The American Bachelor (2/3)

[dugindeep]

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After two years in the White House, Jensen has gotten accustomed to the lavishness of each room and the grandness behind every story that the walls keep. So when he takes Jared through the Presidential Study and into the Dining Room, he rather enjoys Jared’s slack-jawed look and the small, toe-dragging steps as he takes in each bit of the rooms until Jensen leads them to their table. It’s spotlighted by the dimmed bulbs throughout the room with just two right above the setting for two, shining brightly upon perfectly placed silverware and china.

As they both sit, Jensen timing himself so there is no rush or pomp and circumstance to the matter, Jared lets out a low whistle and stretches his fingers out before setting them in his lap. He looks exceptionally nervous, and Jensen tells him so.

“You look exceptionally nervous.”

“I am exceptionally nervous,” Jared quickly replies.

“Why are you nervous?”

“Because I’m sitting in the White House? Because I’m sitting across from the President of the USA? Because I almost tore the American Flag off its staff while I stood in the Roosevelt Room? All of the above?”

Remarkably Jared keeps his cool as he rattles all of that off then casually glances around. Jensen appreciates the man’s ability to remain semi-calm while showing his true—albeit rattled—colors. All while appearing classically cool in a simple sweater, oxford shirt and tie combo with a sports jacket upping the formality.

Jensen sets a crisp, white napkin in his lap then summons their waiter from the corner of the room. “Well, just forget all that, and remember that you’re sitting across from a former sociology major who bought flowers at your shop for his sometimes-cranky pre-teen.”

“Yeah, sure,” Jared mumbles while looking up at Felipe, who is now standing at their table awaiting their order, “All while being served by the finest French waiter I’ve ever seen.”

“Thank you, Monsieur,” Felipe says with a quick bow of his head. “And what can I start you off with this evening?”

“A tranquilizer?”

Jensen snorts a laugh while taking a sip of water, spitting most of it on the table. He wipes his face with the napkin from his lap as Felipe quickly loads his arms with the damp dishware and wineglasses.

“Oh my God,” Jared groans. “I am so sorry.”

“No, no,” Jensen insists once he’s cleaned himself off. “So not your fault. We really needed to break the ice.”

“Oh.”

“In a good way.” Jensen sets his elbows on the table and looks down to the dark spots on the white tablecloth, a dotted circle around the place where his plate had been. “It’s not every day I have dinner with guests.” He glances up to Jared and offers a small smile. “I’m usually scarfing down an English muffin in between calls with the G8 and checking Nola’s homework and NSA briefings.”

Jared’s eyes widen, particularly at the last part. Yet his main concern seems to be: “Just an English muffin?”

“It used to be a banana muffin, but Nola says I have to eat healthier if I’m going to back legislation to eliminate food deserts, and insist that healthy, affordable nutritious should be available to every neighborhood.”

“She’s not totally wrong.”

“I know,” Jensen says with a nod. “She’s a pretty smart kid. And extremely hard to sneak chocolate chip cookies past.”

Jared chuckles. “She is definitely not wrong about you needing to eat better.”

Jensen grins, enjoying how Jared seems to be settling in, and he’s especially happy when Jared steps back to the subject of food deserts and describes his shop’s participation at fresh markets in the Columbia Heights neighborhood.

After a few comments back and forth, Jared goes on with a lengthy story about a particularly loyal customer visiting the market to gather fresh daisies on a Saturday. As he goes on, Felipe fills their wine glasses then recedes into a quiet corner, and Jensen finds himself completely engrossed in the tale, even when he has no clue who Kim Rhodes is or how something like a street market could help raise awareness for autism.

“… I figure the more the markets have to offer—homemade goods and crafts, flowers, what have you—the more people will support them,” Jared says confidently, almost emphatically. “And the more widespread the efforts can be. And now Kim has set up her own tables to piggyback the market and raise awareness for her group. Plus, having those kids there, having them present and active within the community helps.”

Jensen is holding his wine glass near his mouth, but won’t drink just yet. He’s a bit mesmerized by the man across the table who got into a fight with a flag earlier and is now stating a grand position. “And they’re just making gift baskets,” Jensen says quietly, still staring at Jared.

“They’re just making gift baskets,” Jared repeats before managing to make use of the wine glass in front of him and drink.

He blinks and puts his glass down, feeling the slow slide into community action. “So often, bettering one’s community begs for their sole activities. And once that first step is made, the possibilities are endless.”

