I sat on the sofa, alone in my condo, clutching my phone in my hand and watching the minutes tick past. Jeff’s contact card was on the screen and his old GNN staff photo stared up at me. I’d stolen it from the internet and attached it to his card in my phone. In the picture he wore a tired looking navy blue suit and a goofy, staged smile that made it obvious his teeth had been touched up digitally. Still, I had to admit it was kind of cute.

More than an hour had passed since I’d first sat down with my morning coffee and my phone just after 8 AM, an hour I’d spent toggling back and forth between Wednesday’s front page of The Flame and Jeff’s contact card while trying to work up the courage to call him. Every time my finger hovered near enough to the “Call” button, I’d jump back to The Flame’s website and try to read something to clear my head, end up frustrated with myself for being such a chickenshit, and bounce back to Jeff’s contact info. Rinse and repeat.

This is stupid. I’m not twelve years old anymore, I told myself as once again I found my finger dangling just above the button to call. Just do it. The worst he can say is no and we’ll record as usual. Before I could think twice, I pressed the button and held the phone to my ear. The sound of the ring was almost drowned out by my hammering heart.

“Hello?” Jeff answered on the second ring. I hesitated for a moment and considered hanging up because what I was doing was crazy but at the last second I found my nerve.

“Hey,” I said awkwardly, the only thing I could muster.

“Is everything OK?” he asked, confusion and concern mixing in his tone. “The crew and I were just about to head over.”

“Everything’s fine, there’s just been a change in my schedule I wanted to tell you about,” I lied. There hadn’t been a change, or at least not an official one. I just wanted to spend more time alone with Jeff. “I’ve been invited to do a signing at a local bookstore this morning,” I lied again. It was the first plausible thing I could think of to get him to come without putting him on to my scheme.

“OK, that could be cool. Are you doing a Q and A session?”

“I planned to, yeah,” I thought, smirking at my own devious mind as it whirred into action at the thought.

“Alright, would you mind if we came and I maybe asked you some questions during that?”

“I don’t think I could stop you. Lord knows I’ve tried,” I said and he laughed.

“Alright, when and where is the signing?”

“It’s at 10 at a place called Politics and Pages on Connecticut Avenue,” I said, making the details up as I went. I’d done a signing there before for my last book, so it was the first thing that came to mind.

“I’ll see you then.”

“It’s probably going to be pretty crowded so I don’t think it’s a smart idea to bring the camera crew,” I said quickly before he had the chance to hang up. “Maybe you should just shoot some footage with your phone instead?” I asked. I didn’t want to give him any room to bring his lackeys along with him.

“You make the rules,” he said and I kicked myself for forgetting it.

“Right. So meet me in the back café, say, fifteen minutes before?”

“I guess I’d better get moving then,” he said, his voice lighter, almost as if he were on to me, and hung up.

“I can’t believe that worked,” I laughed out loud. For a journalist, he sure didn’t do a lot of digging on this. I just hoped he didn’t get a hair up his ass to check the bookstore’s website before he left NewSpin. I dashed to the shower and cleaned myself up as quickly as I could before getting dressed and making my way to the train station.

To my dismay, the bookstore was a ghost town when I arrived. There was only one other person besides the employees working the front counter and the café counter. Whatever, I thought as I walked to the back of the store and sat down at one of the rickety tables to wait for Jeff. The barista asked if I wanted anything but I waved him off.

Jeff stepped toward the table a few minutes later, looking very much annoyed. I flashed him my best smile, hoping to disarm any anger he might’ve been preparing to unleash on me, and stood from the table to offer him a hand to shake. Though puzzled by the formality, he gave in anyway and took my hand in his after staring at it for a few beats. It struck me then just how similar we were in height and build, despite our overwhelming amount of differences in every other way. He gripped my hand hard, much more so than was necessary, and the thought of those strong hands on my body gave me chills. Stop that, I told myself, pulling my hand free from his.

