Twenty-Seven

EVERETT

“We—” Lander grunts, successfully yanking me a few feet before I latch my hands on Cora’s doorframe. “—are not—” He pulls my arm harder, managing to break my grip. “—doing this again .” With a final heave, he shoves me into his condo, slams the door, and flattens his back against it.

Over on the couch, Pierre perks right up. Tongue lolling, he wags his tail and releases two piercing, high-pitched barks. I, personally, interpret those barks as a resounding, I’m proud of you, favorite uncle! You and the pretty, sneezy lady are meant to be!

I tug the hem of my shirt, straightening it. “Move,” I order, cocking my head to the side.

Lander’s expression is unwavering. “No.”

“Move.”

“No,” Lander repeats, frowning now. “ Who are you ?”

I exhale slowly, conjuring up my usual aplomb—the polish I’ve perfected to an art form over the last decade. It feels uncomfortable now, like trying to write with my non-dominant hand. “I’m going through a lot,” I admit. And by “a lot,” I mean the entire world is now in technicolor.

“I’ve been there, but I need you to hear me: Now is not the time in your life to rebel.”

“This isn’t a rebellion. You, better than anyone, know it. When have I ever been allowed to live my life?”

His eyebrows rise. “Hey, I didn’t mean—”

“I’ve fought every instinct in me since I was a kid. Put on a tie, play the piano, read Voltaire—eat meat , for fuck’s sake. Do you know how numbing that is?”

He breathes through his nose. “Like I said, I’ve been there. I know how tough it is to repress who you are for years—and I also know what it’s like to meet a girl who falls for the real version of you. But, Ev, she’s trying to help you win an election you’ve spent your entire life preparing for.”

“I won the debate,” I point out. “My polling data is good. Whether or not I win has nothing to do with Cora going out with some dickhead unregistered voter who doesn’t deserve her.”

“Why would he be unregistered? And more importantly, you know she’s not going to fool around with another guy—unregistered or not.”

“I don’t give a shit,” I snap. “I don’t want anyone to think she’s not mine .”

Lander pulls back his head and straightens. “Well, she’s not yours.”

I scoff. “You once found out someone touched Valeria three years ago and subsequently punched his fucking face. You have no credibility right now.”

He tilts his head to the side, eyes narrowed. “Wait…are you guys, like, fucking ?”

I pause, finally remembering I haven’t told Lander and Dalton. Shit . Chances are, if Lander knew I was embarking on an era of consistently mind-blowing, kind of freaky sex, he’d call me an Uber.

Unfortunately, we don’t have time to rehash every tryst Cora and I have had across the District, so all I can say is, “Move, Lander. Let me do this.”

“Nope.”

“Move before I make you,” I reply, which I immediately regret because it’s the softest threat on record. Move before I make you? Physical intimidation wasn’t included in my politician-in-training lessons, and it shows.

Lander snickers. “What, are you going to fight me?”

I raise an eyebrow.

So does he.

I tilt my head to the side.

So does he.

I clear my throat, kind of hoping he’ll back down.

So does he—and he doesn’t back down.

We both stand there, heads tilted…just, like, staring.

…Well, I suppose we are doing this again. Sighing, I carefully remove my watch and pocket it, ensuring it won’t slip out when I…tackle him, or whatever.

Lander watches me, one eyebrow still raised, slowly realizing we’re about to throw down. Sort of. “My girl does Muay Thai,” he warns.

It’s my turn to snicker. “Yeah, well my girl doesn’t have a gag reflex, but you don’t see me offering to suck dicks.”

“You probably should. Bet you’d be better at it than fighting.”

“You don’t remember what I did to the shooter?” I present my hand as evidence. The bandages are gone, but it’s still bruised.

He moves toward me, trying to be tall, but we’re the same height, so we end up with our faces super close together. Lander realizes it too and takes a small step backwards while clearing his throat. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to be, like, right there —”

“No, I get it.”

“I wasn’t trying to—”

“No worries.”