“That’s very true,” Jared responds softly then bites his lower lip before taking another sip.

Jensen clears his throat, feeling a thread of tension tug between them. He didn’t mean to say something so formal, so business-like, but he can’t say he’s not happy for the resulting smile across the table. “So, you’re obviously passionate about food deserts. Any other actions you’re behind?”

“Like you didn’t dig through my background to find out that I’m a liberal?” Jared jokes.

“Of course we did,” Jensen says dryly before taking a sip of wine. “I just wanted to hear it from you.”

“Did you really?” he asks with wide eyes.

With a chuckle, Jensen puts his glass down, sets his hands at the table, and leans forward a little. “I have to admit that there were quite a few in-depth reviews of your background, but it’s all standard procedure for White House access.”

“Oh, okay.”

“And you passed each one.”

“Oh! Good.”

He sits back and tries to put on a confident façade without seeming too pushy or smarmy. “Besides, I’d rather you just tell me about yourself.”

Jared swallows thickly, his throat muscles working through it and definitely catching Jensen’s attention. “Like what?”

“Like what else you do besides rebuilding food opportunities and father-daughter relationships with the power of a floral arrangement.”

“To be honest, not much else. I mean, I keep an eye on the LGBT activities in the area, but nothing more really comes up. I figure being a gay florist is more than enough.”

Jensen smiles, and somehow it surprises him how authentic it feels, like he is truly amused by Jared and not just putting on his diplomatic charm. It certainly is a new feeling. “That’s probably far more than needed. After all, you totally won Nola over.”

“Well, flowers really are the way to a woman’s heart. You just have to find the right ones.”







Not long after they’ve finished the fish, started on a third glass of wine, and prepared for dessert, the side door connecting the study opens and Jared is bounced back into real life where he’s just Joe Schmoe and the guy sitting across from him is influential enough to have been elected President with 407 electoral votes.

There’s a tall man with messy hair and an equally messy beard directing orders to Jensen—the President—as to their next meeting along with phone calls that extend well past Jared’s bedtime. Jared remains in place and silent so as to convince himself—and them—that he’s not there.

The entire room falls silent, and Jared glances up at the President then the guest and realizes they’re both looking at him. The President, however, seems a bit perplexed before saying, ”Local Business Owner Meeting,” and Jared feels heart droop a foot or two in his chest.

Not to say he expected a real chance with a man this powerful and protected, but there was a long stretch of time where conversations floated well beyond civil service and brightening the future. It included childhoods down south with sweet tea and green, green grass, and laughing over an old sitcom Jensen was finally catching up on through Netflix.

He finally stands, shakes the President’s hand when it’s offered (trying like hell to not count how long their palms touch), and is escorted out by an agent posted outside the room.

Once back in the front lobby, Jared is checking out with security, yet doesn’t make it to the door because his name is called, and the man who had interrupted dinner approaches him with a folded piece of paper.

“For you, from him,” he says simply. There’s a small smile curling the line of the man’s moustache, but Jared can’t decipher if it’s amused or cynical.

Jared reaches for the paper, but doesn’t quite touch it yet. “For what?”

“Don’t shoot. I’m only the messenger.”

The man drops the paper into Jared’s slightly open hand and heads back the way he arrived.

Jared pockets the note until he’s outside and alone and able to have a proper reaction to the message without seeming improper in the White House.

In fine, neat letters: Sorry for the abrupt ending. Let me make it up to you. Saturday 7pm.

Hope blooms in the center of his chest as his mind runs wild at the thought of seeing the President once again. Sure, the note is indefinite with its statement, no indication as to whether the President had enjoyed their lengthy conversation about food deserts and city markets, even cool tea on hot Texas nights and bright stars on black skies. Yet if it’s not that, and this is all simply a business meeting … Jared frowns at the thought. It’s disappointing to sit across the table and carry a healthy conversation with the most attractive man in the universe without anything returned, but Jared is feeling a bit confident in whatever position the President is seeking from him in relation to bettering their community.

He returns to his apartment, a decent two-bedroom that would probably be roomy for a man who doesn’t tower over most of D.C., where his oversized sectional couch is crowded up against the corner windows of his unit. He can easily spot Danneel camped among the fluffy back pillows.

Which means he’s in for one massive info dump. Which he is so not in the mood for. He’d rather tip-toe this line of whatever the President wants from him.