“You want to tell me what this is all about?” he asked. Without answering, I sat back down and gestured for him to join me. Rolling his eyes, he did as I asked and let out a protracted sigh when he’d gotten situated.

“Sorry to lie to you but I didn’t really know how else I could get you alone,” I said.

“You could’ve just asked me, that would’ve been easier.”

“Maybe, but you never would’ve agreed to it.”

“And that’s exactly why you should’ve just asked,” he said and I laughed. “Why the hell did you want to be alone with me, anyway?” he asked with one eyebrow raised.

“I wanted to vet you,” I said and he laughed.

“Come again? For what?”

“Well, I can’t be seen in public with just anyone,” I said and again he rolled his eyes.

“Now I get it,” he said. “You’ve got to figure out if I’m part of your A-list, right?”

“Something like that.”

“You’re unbelievable,” he said, though the playful twinkle in his eyes said something very different.

“You’ve been peppering me with questions since we started this thing so I figured it was only fair that I return the favor,” I said.

“Fair enough. What do you want to know? I’ll try to be as forthcoming as you’ve been,” he said, holding his arms out to suggest how open he was. I didn’t believe it for a second but it couldn’t hurt to try.

“How’d you get your start? Where’d you come from?”

“I came from my mother, Jane,” he said and I rolled my eyes. “What? I can’t have any fun with this?”

“Come on. Where did you really come from? In your career,” I stressed.

“It’s hard to say. I went to the University of North Carolina, studied journalism there, graduated in… well, it doesn’t matter when,” he said and I chuckled at his insecurity over his age. “By the time I graduated, I’d landed an internship at a marketing firm here in D.C. It wasn’t really what I wanted to be doing but I figured it was as good a place as any to start, and it got my foot in the door in D.C. so I went for it,” he said.

“Interesting. Did you always know you wanted to live here?”

“Not really, that didn’t come until college,” he said. “Look, not that I mind or anything, but I’m curious… why are you asking me this stuff?”

“Well, you said you wanted to get to know me better so I thought that street should go both ways. If I’m going to have to tell you my life story on camera, I want to know yours, too,” I said.

“I’m afraid you won’t find anything juicy, if that’s what you’re looking for,” he said.

“At your age, I find that hard to believe,” I quipped and he gave me a stern look. “It was a joke, relax. And that’s not what I’m after. I just want to know what makes you tick. What makes you you.”

“I don’t like the sound of that.”

“Yeah, you probably shouldn’t. I do write books, after all,” I said and he laughed. “Who knows? You might end up in the next one.”

“I can’t imagine I won’t after all of this.”

“Good point. But see, there’s the problem. How can I write about you accurately when I don’t really know anything about you?”

“What do you want to know? I have a feeling you’ve already stalked my Wikipedia page, so I don’t really understand why you’re asking me for my autobiography,” he said.

“I probably know more about your biography than you do,” I admitted. The guys at The Flame and I had done tons of research on him leading up to my appearance on the show.

“Then what do you really want to know that you don’t already?”

“Let’s get personal.”

“Why?”

“If I’m going to go to dinner with you, I need to know some things. I need to know what you like,” I said and he eyed me cautiously. “So I can pick something agreeable for the both of us,” I continued and he smirked.

“Right, of course.”

“So, what’s your favorite type of cuisine?” I asked. It was a stupid question but it seemed topical and a good way to get the ball rolling.

“American. I’m not very adventurous when it comes to food.”

“What about in other ways?” I asked, the words flying from my mouth before I had the chance to stop them. He smiled at me and took a moment to answer.

“Depends on the situation and who’s involved,” he said, never breaking eye contact with me.

“Duly noted,” I said. “Alright, what’s your favorite color?”

“Blue,” he answered.

“How old and cliché.”

“Just like everything else about me, right?” he asked and I shrugged.

“At least you have some sense of self-awareness,” I said and he laughed.

