Page 61 of Bi-Partisan

“Darlin’,” I say with all seriousness, “unless I am sick or genuinely don’t have time, the answer to that is always going to be yes.”

Despite the heat in his suggestion, we don’t do anything more than make out in the shower. It’s still early, and the water does not do much to wake Adrian up. The intimacy is nice, though. It calms the little voice in the back of my head that worries last night was nothing more than another hookup. Hookups—even ones pretending to date for the media—don’t take gentle showers together at six thirty in the morning.

Then, after getting dressed—me in borrowed clothes—we head to the kitchen.

I watch as he pulls eggs, bacon, and cheese out of the fridge, and a skillet out of the cabinet. “How do you like your eggs?”

“Either scrambled or over-easy,” I say as I lean against the counter opposite the stove. “Can I do anything to help?”

“No, you cooked last night. I’ve got breakfast,” he says, pulling out a bowl from another cabinet.

I laugh and take a few steps until I can wrap my arms around his waist from behind and hook my chin over his shoulder. “I hardly think putting a frozen lasagna my mother made into the oven constitutes cooking.”

“You also dropped everything to come over last night because I had a bad day when we aren’t even—never mind. Just let me cook.” He turns his head to kiss my cheek. “It’s my way of saying thank you.”

My stomach drops, even though he doesn’t technically finish the sentence. I know what he was going to say. God, I feel stupid. That little voice was right, wasn’t it? For some reason, I still need to hear him say it, though.

“Finish what you were going to say.” My voice is clipped as I let go of him and get some distance.

He turns to face me, a pained look on his face. “Jamie…”

“Finish what you were going to say,” I repeat, my tone more biting than I’d like it to be. “When we aren’t even what?”

He sighs and doesn’t even bother looking me in the eye when he speaks. “Fine. I was going to say when we aren’t even really dating.”

Bile rises in my throat, and I know it’s because of the acidic tomatoes and wine I had last night, but the timing definitely sucks. I cross my arms over my chest and stare at the floor. Yup, I’m an idiot. Of course this didn’t mean anything to him.

Then his feet enter my field of view. “But that doesn’t feel completely true anymore,” he says.

My heart clenches.

“I know we agreed that this would be fake—I realize I’m the one that insisted it. And I still don’t really do relationships. I can’t really do them. But somewhere along the way, this stopped feeling entirely fake.”

“About that…” I finally meet his gaze. “Why don’t you do relationships? I didn’t pry at first because I figured it wasn’t any of my business, and not wanting a romantic relationship is totally valid. But I get the sense, especially after last night, that you do actually want it and just aren’t letting yourself. And I guess I just want to know why.”

“I don’t know how,” he says, his voice cracking. “It’s not just romantic relationships. I don’t let anyone in. I don’t make lasting friendships. I never learned how. We never stayed in one place long enough for that, and there are only so many unanswered letters a kid can send before he learns that it’s easier to just say goodbye and move on rather than try to stay in touch then inevitably be forgotten.”

Fuck, if that isn’t one of the most heartbreaking things I’ve ever heard.

“I’m not even going to pretend to understand how you grew up. I can’t imagine what it must have been like to never know when you would be told to move or where that move would be to—how traumatic that might have been for you. And I don’t blame you for not bothering to try to maintain friendships when you moved so often.” I honestly don’t. I can’t say I probably wouldn’t do the same thing if I were in his shoes.

He hesitates for a moment, but then he nods.

“But sweetheart, you aren’t a military kid anymore. No one is forcing you to move again.”

He inhales sharply and hugs his torso protectively.

All I want to do is hug him, but I can’t stop now. I have to at least try to fight for this. “What about Casey? You let him in.”

“Casey is kind of the exception. He wormed his way into my life, and I’m eternally grateful that he did. But honestly, the only reason we’re still friends after splitting up for grad school is because he made sure of it.” He smiles sadly.

“And Sophie?”

“She was just about as persistent as Casey.”

“Well…” I tentatively reach for him, resting my hand on top of his crossed arms. “I don’t know if you’ve figured this out about me yet, but I, too, can be persistent.”

He lets out a soft chuckle. “Yeah, I have.”

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