Page 19 of Bi-Partisan

“I agree,” Ben says.

“I think I found him,” Daniel says. He turns his computer to face me. “Is this him?”

I lean forward and look at the LinkedIn profile pulled up on the screen. Adrian Wilks. “Yeah, that’s him.” He looks different given that it’s a typical professional headshot of him in a shirt and tie with a lab coat on, but it’s definitely him. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forget those deep-set hazel eyes. Before I can look at his profile any further, Daniel spins his laptop back around.

“Alright, Mina, you try to make contact with Mr. Wilks,” Ben says before turning his attention to me. “The rest of us will brainstorm a plan.”

Chapter 7

Adrian

Song: Serotonin – girl in red

I hoped that maybe when I got to work, the anxiety I’ve been struggling with all morning might fade into the background noise ever-present in my brain. The calm that usually washes over me in the presence of animals is one of the reasons I pursued this career. But not even the sight of the clinic’s cat Felix—curled up behind the keyboard at the computer I always clock in at—settles me. I just can’t get over the feeling like something is going to go wrong.

It’s not an unfamiliar feeling. Sudden feelings of impending doom—both unexplained or triggered by specific events—are pretty much the definition of an anxiety disorder. The body releases hormones that trigger a fight or flight response to a perceived threat. It happens with everyone—including animals. That response is what keeps us alive. It’s just that with an anxiety disorder, those “threats” may not be perceived correctly or exist at all. My medication usually does a pretty good job at keeping the unexplained waves of panic at bay, but that doesn’t completely prevent them. So while I don’t usually wake up feeling like both of my cats are sitting on my chest when they aren’t without any sort of logical trigger, it does happen every so often.

Except I didn’t wake up with this anxiety. Actually, I woke up feeling pretty fantastic—surrounded by that floaty warmth that usually comes with a night of incredible sex—with Jamie’s arm thrown across my back. Sure, there was a little awkwardness as he got ready to leave. He had a look on his face like he might ask to see me again, and I probably would have agreed if he’d voiced the question. It’s been way too long since I had the kind of chemistry we had last night, and although I don’t do true relationships, I’m not above having a friend with benefits.

But if I’m being honest with myself, my desire to see him again wasn’t—isn’t solely because of our physical compatibility. I liked him. He was charming. Even when he got nervous once we got back to my apartment, he had this intoxicating quality that drew me in. In the past, once I’ve gotten a guy home, the getting-to-know-you stuff kind of ended there. But Jamie was so endearing that I didn’t even stop to listen to that little voice in the back of my head that usually tells me to pump the brakes—that voice that protects me from getting hurt.

No, this prickle on the back of my neck and the inability to draw in a full breath didn’t hit until well after my morning run and shower to get ready for work. It almost feels like anticipation, like that feeling you get when someone texts you “we need to talk” without any explanation as to what about. Like that feeling I always got when my dad would come home from work with a somber look on his face that always accompanied the news that we’d be moving yet again. It’s as though my body is waiting for the other shoe to drop.

I try to go through my beginning of shift routine, anyway, in hopes that once I start working, that part of my brain will take over enough to drown out the screaming in my brain. I set my bag and coat in my cubby, then grab a clean lab coat from one of the hooks by the lab. Next in the routine is to go to the front to get my schedule for the day. But before I get to the door leading to the front desk, Sophie’s frantic voice makes me nearly jump out of my skin.

“Adrian, thank God! Shit, sorry, didn’t mean to startle you. But I need to talk to you, like, now.”

My stomach sinks as I turn to face her. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

“Not here.” She grabs my hand and pulls me toward an exam room. Once we’re inside and the door is shut behind us, she whirls back around to look at me. “Have you been on social media at all today? Or read the news?”

“No, why?” I ask, trying to keep the worry out of my voice.

She lets out a sigh of relief. “Good, I got to you before you saw it.”

About a dozen followup questions are on my tongue, but she keeps going before I can settle on one.

“Do you know who you were dancing with last night?”

The question makes the noise in my brain go quiet, and all I can do is shake my head.

“Okay, well, I don’t really know how to break this to you, so I’m just gonna come out and say it. The guy you hooked up with last night is a congressman. His name is Jamie Montgomery. He’s super smart and very active. I follow him on Instagram, actually, and honestly, I don’t know how I didn’t realize it was him last night. Like I thought he was familiar looking, but I guess it was dark, and—”

“Sophie,” I interrupt, hoping it will remind her to get to the point faster.

“Sorry, rambling, I know. Okay, so he’s pretty well known, despite this being his first term. And even though I didn’t recognize him last night, someone at Lavender did and took photos—which like, total jerk move. There’s a no photography policy for a reason. But also, even if there wasn’t, don’t take pictures of people in queer bars without their permission because you never know if it might be outing someone. Although, I guess that was the intent behind them seeing as the photos ended up in the hands of a reporter, and now they’re all over the internet—which is why I came in early to try to find you.”

Her words ring in my head. Congressman. Outing. Photos. Mystery man. It’s that last one that makes it all sink in. “There are photos of me—of us?” I croak.

She bites her lip and nods. “You can’t tell it’s you, though. I only knew it was you because I was there. None of the photos get a direct view of your face, so unless any new photos pop-up that do get a clear shot of your face, you should be fine.”

Oh God. For once, that feeling like something horrible is going to happen was right. This is the other shoe dropping. My chest tightens, my breathing shallows, and I immediately take a few steps toward the exam table to brace myself because I know what’s next. I grip the cool metal, and it shocks my nervous system enough that it grounds me.

“Whoa, what’s happening?” Sophie asks, rushing over to my side.

I don’t answer her, instead focusing my gaze on my watch to watch the seconds tick by.

She rests a hand on my forearm and ducks trying to take a peek at my face. “Adrian, are you okay?”

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