Page 14 of Bi-Partisan

Jamie

Song: Lavender Haze – Taylor Swift

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

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