As soon as he’s in the door, she’s on her feet and squealing. “So? What happened?”

Jared scratches the back of his neck as he tosses his keys on the coffee table. “I don’t really know.”

Danneel stares at him for a few quiet moments. “What do you mean, you don’t really know? You were there.”

“I don’t really know,” he repeats with annoyance. “I mean, I almost desecrated the American Flag, and I think I ate with the wrong fork during the salad course, and I’m more than a little buzzed on Pinot, so …”

“Now I’m the one that doesn’t really know.” After they sigh in unison, she tips her head to the side and considers him with a gleam in her eyes. “Is he as dreamy in person as on TV?”

He rolls his eyes and turns away just so she doesn’t see his grin and blush. “Real mature.”

“It’s very mature to wonder what people look like in person. Is he shorter? Is he grayer?”

Jared does his best to keep his words even, not daring to err on the other side of wistfulness. But he hears it sink in. “No, he’s tall and completely blond and quite the conversationalist. He’s … yeah, he’s even better than on TV.”

Danneel releases a dreamy sigh. “Of course he is. What did he want? Was he taking an early census? Or offering you a seat next to him at the next town hall debate or something?”

“All of the above?” he offers.

“What does that mean?”

“I don’t know, we talked a lot about the food markets and our business. And that was it. Maybe he just wants someone to inform him of what’s really happening in the city?” He shrugs then hands her the note. “And before I left, some guy gave me this.”

“What guy?” she asks as she opens it up, but she doesn’t get an answer because she’s suddenly shoving at Jared and yelling, “Oh, get out!”

Jared stumbles further back to avoid another shot and rubs at his chest. “This is my apartment. You get out.”

“Did you guys make out? Tell me!” she squeals as she shoves him again.

Jared makes a face, because while he certainly would not have minded it, there was nothing close to that occurring over dinner. And now he’s pathetically, stupidly, and irrationally disappointed in the whole evening. He can even hear it in his voice when he insists, “No, I told you …”







“… Local Business—”

“Owner Meeting,” Tim supplies. “Yes, of course.”

Jensen unbuttons his suit jacket and sits down behind his desk. He puts on his reading glasses then scowls over the top of the frames. “You don’t believe me.”

“Did I say I don’t believe you?”

“No.” After a beat, “But your beard looks skeptical at the moment.”

Tim finger-combs the very edges of his facial hair. “It’s the humidity. I never did like springtime on the coast.”

Jensen finally smiles at his Chief of Staff then nods when Katie enters along with Admiral Jeffrey Morgan and a few of his officers. The group gathers in front of Jensen’s desk, all standing at attention, even when Katie and Tim have never spent a second in a uniform. “So what have we got?”

“A couple of nervous Balkans prepared to line the Black Sea with every piece of armor they have on hand,” Morgan says.

“Lining the Black Sea? That’ll take more than a couple to pull off,” Jensen points out.

“They’re an enthusiastic bunch.”

“That doesn’t really help matters, now does it?” Jensen rises and moves to the couches and table in the center of the Oval Office, grateful when everyone parts for him then takes a seat. Morgan spreads a map of Europe across the large coffee table, and Jensen sits at the edge of the couch cushions to watch Morgan’s finger trace lines along the Black Sea as he details the ships that are pulling together around Varna and a few within Red Lake.

A few of Morgan’s direct reports describe the channels the ships can take to enter the sea, but all Jensen thinks about are farmers markets and daisies.







There are another three security checks when Jared returns to the White House on Saturday, and just as before, he can feel the same nerves rattle as the guards carefully swipe nearly every inch of his body.

There is the same rumble to his empty stomach—more in nausea than in hunger—when he’s accompanied to the Dining Room and welcomed by Felipe, who is once again dressed to restaurant perfection.

“Monsieur,” Felipe says, rather brightly. “It is a pleasure to seat you once again.”

“Thank you,” Jared returns with a friendly smile then chuckles (mostly to hide the annoyance and disappointment that they are the only two in the room). “Will I be dining solo this evening?”

“Of course not, Sir.” He effortlessly pours Jared a glass of wine then fills the empty one across the way, even when there is no one there to drink it. “He will be along shortly.”

Jared is left alone with his wine glass, though he can sense Felipe’s presence behind him and to the left, draped in shadows.

