“You haven’t said you don’t.”
“I don’t.”
“Would you take a drug test then?”
“Okay, thank you for your questions.” Finally that bumbling idiot we’re paying to run his campaign steps in. “We have to go.”
The clip ends. I’m stupid enough to scroll through the comments, briefly. Chase is reading them along with me. It’s all a varying degree of negative. From ‘Why is this dude so shifty’ to ‘I’m not voting for a drug dealer’.
“Why didn’t he just say yes? He uses marijuana. It’s legal,” I question, not expecting Chase to have an answer but he does.
“It’s an un-winnable question,” Chase explains. “If he admits to using, the rightwing voters will consider him a junkie, even though it’s not the same thing and it’s legal. For them it will never be acceptable. And the centrist ones will think he’s been doing it since before it was legal, which makes him untrustworthy. The lefties will support an honest answer, but a lot of them are youthful and cynical and doubt the electoral system so much at this point, they don’t vote.
“Oh.” I feel like a fool with how little I know. And I feel panic because we gambled our parents’ legacy on this and we are so out of our element. Chase squeezes my shoulder before he walks to his closet.
“This alone won’t sink him, but damage control will be required,” Chase explains. “He’s going to need a follow-up statement on his website. Something that says he’s not against being drug tested for illegal substances because he doesn’t consume illegal substances. He doesn’t, right?”
“No. He doesn’t,” I reply and start to pull on my clothes, the pieces within reach anyway, like my underwear and my jeans.
Chase smiles. It’s so reassuring and confident. “So put up the statement and then link something much more detailed on the pros of marijuana farming, and make sure there’s numbers in it. Fiscal numbers. Righties need the numbers. And make sure there’s environmental and sustainability statistics. Lefties need those details.”
“We have that on the site already. It’s really good. I think.”
“I’ll read it over tomorrow, and tell you my thoughts. If you want.”
“I want,” I reply and give him a timid smile. He is so sure of himself, and I feel like a bit of a kid around him. More than I should considering he’s only maybe two or three years older than me. But listening to him talk right now, it feels like he’s ten years older and so much more intelligent than me. I’m not dumb, but… I feel it right now.
“Great. I’ll text you with my thoughts. But get that statement up first thing, okay?” I nod as Chase emerges from his walk-in closet in a pair of black pajama bottoms and a vintage Nirvana T-shirt that’s so worn it’s almost see-through. His damn hair is every which way and I wish I could stick around to see it dry, but…
“I’m going to head home and make sure this gets done. And also calm Autumn down who will be calling me again any second, still freaking out,” I explain and start down the stairs. He follows me. “I had a really good time, in case that wasn’t clear.”
“So did I,” Chase admits and when we reach the ground floor, I pick up my shirt which is in a puddle by the door. “You’re going to make it hard not to try for a three-peat.”
When my head emerges from my shirt, I find him directly in front of me, looking gorgeous and available. But he isn’t. “As much as I love that idea — and I really do love it — you and I aren’t on the same page,” I remind him. “And another round will make it really hard for me to convince myself you’re a random hook-up.”
“Yeah. I can see that.”
“And I don’t date guys who aren’t out.”
His eyes drop from mine and his mouth flattens into a line. I feel comforted by that because it means he likes me.Reallylikes me. And maybe he was considering dating me. Which is flattering. I have little to offer someone as put together and successful as Chase. Especially since everything I own may be gone if my brother’s campaign doesn’t change course soon.
“Well, I don’t date anyone,” Chase says, and his voice is uncharacteristically solemn. He reaches between us and brushes my hair back from my cheek. “I should add that if I could date someone, I’d definitely be trying to date you.”
“And if you were out, I’d be more than willing to swipe right,” I say and my joke gets me a smile, but it’s hollow.
And then I kiss him. And he kisses me back.
It’s sweeter and softer than any kiss we’ve shared.
Probably because it’s a good-bye kiss.
9
CHASE
The day is dragging. I hate long, boring weekends, and I haven’t had one since I was… well, I can’t remember the last time I was so bored I was annoyed. I don’t have a lot of downtime, so I usually find really enjoyable ways to fill it. I mess around with new music, I go out with Grant and Joe, I work on new lyrics. I listen to music, read, marathon something on Netflix and work out. But today… nothing brings me relief from my mood. I close my notebook and toss it onto the coffee table, moving my guitar from my lap and standing up. I walk over to the windows and stare outside. It’s a great spring day. Sunny and warm. People are everywhere outside, smiling and enjoying life. Why can’t I? Even at brunch this morning with Joe and Grant at the Maple Factory, after teaching an aquafit class that went really well, I couldn’t enjoy myself. I kept wondering if Bowen had worked last night. If he was working today. If one of the many gay customers at Vino and Veritas had hit on him yet. If they had, was he interested?
Fuck. When did I become this guy? I have never thought twice about a hook-up. But Bowen is in my head all the time. Maybe it’s because we haven’t seen each other since that last mind-blowing session. Grant and Joe have been too busy for a band practice, so we skipped this week. I did text him once, to tell him the statement he put up on Woody’s campaign website worked, but to add a few more fiscal numbers to the marijuana farming section. He texted back with a thank you and told me he owed me a glass of wine next time I was in the bar. But I haven’t gone to the bar this week. Seeing him is all I want but also feels overwhelmingly like a bad idea. I mean, I know me. I’m nothing if not self-aware and one drink will lead to a bottle and that will give me just the excuse I need to proposition him again. And he doesn’t want me. Not right now. I can’t give him what he wants.