He rolls his shoulders, regaining his composure. “Accept that this is a good thing for your campaign. A week ago, we sat at your kitchen table, and you looked me in the eyes and said you wanted to win the election and be with Cora. This is what it takes.”

I know. I know . Still, the thought of Cora out with someone else and the rest of the world seeing them together…

Screw this.

“Can you be my friend and not my campaign manager for a minute?” I demand. I close my eyes, steadying myself. “This is getting to me. The secrecy. The sneaking around. Some days, I wonder if it would be easier to tell the truth.”

Lander’s a softie, so his expression immediately flips from razor sharp to fluffy like a pillow. “Hey,” he murmurs, putting his hand on mine. “I get it. You know I do.” And he moves to hug me—

—because he’s a goddamn chump.

Please . I can’t believe he fell for that shit. As if I would ever outright confess—in the United States of America—that my girlfriend is a professional fucker right before an election.

“Damn it, Everett,” Lander grits when I drop under his arm and lunge for the door. He catches me (sort of) and pulls me back (sort of).

“Let go,” I order, elbowing him—but not too roughly because Lander has an old rib injury from high school lacrosse, and it really wears on him when it acts up.

“Get it together,” he orders back, trying to pull me away, but he’s careful not to squeeze me too hard because I’m actually pretty ticklish. “This is for your own g—”

To my surprise, Lander releases me, and we both look down to see Pierre’s tiny mouth latched onto the hem of Lander’s pants.

“Traitor!” he declares and tries to remove the puppy, but Pierre skitters to the side, avoiding his father’s hands. His big eyes meet mine, and I, personally, interpret that stare as a clear, Go get your girl, Uncle Everett!

Nobody has to tell me twice. I grab Lander’s keys from the hook by the door and throw them as far as I can into the depths of his living room before I dart into the hallway and make a beeline for the stairs.

“Oh, fuck you!” Lander shouts after me. And just before the door to the emergency stairway slams behind me, I hear him mutter, “Valeria is going to kill me…”

***

Am I proud of myself for texting Beverly to figure out which club Cora went to? I shouldn’t be, but I am. So proud, in fact, that I wear this shit eating grin the entire time I’m in the Uber, ignoring Lander’s texts.

My arrival at the nightclub, Found House, is a sobering moment. More than a couple people out front notice me, and I remember: My face is so fucking recognizable.

Luckily, I’m not entirely reckless. Quite a bit, yes, but not entirely .

Would an entirely reckless man dip into the CVS a block over, purchase a baseball cap and a pair of reading glasses, throw away his button-down in an alley, once again pocket the twenty-thousand dollar watch his father gifted him for his eighteenth birthday, and sneak into the backdoor of a nightclub?

Inside Found House, the lights are negligible and the music throbs with an overpowering bass beat that immediately tangles itself into my chest.

It takes me too long to spot Essie and Valeria at the bar, and to my chagrin, they’re not with Cora. Briefly, I’ve never been more annoyed with a pair of women, which is saying a lot because I once had dinner with two of the Real Housewives of Potomac and suspect my father, in pursuit of a campaign donation, may have told one (or both) of them that I was down to fuck. Then I remember Cora Flores excels at everything she does, and engaging in a PR stunt would be no exception.

She’s probably already with someone.

This weird feeling lives in my chest, countering the long-repressed temptation to take another shot and make myself anonymous in the sea of gyrating bodies on the dancefloor. I need to know where she is. I need to know who she’s with. I need to know if he could take her on a date. Introduce her to his parents.

I need to know if he could press his body against hers in a club without anyone else giving a shit.

I need to know if he could take her on a date to a restaurant with vegan and non-vegan options. Bring her to Princeton Reunions so she can grimace at the orange costumes and tell him Harvard is superior. Take a black and white picture of her laughing for his holiday cards. Dance with her at their best friends’ wedding and beam with pride when she catches the bouquet—because she would catch the bouquet.

I need to know if she wishes I could do all that for her.

I need to know if she hates that I may never be able to.