Time drags on, and Jared is nearly done with his wine when Felipe steps up to refill it and the side door opens. Just like last time, Jared watches Jensen’s profile as he ties up loose ends with staffers, calling out times and cities Jared would never want to mix up.

It’s massively overwhelming to realize that someone from the same background Jared was afforded—warm summers in Texas with tea and water balloons to keep children cool and dusk-lit barbeques—is now responsible for maintaining (and sometimes creating) peace for all of human kind.

Jared quickly downs the rest of his wine then holds the glass up for Felipe. They share an odd smile, one that Jared feels is more anxious for alcohol yet seems placating from the other end, then Jared turns back to the table to find Jensen seated across from him.

“I’m so sorry,” Jensen rushes to say. “I swear, I intended to be here on time this evening.”

“I imagine you don’t get to many places on time,” Jared jokes before starting in on his second glass.

“Not often, but Tim and Felicia sure do try to keep me moving.” Jensen takes a quick sip of his own wine then offers Jared a strangely comfortable and warm smile. “What do you think of blackened catfish for tonight?”

“I suppose it depends on the sides,” he leads on.

“Maybe some dirty rice? Sweet potatoes? And you can’t miss out on Chef Williams’ jalapeño cornbread.”

It’s obvious that Jensen is pleased that Jared’s face lights up and his stomach grumbles aloud.

“I can already tell you’re a fan.” Jensen lifts his glass, his warm smile doing worse things to Jared’s empty stomach than the wine. “To Texas,” he toasts, and Jared is quick to return it.







Jensen can read the disappointment on Jared’s face when Katie interrupts them before the cornbread has been truly appreciated.

“I thought we had you on a clean diet,” she admonishes.

He feels his cheeks heat up with embarrassment, both for her mothering him and for it happening in front of Jared. There’s a heavy weight on his chest when he feels the tension coming from the other side of the table as Jared pulls the napkin from his lap to set it over his unfinished plate. “Jared, it’s okay,” he insists then tells Katie, “I just need twenty more minutes.”

Katie checks a pad of paper stacked on top of a handful of colored files and snorts. “Your Local Business Owner symposium was only scheduled until 8pm.” She glances at Jared, takes time to look at him from top to bottom, and Jensen is even more unnerved. “And should have included more than just one.”

“A symposium does include two,” Jensen snarks back.

Jensen knows he’s Katie’s boss, and most importantly the President, so he can stand up to her for any matter or need, especially when it comes to his personal life. However, he’d completely lied to Felicia when setting this dinner in his schedule and he feels the need to hide away Jared as a secret. And while he wouldn’t be afraid to stand beside him, he’s all too afraid of his staff’s responses to his attempts at dating again.

Never mind courting and small talk, Katie, Tim, and Richard would head up the vetting committee and stop at nothing to ensure Jared was the most perfect fit. Including turning Jared’s life over and combing through it with fine-tipped tweezers, then scheduling the best opportunity for Jared to be presented to the American people, starting with a makeover, capped teeth, and a brand new job.

Not that Jensen finds anything wrong with the floral industry. He rather likes Jared just as he is, and would prefer to get to know him on his own time.

Still, he has a hard time maintaining that stance when Jared rises from his seat, thanks him for the dinner and conversation, and goes for the door. In the hallway, Whitfield is there to see Jared out of the White House, and it only frustrates Jensen even more.

“You know,” Jensen huffs as he tosses his napkin onto the table. “I was in the middle of something here.”

“As are we,” Katie insists, cocking her hips to the side. “The Romanian Prime Minister is on the line.”

He pushes his chair back quite abruptly and marches through the Study and into the Oval Office, only more aggravated that she’s following and chattering on about what to speak with Prime Minister Monta about. Maybe he’s more frustrated with himself for this lifestyle being so incompatible with dating Jared, or maybe he’s twice as annoyed with Jared for seeming to keep himself at arm’s length and stepping away every time there’s a blip in dinner.

Either way, he knows that there are other, heavier concerns on the horizon, so he takes his seat behind the desk and punches buttons on his phone before saying, “Mr. Prime Minister, let’s talk about your boats.”








“I have no idea what I’m doing here,” Jared murmurs to himself for at least the fifth time. He isn’t bothering to count anything (he did note there were four benches down this hallway, two paired up about forty feet apart, set back to back), though he hasn’t been waiting all too long. It’s still late to be called upon and to wait and wait and wait.

