Chapter 15 #2
“I don’t think it was embarrassing. I had a lot of fun, actually. Honestly, I felt—I feel supercomfortable with you, just talking. Hanging out. I got some nice hugs from your dog, too,” he adds with a wry grin, taking a bite of his food.
“Ted’s dog,” I correct.
“How is Lars? And Ted?”
“They’re both great. Ted got a job and has his own place now.” While I let my pasta cool down, I dig my phone from my bag pocket and pull up a photo of Lars curled up in his bed with his favorite stuffed hamburger chew toy.
Nolan’s face lights up. “Aw. You must miss him.”
“I do. I never thought I’d miss his hundred-pound self sitting on my lap, or taking over my chair by the window.
But I know how happy he is with Ted. The day they moved into their place, Lars got so excited, he ran around the living room fifty times, peed himself, and then lay belly up under the ceiling fan panting. ”
He snickers, piercing a roast potato with his fork with startling accuracy. “I can picture that. Does he still like cheese?”
“Apparently. But he’s developed a taste for Gouda. The expensive stuff. I drop a wheel off at Ted’s place every so often.”
A smile plays across his lips, and I can’t help but think about how they felt against mine. How his beard scratched against my skin. The pressure of his teeth against my neck. His eyes drop to my lips, too, and an electric charge passes between us.
“Well, we should probably discuss the matter at hand,” I suggest, letting my traitorous gaze rest somewhere around the top of his head.
“You mean the fact that we’re canoodling in closets at work?” he says with a straight face.
I break a sweat at the mere thought. “Ha ha.”
“Can you just tell me…is this a PR distraction or something?” he asks through a bite of his ribs.
“Basically,” I say, grateful he put two and two together. “I mean, Gretchen legitimately thinks we’re a couple. But she’s using it to her advantage. She thinks if people know I’m dating you, they’ll be less likely to think something is going on with Eric.”
“Why does she care? Based on the anniversary dinner the other night, it seemed like she was done with Eric.”
I blow on my pasta to cool it down. “Maybe, but an affair would be humiliating, especially one that isn’t even true.”
“I guess that makes sense. Not that it should be anyone’s business.”
“It shouldn’t be, but you know how politics works,” I say, trying to figure out the most polite, delicate way to twirl the noodles onto my fork without looking like a total slob.
One of the noodles flops in the opposite direction, flicking a glob of pesto dangerously close to his wrist on the opposite side of the table.
He doesn’t notice. Or at least he doesn’t acknowledge it.
“So, what do you need from me?” he asks simply as I brave a bite.
“Well, first,” I start, swallowing hard, “I should reiterate that you don’t have to do anything you’re uncomfortable with.
But if you did feel inclined to go along with this, it would be pretty chill.
We’d live our normal lives, with the exception of select public appearances, like the football game, random all-staff events like the staff appreciation event at the River House.
There’s also Gretchen’s breast cancer gala at the end of summer, if this is even still a thing by then.
Basically, Gretchen wants everyone on the Hill to know we’re together. ”
He dips his chin in a nod. “And we do this until the rumors blow over?”
I push my near-empty beer to the side, brushing a finger over the condensation on the outside of the glass.
“I don’t expect it to last past a month, really.
” When it’s said out loud, a month does seem like forever.
I don’t know if it’s adequate time for everyone to forget about the whole scandal entirely, but I’m trying to be optimistic for Nolan’s sake.
Surely something new will crop up by then.
Or at least, all the election season headlines will ramp up, completely drowning out all of this nonsense.
“We’d pretend to break up after that?” he confirms.
“Exactly. Simple as that,” I say, really trying to sell it. It’s not like my entire reputation, career, and sense of self-respect are on the line or anything.
He nods again, surprisingly casual, like we’re agreeing to trade library books, carpool to work, or water the other’s plants while they’re away. “All right. We’re doing this.”
“Wait, really? You’re fully okay with this?” I ask, forcing down a mouthful of pasta.
“Why are you so surprised? It seems like a good cause. Helping you, Gretchen, and Eric save your reputations. And your job.”
“I mean, it’s a commitment. And you said earlier you were very single by choice. I can only assume you like your freedom.”
“I guess you could say that. My job isn’t exactly conducive to a long-term relationship. Ask my last girlfriend.” There’s a glint of sadness and regret in his eyes.
“How long ago did you break up?”
“Three months ago,” he replies, clearing his throat as he pushes his empty plate away.
“I’m sorry.” I shift in the booth, feeling guilty for asking so brazenly, and also for barely having made a dent in my own meal.
“It’s fine. The long-distance wasn’t working, which is for the better. I don’t even know where I’ll end up next. Hoping to get a new posting in the fall, but who knows. Postings can be unpredictable.”
