Page 67 of Bi-Partisan

He cuts me off with a swift kiss. “Stop arguing and let me dote on you.”

I sigh with fond exasperation, but give in and slide into the passenger seat. I glance down at the cup holders to see two iced lemonade refreshers and smile.

“The one in the back cup holder is yours,” Jamie says as he climbs into the driver’s seat. He reaches forward to plug the address into his phone where it’s mounted on the dashboard, then clicks his seatbelt into place. “So we should get to my apartment by around 8:30 p.m. factoring in stopping halfway for dinner.”

“Sounds good.” I grab my drink out of the cup holder and take a sip.

“Oh, and I made us a playlist, but you can feel free to play DJ using my phone if you prefer,” he adds.

I give him an amused look out of the corner of my eye. “You had time to make a playlist?”

“I told you, I’ve been looking forward to this.” He quickly leans over the center console and uses a finger to turn my chin so he can brush his lips against mine. Then, just as quick, he checks his mirrors, puts the car in drive, and pulls away from the curb.

We leave the windows down while we make our way out of the city, but once we’re on I-95, we roll them up in favor of air conditioning and actually being able to hear the playlist. It’s a surprisingly comfortable drive. I’d been a little nervous seeing as being in a car for extended periods of time has always made me anxious, even if I’m not the one driving. But something about the combination of his hand on my knee for most of the drive and the companionable silence puts me at ease. It gives me hope for the next four and a half days, which I desperately needed since I almost chickened out of coming.

Last night, as I went over my packing checklist for the sixth time to make sure I had everything, the seriousness of this trip hit me hard. Jamie hadn’t asked me to come home with him for appearance’s sake. He actually wanted me there because I’m his boyfriend—his very real boyfriend whom he has very real and seemingly strong feelings for. And while I realized all of that when he initially asked me a few weeks ago, it hadn’t fully hit me that I have no idea what the fuck I’m doing until last night. I’ve never been someone’s boyfriend before. I’ve never gone to someone’s hometown with them before, or met their parents before. It was one thing being his pretend boyfriend. If I messed up because I, again, have no clue what I’m doing, I could tell myself it didn’t matter as much. I could just pretend my mistake was as fake as the relationship.

But now, if I make a mistake, it’s real. If his parents don’t like me, I can’t just shrug it off because the “relationship” has an expiration date anyway, so why does it matter? Now, if I mess up at the campaign event, it’s not just that Jamie gets bad press and possibly slips in the polls. He could look at me differently. And I like the way he looks at me—that soft expression that makes me feel like I’m the only person in the room.

As if he can sense my inner anxiety, he squeezes my knee. I look over at him from where I was staring out the window at the darkening sky.

“You alright, sweetheart?” he asks.

I hum affirmatively. “I’m just a little tired,” I lie.

His hand squeezes my knee again. “Well, we’re only about ten minutes away now,” he says.

With a nod, I slide my hand over his and let the added contact work to quiet my brain.

As promised, ten minutes later, Jamie is pulling into a numbered parking spot at his apartment complex. We retrieve our bags from the trunk, opting to deal with the trash from our on-the-road dinner and snacks in the morning, then make our way to his second-floor apartment.

He flicks the overhead lights on as we enter and almost immediately drops his bags to the floor. “Ah, home sweet home,” he says, and I can’t help fondly rolling my eyes. “I caught that, darlin’,” he teases.

“You weren’t meant not to,” I retort as I set my weekender bag down so I can take my shoes off.

“Well, what do you think?” he asks, gesturing around the room.

It’s smaller than his DC apartment, a studio from the looks of it rather than a one bedroom. Although, I can’t imagine maintaining two apartments is cheap. But if I thought his DC apartment was surprisingly decorated, this one hardly compares. It’s filled with color and life. The walls are filled with posters and photos. The bookshelf in the corner is crammed with books and knick-knacks. Every inch of the place gives a little hint at who he is as a person, so much so that I’m almost overwhelmed with where to focus my attention.

“I know it’s kind of cluttered,” he says when I don’t say anything. “Especially compared to your place.”

“No, it’s great,” I say, turning to him with a smile. I close the gap between us and rest my hands on his waist. “My place looks like it’s been staged by a realtor. Yours—both of your places—are very you.”

He hums and loops his arms around my neck. “I’ve been meaning to ask you about that, actually. I just didn’t know how to bring it up. Why is your apartment so… for lack of a better word, empty?”

“When you moved as much as I did as a kid, the more annoying it got to pack things like art and knick-knacks,” I say with a sigh. “Plus, military moves only allot for so many pounds, so we kind of had a ‘something in, something out’ rule.”

“I guess that makes sense,” he says, although his tone is skeptical. “But you’ve lived in your place for almost three years and aren’t planning on moving any time soon, right?”

I shrug. “Yeah, but it’s a habit that’s hard to break.”

“Well, I can help with that. I’m definitely taking you to the Raleigh Flea Market,” he says resolutely. “And we aren’t leaving until you get one weird and completely unnecessary thing to put in your apartment.”

A small laugh escapes me. “Maybe.”

“Nope, it’s happening, darlin’. The Raleigh Flea Market is a Montgomery Saturday morning tradition, so don’t bother fighting it.” He grins, then seals his lips over mine before I can even try to counter him.

I expect the kiss to be short and chaste, seeing as we just spent several hours in the car and he spent the morning at his office beforehand. But then I feel his hands slide into my hair. He tugs the strands, not hard, but enough to pull a surprised moan from me. He echoes the noise and flicks the tip of his tongue against my bottom lip for a second before breaking away from my mouth.

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