My phone is nothing but the bearer of bad news: a blurry clip of Cora and some guy doing shots on one of her socials. It’s temporary—will disappear in a few hours—but it’ll be burned in my brain forever. I watch it twice anyway.

I screenshot it. I glare at it.

That shithead’s arm is around her. He’s kissing her temple with his pierced lips. He’s touching her with his tattooed fingers. He’s touching my fucking princess.

There’s a tight feeling in my gut and a lump in my throat, plus these strained inhalations and a tingle in my fingertips…

And I think…I think , for the first time, I may be… jealous .

I know I’ll never live this shit down, but I still head to the bathroom where it’s quiet.

Me

Code red.

Lander Dawson

I’m going to murder you. Where are you?

Me

CODE RED.

Dalton Cavendish

Let’s fucking gooooooo. I’ll get my old lacrosse stick and meet you in twenty. Drop me a pin.

Me

What the hell are you talking about?

Dalton Cavendish

Code red. That means we’re brawling in a parking lot

Lander Dawson

I thought code red meant we had to flee to a non-extradition country

Me

…Code red means there’s a cockblock

Why would we have a code for either of those other scenarios? Look at us. We were all Phi Beta Kappa at Princeton. Do you think any of us would last a minute in a parking lot brawl?

Dalton Cavendish

I would hunger games the shit out of any parking lot.

Lander Dawson

It’s glaringly obvious you’ve never read that book, Dalt

Me

Still not convinced you can read at all

Dalton Cavendish

You fucks better hope you don’t run into me in a parking lot

Lander Dawson

…Okay. Ev, code red. A cockblock. Are you talking about the guy Cora’s out with?

Me

He’s hot.

Lander Dawson

Can’t be hotter than you

Me

[Image sent]

Dalton Cavendish

Shit. That’s a real guy? That’s not AI?

Okay, Cora, get it

Lander Dawson

Where are you?

Me

In the bathroom at Found House

Dalton Cavendish

Well there’s your first problem. Nobody has ever gotten the girl from a bathroom.

Me

So…this seems like the right time to tell you both that Cora took her panties off for me in the bathroom at Tryst last week.

Dalton Cavendish

What the actual fuck

Lander Dawson

What? Why?

Me

So I could shove them in my mouth

Dalton Cavendish

Who are you???

Lander Dawson

As your campaign manager and a graduate of Harvard Law, I strongly encourage—DEMAND—that you stop creating physical evidence of public indecency

Me

Yeah, too late

Seeing her out with another guy when I’m not allowed to be with her in public is killing me

Dalton Cavendish

Are you jealous?

Me

No, I’m really happy for the two of them and hope they get married.

Of course I’m jealous. Are you drunk??

Oh wait.

Lander Dawson

Get rid of him. She doesn’t actually want him around and even if she did, the only thing this guy has on you is like…a pierced dick, I’m guessing

Me

So…this seems like the right time to tell you both something else…

Dalton Cavendish

What

What

WHAT

Lander Dawson

EVERETT CARLISLE LOGAN YOU DIDN’T

Dalton Cavendish

WHAT

I’m flipping out. I’m at a wine bar with my mom and she just walked out because she’s embarrassed by me.

Lander Dawson

I wouldn’t even do that and I pretty consistently ask Valeria to slap me across the face while we’re fucking

Dalton Cavendish

Need a pic.

Lander Dawson

The fuck you do. He’s not sending us a dick pic

Me

[Image sent]

Lander Dawson

Oh, you know what, that actually looks amazing

Did it hurt?

Me

The hole in my dick, Lander? Did it hurt? REALLY?

Dalton Cavendish

Damn it. I got kicked out. Gotta go. Should find mom.

But Ev, my advice: Go have fun for once. It’s one night.

Lander Dawson

He’s right

Also, your manscaping’s looking good. Thought you should know.

Have fun for once. It’s alarming how much better I feel.

Ready, I exit the bathroom and head back into the fray.

I’ve earned this—and so has she.