For the President, once again.

In the Center Hall of the White House Residence.

Right where the President sleeps. In between signing laws and holding conference calls with foreign dignitaries and, like, keeping America afloat.

“God, what am I doing here?” he mumbles while running both hands through his hair and surely messing up the style he’d tried so hard to set before leaving his apartment and totally freaking out about meeting the President in the Residence.

“What’re you doing here?”

It’s said behind him, and as he wheels around to face the voice, he sighs. “I really don’t know.”

Then he looks down because there is a young girl about ten feet away staring up at him. She has dark, dark hair that falls in waves far past her shoulders, and cat-eye glasses, paired with her blue tank top, accentuate the bright blue of her eyes. To match her frames, cartoonish kittens wrestle all over her light grey pajama pants. She’s half adorable and all the way threatening as she narrows her eyes and continues to watch him.

He tries to remind himself that it must be past her bedtime, and thus she isn’t a threat, but it isn’t really working. Because this is young Nola, the President’s daughter, who hasn’t been seen since December for the White House Christmas ceremony. Jared briefly wonders if it’s because of the color of her hair, which had formerly been a shiny pale auburn, and then shakes his head at how foolish it is to wonder.

“What are you doing here?” she asks again, now setting her hands at her hips. She barely replicates the intimidating stance that Whitfield took upon Jared’s quick exit last week. Somehow, it’s still scary.

Jared releases a soft, nervous laugh. “I wish I knew.”

“Where’s Aldis?” she asks while looking around Jared and back behind her into the next hallway. When Jared looks at her in confusion, she sighs, like an adorably petulant pre-teen, and raises her hand as high as she go while up on her tiptoes. “He’s the big guy in the black suit. Super tall, though not as tall as you.”

“I get that a lot,” he replies only halfway kidding.

“Hodge. Aldis Hodge. Where is he?”

Jared breathes a sigh of relief. He never knew Hodge’s first name. “Aldis led me up here, but then said your dad would be with me soon.”

“For what?”

Jared shrugs, mostly to himself, because he has no clue what is really going on, only that he was summoned here when Aldis approached him at the shop just before closing. “I think businessy type stuff?”

“What kind of business are you in?”

“Flowers.”

Suddenly, her brow line eases from that of an inquisitor to a friendly, curious type. “Oh, really? Daddy got me some really cool blue flowers a few weeks ago.”

“Gerbera Daisies,” he replies with a quick nod.

Once again, the brow line furrows and her eyes narrow threateningly. “How do you know that?”

Jared clears his throat and tries to relax his stance as much as possible. He’s sure he still seems incredibly menacing at this height. “Because I sold them to him.”

“What’s the name of your shop?” she quizzes.

“Padalillies.” When she still appears wary, he explains how it fits with his last name and his aunt’s favorite flower.

She’s satisfied enough that she steps forward and puts her hand into the air. “That’s pretty cool. The name’s Nola. My birth mom was from New Orleans, Louisiana.”

Jared smiles and shakes her hand with a friendly bow of his head. “N-O-L-A … I did not know that. But I totally love it.” They stare at one another for a moment and Jared jumps for the first thing he can grab onto for conversation. “I really love your glasses.”

“All the thanks go to Felicia. She helped me pick them out.”

“Felicia?” Jared asks then points over his shoulder as if he could even see the Oval Office from here. “Your dad’s assistant?”

“Yeah, she’s new, and totally cool, so I enlisted her to hang with me when dad’s off in Madagascar or Finland or wherever he’s going next.”

Jared smiles at how easy they’re conversing, and figures it’s a good passing of time until … whatever he is here for begins.

“And she dyed my hair for me, which totally freaked out my dad.” Nola smirks then tweaks the edge of her frames. “But he said he really digs the glasses.”

“As he should. They’re pretty killer.”

“You should get some for yourself.”

Jared purposely overdoes his confidence and rocks on his heels as he brags, “Never needed them. Twenty-twenty right here, dude.”

“Ahh, just you wait,” she replies with a wave of her hand. “You start getting old and you need all the help you can get.”

He’s not about to admit that he’s in his mid-forties, and thankfully Nola doesn’t seem to care, because she continues on.

“Just like my dad. He turned forty-five, got into the White House, and now he’s blind as a bat.”