Most CPOs stay for a couple years. It surprises me that it’s so short-term, given all the complexities of the job. A strange sensation coils in my stomach that I can’t identify. Disappointment, maybe? Shock? I go with the latter. “Any places you’re hoping to go?”
“Nope. I’m open to anywhere, as long as it’s not here,” he says with conviction. It all makes more sense, actually, why he’s not afraid of risking his job or reputation to “date” me. He’s not sticking around.
“Not a fan of Ottawa?” I ask, half joking but genuinely curious.
A shrug. “It’s just…I grew up here. I know it well enough to know it’s not where I want to stay long-term.”
“That’s fair. We do have shit transit. And terrible weather.”
“Horrific weather. Snowiest capital city in the world,” he chimes. “I spent my whole childhood shoveling driveways. Not looking to continue that into adulthood.”
“So since we’re doing this, we probably need to work on our story in case people ask.
Maybe also establish some ground rules,” I note, the tips of my fingers tingling with something that feels a little too much like excitement.
Not that this should be classified as that.
Anxiety-inducing, maybe. But not exciting.
His eyes meet mine with interest. “What are you thinking?”
“Well, we will need to have at least one photo together on social media,” I say, trailing off at the sound of cheering coming from the other side of the dining area.
About five waiters have emerged from the back to sing “Happy Birthday” to a man at a table near the fireplace.
According to the balloons decorating the table, he’s celebrating his “25th,” despite his snow-white hair and walking cane.
Nolan temporarily spins around to watch the spectacle. “Gotcha. I’m not on social media, so that’s all you.”
I clear my throat. “Okay. We should also discuss PDA. Are we going to stick to holding hands? Hugging? We probably don’t need to kiss, do we?”
He shrugs, one arm slung across the back of the booth like it’s no big deal. “I mean, we already kissed. Most real couples kiss, I’d assume.”
My face burns at the mere memory. “If you remember, things were kind of a disaster between us physically.”
“Physically?” His jaw twitches. “Was it really that bad?”
I blink. Is he serious? Has he magically forgotten?
Have I lain in bed for hours and hours, replaying the whole thing in my head and withering to dust from embarrassment every time, all for nothing?
“I mean…we had no chemistry,” I say bluntly, though I really mean I, Andi Zeigler, have zero chemistry in this body.
He sits back in the booth, evidently offended. “No chemistry? That’s a pretty big statement based on one drunken instance three years ago.”
I sit back to let Ralph clear our plates. “I busted your lip. And smashed my head against the dresser. All within a span of less than thirty seconds. Do you actually not remember?”
He lets out a hearty chuckle, sure of himself. “I remember, Andi. But it was a long time ago. Maybe we’ve improved.”
“If anything, I’ve probably gotten worse. I’m extremely out of practice,” I tell him honestly, playing with the hem of my sleeve.
He appraises me, his eyes twinkling with interest. “You haven’t dated since?”
“Nope. And I don’t plan to. Similar to yours, my job doesn’t leave much time for dating. Or writing, for that matter.”
“Right. Well, maybe we’ll just need some practice,” he suggests, far too casually.
“Practice,” I repeat, staunchly ignoring the prickles of heat spiking down my back. “Practice kissing?”
“By practice, I mean a very regimented, highly professional practice session.” When he senses some hesitation from me, he adds, “No one is going to believe we’re together if we don’t kiss.”
“Some couples aren’t that touchy. Especially in a professional setting, which we’d be in,” I point out, a little too harshly.
He appears to disagree. “It wouldn’t be natural to me. If I’m with someone, I’m going to want to kiss them. Touch them. Regardless of where we are.”
My elbow jerks involuntary at the words “kiss” and “touch,” knocking the spare spoon off the end of the table with a clatter. “All right. Sure. We’ll practice,” I say, leaning down to pick it up.
“Deal.”
I lean forward. “Can I ask, what do you get out of all of this? Or are you just doing this out of the goodness of your heart?”
His eyes sparkle in the glow of the fireplace. “You don’t think I’m generous like that?”
“I just…assumed there was something you get out of it.” After working in politics for so long, it’s difficult to imagine people being motivated by the goodness of their hearts, with nothing to gain for themselves.
He tilts his head in consideration. “Well, I would take payment in the form of cheesecake.”
A giggle rises out of me. Maybe Nolan is the exception. “Ah, right. The cheesecake. That’s a very noble and understandable motive. I think I can appease you. Though it has to be store-bought. I can’t bake for shit.”
“Deal.” He pauses, assessing me for a beat. “In all seriousness, it would be cool to hang out. You know, as friends.”
Friends. I like the sound of that.