shit, yeah, sorry. You're right." He sighs. "Still, having his press secretary reach out to you first is a little impersonal given the circumstances, isn't it?"

"It's his press secretary's job to handle stuff like this, especially when, for all they knew, I could have wanted to exploit this situation for my own benefit." Which is the vibe I got when I messaged with Mina earlier in the afternoon. She didn't outright say it, but the series of questions she asked got the point across.

"You would never do that," he says.

"Yeah, but I can't blame her or Jamie for operating under the assumption that I might. We didn't exactly have a deep and meaningful conversation last night. We didn't even exchange last names or phone numbers. So for all he knew, I could be one of those people that will do anything for their fifteen minutes of fame. Hell, when Sophie first said he's a congressman, my first assumption was that he's a married Republican cheating on his wife, even though nothing he did or said last night would have made those warning bells go off in my head."

"So, you haven't heard from him at all, then?"

"No, I have. Actually, he just left, which is why I'm calling you." I take a small sip of my tea now that it's a drinkable temperature, then launch into a recap of my conversation with Jamie, of at least the parts directly applicable to me. I keep what he said about his bi-awakening to myself, even though part of me desperately wants to dissect that. But that's his information to share with whomever he chooses.

"I'm assuming you said no," Casey says once I'm finished.

"I said I'd think about it," I say.

"But you're going to say no," he says matter-of-factly. When I'm silent, he continues, "Wait, you're actually considering it? Adrian, you don't date. You also don't like the spotlight. Or people."

"That's the thing, I don't know. I should say no for all the reasons you just listed, but—" I inhale sharply, then blow out a frustrated breath.

For a long moment, the only sound is Joseph's aggressive purring as I absentmindedly scratch his chin. Then, Casey speaks. "Do you like this guy?" he asks carefully.

"He seems to care deeply about making this country less of a dumpster fire, so I'd hate to see him lose his seat because of this," I say, knowing it doesn't answer his question, but hopefully he won't call me on it.

He does. "You're avoiding the question. Do you like him?"

"I slept with him, didn't I?"

"Adrian," he says, unamused.

I let out an exasperated groan. "He's charming, okay? I had a good time with him last night—okay, fine, I had a great time. But that doesn't mean anything. I still don't want a relationship."

"Neither does he, though, right?" he points out. "This would be fake."

"Yeah," I say, a little skeptical.

"What would you need to do as his fake boyfriend?"

I pause. I have no idea. I was so blindsided I didn't think to ask Jamie any follow-up questions. I don't know what this would require from me. How often would I need to be seen with him? Would it only be here, or would I need to go to North Carolina with him? I don't even know how long he intends for this arrangement to be for.

"Adrian?" he prompts.

"I don't really know," I say, finally. "We didn't talk about it in detail."

"Can you find out?"

"Wait, are you suggesting that I do this?" When I called, I expected him to be my voice of reason—to talk me off the ledge, like he usually does. Not to convince me to jump off it.

"You said you didn't want him to lose his seat," he says.

"I don't, but doing this doesn't exactly guarantee that he'll win it," I argue.

"But it could help," he counters. "Besides, I think this could be good for you. Don't you think it could be nice to have a friend other than me and Sophie?"

I let out a non-committal hum.

"What is your gut telling you right now? Don't think. Just answer."

"I want to do it," I admit. "I want to help him. I just don't know why."

"Do you need to know why?" he asks.

"Have you met me?" I ask sarcastically. I don't need to see him to know he's rolling his eyes.

"Fine," he says with a sigh. "If you really need an answer, my guess as to why would be because you're a helper. You became a vet because you wanted to help animals. You volunteer at animal shelters. You run marathons for charity because despite your general dislike of people as a concept, at your core, you still want to do something to help them. The congressman needs your help, so of course you want to help him."

The answer makes sense on paper, but something about it doesn't feel like it's getting at the whole truth. But I'm way too emotionally drained to come up with a better one, so I'm going with it. "Yeah, you make a good point."

"When did you say you'd get back to him?"

"By tomorrow morning," I say.

"Then I would try to go to bed and see how you feel when you wake up. You sound exhausted, and thinking about it anymore won't get you anywhere," he reasons.

"That's a good idea." I take a deep breath to regulate myself. "Thanks, Case."

"You're welcome. Get some sleep."

"I will," I promise. "Bye."

After I hang up, I stare at my phone for a moment. I should probably do what Casey said—what I wanted to do before I called him. But what he said about listening to my gut and wanting to help rings in my ears. My gut is saying that I want to do this, and I don't often have gut feelings, so maybe I should just listen to it.

I take another deep breath and let it out slowly. Then, before I can change my mind, I text Jamie.