“Hey!” Jensen yells as he turns a corner behind Nola and marches up to them. “I heard that, young lady.” He’s free of a jacket and tie, and his white button-up is a bit wrinkled with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. It’s probably as casual as he really gets while on the clock, yet Jared finds it terribly delicious.

Jensen wastes no time scooping his daughter over his shoulder and playfully smacking the back of her thigh. There’s an adorably easy moment unfolding before him as Jensen bops her on his shoulder and she tries to curl around his back to rest her arms on the other shoulder with hair falling in her face every time either one of them moves. They’re talking about Algebra and Latin American History and something about practice ACTs, which … at her age, sounds ridiculous.

“I got a 34 in Math,” Nola is saying as Jared simply soaks in the scene, “and Felicia said she never scored higher than a 33, even when she was a junior. I’d say I’m ready.”

Jensen makes a disbelieving face to Jared then laughs with a huff and quick jostle to Nola still draped across his back. “I don’t get you, with your kitty PJs and Star Wars nightlight, wanting to go off to college so soon.”

“Oh, college?” Jared asks with a bit of a playful whine. “No, Nola, don’t do it.”

Now Nola and Jensen freeze to stare at Jared, as if their joke radar just turned off.

“Like at all?” Nola asks.

Jared slowly responds, “I meant for now.”

“Yeah, you listen to the man.,” Jensen says firmly then winks at Jared. “Because you certainly don’t listen to me when I say homework then bedtime.”

“I was just interviewing the super huge guy Aldis left in the hallway,” Nola quickly defends.

“Did he pass your test?”

“He’ll do,” she says flatly, yet smiles at Jared.

Jensen rolls his eyes and hefts Nola up higher on his shoulders. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to take a bratty girl to bed now. I’ll be right back.”

He isn’t gone long, and Jared is feeling anxious once again, yet for an entirely different reason. The way Jensen had eased up so much him, playing with his daughter and even releasing that deadly wink is something that will stay with Jared for a while.

What is also going to stay with Jared is that when Jensen returns and Jared is trying to tell Jensen how wonderful his daughter is, Jensen latches one hand around Jared’s neck and tugs down. Jensen’s other arm wraps around Jared’s waist to pull him in all while Jensen is practically shoving his mouth against Jared’s.

Not that he minds. He’s just … a bit startled and shocked still, and so Jensen slowly detangles himself from Jared and wipes his lower lip, which is a strangely sexy move that draws Jared’s eyes to Jensen’s mouth even as Jensen is attempting to speak.

“… so stupid. Don’t know what I was thinking, but I just—”

“Wait a second,” Jared says, quite breathily in fact. Jensen, the President, and one of the country’s most attractive men, just kissed him. And Jared stupidly didn’t bother returning the favor.

“No, no, no, I’m sorry. It was out of line and so inappropriate and unbecoming.”

Jared slowly smiles at Jensen’s own nerves, which perfectly counter and defeat the ones Jared has been carrying ever since Jensen first walked into his store a few weeks ago. Jared finally feels like they’re on equal footing … well, as equal as he can be with the Commander-in-Charge. “Now you’re just saying a bunch of words that all mean the same thing.”

“And I understand your reticence,” Jensen goes on. “I keep inviting you here under the pretense of a Local Business Owners group then waste your time because I’m always running late, and then we’re interrupted by my staff, so we can’t get anywhere, and then I just leap at you.”

Jared finds Jensen’s confession entirely too charming, especially with his overactive hand movements for jumping off a cliff. “Jensen,” he says calmly.

Jensen slowly lifts his head with wide, uncertain eyes. “Yes?”

He can’t bother to answer and is now the one pulling Jensen in with hands sliding over the sides of his neck, and Jared’s mouth is even more impatient against Jensen’s than his was just moments ago. Jensen sucks in a loud breath through his nose. Even as he grabs hold of Jared’s forearms to keep him close, he pulls back a few inches.

“So,” Jensen says without any noticeable inflection, “I suppose this okay with you.”

Jared nods. “Really okay.”

Moments later, Jensen is shoving Jared down to the nearest bench and they’re grabbing at one another with loud, messy kissing that couldn’t be more imperfect while being remarkably hot. Their tongues are at war with one another, and Jared swears he can taste banana. He wants to ask about that, but when Jensen tips his head another way to reach further into Jared’s mouth, Jared focuses on other things. Like running his hands over Jensen’s back then daring to reach lower when Jensen’s arm slips between the bench and Jared’s back to close off any bit of space between them. Jared’s fingers inch over the curve of Jensen’s ass and Jensen moans into Jared’s mouth, so Jared palms Jensen’s asscheek while wrapping his free arm tightly around Jensen’s waist.