“Do you think it’s too late to teach this old dog some new tricks?” he asked, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled. The subtext wasn’t lost on me.

“It’s never too late to learn something new,” I said.

“Well, what would you like to teach me, then?”

“We could start with wardrobe,” I said, giving him the elevator in an exaggerated way. His black jacket and jeans were faded and wrinkled. “You look like you shop exclusively at thrift stores. Surely with a salary like yours you can afford something better than that.”

“I might’ve been able to afford it once upon a time but that was before you—”

“Arrived on the scene to save you from yourself,” I finished his sentence and he smirked.

“Yeah, sure. That’s exactly what happened,” he said.

“Favorite pop singer of all time?” I asked, changing the subject.

“Madonna, hands down,” he said and I shook my head.

“I think we’re done here,” I said, studying him across the table. He crossed his legs and clasped his hands together over one knee.

“So, did I pass the test?” he asked.

“Barely,” I said and he laughed.

“Well, it was a pretty tough one.”

“I’ve picked up a few techniques from you already,” I said.

“And they probably won’t be the last ones you pick up, either. You know, you really never stop surprising me,” he said.

“In a good way or a bad way?”

“Both.”

“Good. I wouldn’t want it any other way,” I said and he chuckled.

“So, are we still on for dinner this weekend or did any of my answers make you change your mind?”

“I wouldn’t want to miss another opportunity to school you,” I said and he laughed, a full-chested, warm laugh that went right to my heart.

“Neither would I,” he said. “Now, if there aren’t any more pressing questions you need to ask me, maybe we could actually get some work done so this whole trip wasn’t a complete waste of my time?”

“You wound me,” I said, holding a hand over my heart. “I thought any time spent with me was time well spent for you,” I said. Ignoring the comment, he reached into his jacket and pulled out his trusty pen and tiny pad of paper. “Here we go,” I sighed, though honestly I didn’t feel half as weary of it as I made it sound. He clicked his pen open and let it hover above his pad.

“Alright, my turn,” he said before clearing his throat. “Since we’re being personal here, for the audience, what’s your greatest fear?” he asked.

“You,” I answered, and a hand clapped over my mouth a beat too late. I hadn’t meant to say it, it wasn’t even consciously in my mind, it’d just come out on its own. My face burned.

“Now that’s interesting,” he said, scribbling it down. Fuck. So much for not letting my guard down around him, I thought. I was supposed to be keeping control of this, not the other way around.

“And why are you afraid of me, exactly?”

“I thought good journalists weren’t supposed to ask rhetorical questions,” I said and he smirked. I needed to get out of this and fast before it got any worse for me. I’d asked him to meet me so I could learn about his tactics—and I’d sure gotten a good lesson. “But if you must know, I didn’t mean you in particular. I meant journalists in general,” I continued, knowing how weak it sounded.

“Right, of course,” he said. “Alright, then, same question: what’s to fear about journalists? I mean, as long as you’re telling the truth, there’s nothing to hide and thus nothing for people like me to find, right?” That’s exactly what I’m afraid of. Once you go digging, there won’t be any stopping you, I thought.

“Exactly. And I don’t have anything to hide, it’s just that you guys make me nervous because you don’t follow a script. I never know what to expect,” I said, grasping at straws to try and justify my lame clarification.

“Well, isn’t that what makes us fun?”

“Not so much,” I said and he chuckled. “Anyway, I think that’s enough for today.”

“Really? We only just got started and you did kind of bamboozle me into coming here under the guise of covering it for work. That seems a little unfair, doesn’t it?”

“Maybe so, but I make the rules, don’t I?” I answered, remembering it and embracing it this time. He smirked and looked at me like I’d just called ‘checkmate’ in a game of chess.

“Yeah. You sure do,” he said and tucked his things away. “We’ll see how that goes for you on Friday night,” he continued before he stood and left me sitting in the café alone, my chest heaving and my brow covered in sweat.

I’m doomed, I thought.