As Jared tries to shift even closer, now feeling the erection growing in Jensen’s pants dig into his hip—and how in the world did Jared not anticipate how deeply that would make him groan—they both turn to the side and quickly roll off the bench and onto the floor.

“What are you doing?” Nola asks from down the hall, just outside her bedroom. It’s far beyond where they are now, but possibly close enough to have seen something.

Jensen turns over to his knees and waves her off. “We’re just looking for Jared’s contact.”

“Jared doesn’t wear contacts.”

Jared and Jensen immediately match nervous gazes, with Jared finally, sadly shrugging. “I don’t.”

“He doesn’t,” Nola calls out. “He told me ten minutes ago that he has perfect vision. Twenty-twenty.”

“I did,” Jared admits quietly.

“Well?”

Jared shrinks down a few inches and figures he’ll let her father handle this one. He is fairly powerful and all that. And Jensen does take care of the situation by rising to his full height and marching back down to her and announcing that it is far past her bedtime and she should be polite to her guests, and most of all respect her father or else he’ll send her to Alcatraz.

She rightfully laughs. At him, Jared notes, not with him.

He’s waiting on Jensen once again, but this time he doesn’t mind. The shake in his bones is completely different and thrilling.






The next few weeks fly by in too intense of a rush. It gets so bad that Sarah Mason and her band of merry madmen have called for Jensen to step down. This time it’s for his failure in international policies, because the thing with Russia isn’t going well. Meanwhile, Katie keeps hassling him for referring to Putin’s tyranny and occupation of other countries as ‘a thing.’

As the Republicans gear up for the Presidential campaign, Congressman Fred Lehne circulates dirty talk about Jensen’s inability to create relationships beyond a young daughter who stays at home and out of the limelight (which Jensen always declared was better for her character and personality). Apparently, according to the congressman, this makes him a poor leader for the country because he supposedly lacks morals from the fact that he’s a single father. Putin still refuses to have a conversation concerning Ukraine and potential threats on Bulgaria and Turkey. And Fox News recently showed a rally in his hometown where former supporters burned the constitution in effigy, and his mother called the next morning to ask when he stopped taking his anti-anxiety meds. He insisted he was never on any, and she said she would talk to Tim.

All in all, not a good run.

And he’s once again keeping Jared waiting as he tries to listen to Admiral Morgan update him on the placement of Romania’s ships on the west side of the Black Sea. Once the conversation’s wrapped up as another ‘wait and see’ operation, Katie rushes in with Richard on her heels.

Tim nods at them both then aims a grave look at Jensen, who would rather ignore whatever they’re about to set on his plate when he’s left Jared at his own plate upstairs in the Residence.

“Not now, I have a meeting,” he insists.

“What meeting?” Tim asks.

Before Jensen can ask, Katie says, “Felicia has you done in the Oval.”

“Which means you’re ours for the next three hours,” Richard adds in with a sly head tilt. “So we can finally settle this Lehne issue you’re dodging.”

Jensen goes to his desk and fiddles “I’m not dodging anything. I just refuse to count it as a real concern.”

“It is a real concern, sir,” Katie insists.

Richard steps up beside Katie and they both cross their arms. “A very real concern.”

“First of all,” Jensen says quite sternly, “Felicia says I’m done in the Oval, but I have plans back in the Residence.”

“What kind of plans?”

Jensen eyes each of them, spending extra time on Tim with the overly suspicious beard. A few hairs twitch and Jensen thinks Tim is smirking at him, and most definitely mocking him for waiting so long to answer. “Personal plans.”

“What kind of personal plans?” Richard asks.

“Yeah, you don’t have a personal life,” Katie adds.

“You’re the President.”

“I have personal plans!” Jensen complains. “I have a personal life and tonight, I have personal plans.”

“With who?” Tim asks with that same bearded, sly smile.

“With my daughter, okay?” he settles on. It’s not exactly wrong; he does intend to say good night to her, whether she’s still awake or not. “I haven’t seen her much lately and I’d like to read her a story before bed.”

“What story?”

Now Jensen glares at Tim, narrows his eyes, and clenches his jaw. He aims a firm, pointed finger at each of them, going back to Tim’s beard before making his way out the side door and onto the veranda.

Welling walks alongside him with his shoulders straight and his head held high, but somehow Jensen senses a bit of judgment there. The agent had been standing just outside the door and possibly could have heard the conversation. He’s certainly been privy to dozens of other conversations much higher on the security ladder, yet somehow Jensen holds this one pretty close to the vest.

When they reach the door to the residence, Jensen stops and faces Welling. “You think it’s weird don’t you?” Jensen asks quietly, carefully, as if he can pull the question right back. As if Welling might not hear him, and they can play the whole thing off as mumbles of an overly stressed man.

“That you’re hiding him away in the Residence?”

“I’m not hiding him,” Jensen insists then sighs. “And that’s a yes.” Welling simply nods in return and Jensen bows his head in his own sense of guilt as he enters the building.

He does say good night to Nola, and he does spend a few minutes reading a journal entry in the newest book she can’t put down. Once the words sink in, he pulls the book closed to read Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter on the front cover and eye her.

“What?” she asks, blinking her perfectly blue eyes and charming him right out of his mortification. “It’s educational, about the White House and our eleventh president.”

“Sixteenth.”

“I know, I was just testing you.”

Jensen lifts an eyebrow. “And how is your American History class going?”

“I’m at 98 percent,” Nola insists.

He taps the tip of her nose. “That’s where the two percent is, presidential history. Which is a personal affront, you know?” She rolls her eyes and he runs a hand over her fading hair. It’s now an odd brown-purple-grey tone with her bright auburn roots coming in. “I’m sorry I’m not around more.”

“You’re around enough.”

“Not really,” he admits before kissing her forehead. “But I’m gonna try more.”

“In between Jared?” It sounds partway sad, but he’s not sure if she’s feeling that way for Jared or herself. “He looks really handsome tonight.”

Jensen lifts an eyebrow in a highly cynical look. “Oh really?”

“Yes, really. So you shouldn’t keep him waiting any longer.”

A quick shock of pain runs through his stomach and he thinks back to the day he and Tahmoh brought her home and stood in her nursery, leaning their arms on the side of the crib. They’d watched her sleep while they leaned against one another and promised to love her, and each other, forever.

“You know,” he murmurs, “I still love your dad. I always will.”

She softly smiles and turns against his side to cuddle. “Me, too.”

Jensen squeezes her against him and tugs even tighter when she whispers that Jared’s pretty neat, too.

He lets her get back to the dreaded book, only shooting her one more dubious look before leaving, then heads to the West Sitting Hall. He stands outside the dining room for a few moments to watch Jared talk to Felipe, who’s pouring them each a glass of wine. Jared’s laughing at something Felipe has said under his breath, low enough Jensen can’t hear, but he smiles at the picture of Jared in a navy blue shirt, collar open to reveal a finely tanned neck.

Jensen briefly considers taking Jared on a tour of the whole floor, especially his bedroom, but then his stomach rumbles and he remembers he last had a frosted blueberry muffin around two.

Nola would kill him for that, but she’d probably appreciate the menu set around Grecian chicken with a light falafel spread and homemade pita bread. He can’t go out and take Jared to D.C.’s finest restaurants (without a lot of fanfare), so he’ll bring the food to Jared.

As the vision of dinner coasts through his mind, Jared looks up and smiles at him. Jensen immediately smiles back and enters the room, pulling his chair out. Before he sits, he glances at Felipe who is kindly smiling back and moves around the side of the table to touch Jared’s back and lean down to kiss him hello. Their lips are warm and tongues hesitant, and Jensen’s hand settles on the back of Jared’s head. He squeezes softly around the column of Jared’s neck and then rubs his nose gently against Jared’s when he pulls back.

Jared’s cheeks are flushed and his eyes slant away as if he’s embarrassed. It hadn’t been particularly heated or long, yet Jared still seems a bit dazed when Jensen settles down in his own seat.

“I’m sorry I kept you waiting,” Jensen says as he sets his napkin in his lap.

“It’s okay.”

“I promise to be on time for you at least once. Soon.”

Jared picks up his wine to drink, stalling with the rim of the glass resting on his lips. “Well, if you’re going to arrive with that kind of a hello, I’m happy to wait.”

Jensen winks and takes a long sip of his own wine then asks Jared about his day.


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