Dating Washington (Discovering Me #2)

by Ann Maree Craven

  His dad didn’t return the call.

  2

  Asher

  “We could work at my house.” Asher Brooks watched his classmates stare at him blankly, and he realized how dumb that sounded. “I mean, I have a studio we could use if, you know, we need a place to work.”

  “That’s cool. Thanks, Ash.” His best friend, Harper, was his savior. “Let’s meet at Asher’s place next week to come up with a plan for our company. Everyone, think about company names and branding ideas. We’ll need a kick-ass logo by the end of the month, so let’s all come up with two good ideas and some sketches before we meet.”

  “Sure, Asher’s place sounds good,” Nichole said, grabbing her things to make a quick escape.

  “Whatever.” Ethan left to follow Nichole.

  “Have I mentioned I hate group projects?” Asher pulled his hoodie up over his head to hide his telltale natural locks courtesy of his African American father and Caucasian mother.

  “Hiding again?” Harper followed him down the wide hallways of Sidwell Friends School—the most elite private high school in DC.

  “It’s easier.” Asher shoved through the double doors of the ultra modern building into the quad teeming with other Sidwell students heading home for the day.

  “Later,” Harper called as she waited for her driver in the long line of sleek black town cars making their way up the main drive to the school.

  “Let’s go, Valor.” The tall suit lurking behind him closed the space between them.

  “What did I say about codenames, Danny?” Asher’s shoulders slumped at the snickering coming from a group of seniors nearby.

  “Right, not at school, sorry. Let’s go, Asher.” He shoved Asher toward the waiting limousine. “And it’s Special Agent Fuller or Dan. Only my mother gets to call me Danny.” He held the door open for Asher and slid in beside him after checking their surroundings. “Why so glum about the art project?” Dan asked, nodding to the chauffeur to leave along the rear routes reserved for certain students and their drivers.

  “The art part is a no-brainer. I just don’t like group projects.” Asher stared out the window.

  “At least you have Harper on your team. But it wouldn’t kill you to make friends with the other two since you invited them to your house.”

  “I don’t know, it might.” Asher fiddled with his phone in his lap.

  “You have invites to several art shows next month. If you want to show at any of them, we need to know this week so we can get protocol in place.”

  “I’ll let you know.” Asher loved creating art. From painting, sculpting, and digital art to photography, he loved it all—and he liked to think he was pretty good. But the attention he got for his art wasn’t about his art at all, and that made him second-guess his talent. When the whole world kissed your ass because of who your parents were, things like real friends and honest opinions didn’t mean much.

  Asher’s phone buzzed—something it didn’t do often.

  Mom: Stop by the office when you get home from school.

  Ash: Almost there, anything I should worry about?

  She didn’t respond. She was busy, and he was used to it. “Drop me off at the office, will ya?” He slid his earbuds in to drown out Dan’s constant droning.

  He didn’t wait for one of his babysitters to open the door before he hopped out of the limo and entered the building. Asher set off down the wide, shiny hallway to meet his mother, leaving Super Agent Danny to field all the attention-seekers eager to kiss Asher’s butt.

  “Hey, Asher, my man.” Some dude in a suit tried to high-five him as he walked past.

  He just nodded and kept walking, focusing on the beat of the music only he could hear. He paused outside the white paneled door, waiting for permission to enter.

  “Hi, sweetheart,” his mother called from her perch on the sofa where she preferred to work.

  Over the last ten years, Asher had entered the Oval Office thousands of times. He was so young when his dad first landed the top job in the West Wing that the reverence most people held for this room was completely lost on him.

  “We’ve talked about the hoodie, son.” His mom frowned at him. “Don’t cover your beautiful hair.”

  With his natural Afro hair, coupled with hints of his mother’s blond coloring, most people recognized Asher by his hair alone. He shoved his hoodie back and snagged the earbuds out of his ears.

  “What’s up, guys?” He shot a look at his dad behind the Resolute Desk, his feet propped up on top of the antique desk. “You supposed to be there?”

  “Come sit, Asher. Let’s talk about your birthday.” His mom patted the sofa cushion beside her.

  “If the word party comes out of your mouth, I’m bolting for the door.” Asher took the seat by his mother and propped his feet on the coffee table.

  “Feet on the floor, son.”

  “Seriously? What about Dad?” He pointed at his father’s shoes scuffing the priceless furniture.

  A knock at the door interrupted them. “A word?” Senator Montgomery stepped into the room before anyone could respond. “The bill you asked for review, Madam President.” He placed a large binder on the table in front of Asher’s mom.

  “Thank you, Preston,” his mom said without looking up.

  “Bennett, always a pleasure.” Preston Montgomery cast a look of disdain at the former president seated behind the Resolute Desk. “I believe you served your time behind that desk.” The senator tried to make a joke of it, but the wildly conservative Ohio senator wasn’t overly fond of the more liberal First Family.

  “Eight years.” Asher’s dad didn’t budge from his seat. “It kind of grows on you after all that time. This is my thinking spot.”

  “Well, boys, I’m the president now,” Asher’s mom said, “so I don’t mind if my husband keeps my seat warm.” Her winning smile had them all relaxed. She knew how to work a room. It was the reason she was elected eight years after her husband first took the Oval Office. The people loved her, so it looked like Asher and his older sister would be the first First Kids to call the White House home for sixteen years.

  “Please let me know if I can answer any questions for you, Madam President.” Senator Montgomery turned to leave.

  “Oh, I do have one question, Senator.” She turned her smile on Asher.

  Ah crap, I know that smile. It was her shut up and don’t argue with what I’m about to say smile.

  “Asher has a birthday coming up, and we’d be honored if you and your family would attend the party we haven’t told him about yet. It’s been so long since we’ve seen your son, Kenny, around here.”

  Asher winced at the mention of his one-time friend who turned out to be a colossal jerk. They were friends way back before either of their parents were in the national limelight. And even after Asher’s dad was elected President of the United States, he and Kenny spent a lot of time together. But when Asher came out to Kenny at thirteen, he discovered his friend wasn’t such a great friend after all. He seemed fine with it at first, but in the weeks after, Kenny pulled away from him until he finally figured out Kenny’s conservative parents didn’t want him hanging out with a gay kid. After that, Kenny just got mean, spouting some of the same anti-gay garbage his parents did. Asher hadn’t had many friends since then. When you were a seventeen-year-old gay kid living in the White House, it was kinda hard to meet people.

  “Sure, that would be great, Senator Montgomery. I’d love to see Kenny again.” Asher spewed the words his parents expected him to say, trying to hide his smile. He shouldn’t find Kenny’s current situation funny at all. It was just ironic that the kid who refused to be friends with him because he was gay ended up plastered all over the media in a picture, lip locked with Beckett Anderson’s boyfriend.

  “Thank you, Madame President. Kenny’s at school back in Twin Rivers, but I’m afraid he’s not allowed to attend any parties right now. We’ve had some discipline issues with him recently, as I’m sure you can understan
d.” He cast a glance at Asher.

  Uh-oh, abort, abort! The senator hit his mom’s hot button and probably knew it too. President Nora Brooks narrowed her eyes at the senator and his insinuation that Kenny needed to be disciplined for the simple crime of being different.

  “Come now, Senator, Kenny’s one of the most well-behaved kids in the political arena today. You and Victoria should be proud. We insist, please invite your family on our behalf. We’re looking forward to seeing you all there.”

  “Of course, ma’am. We wouldn’t miss it.” He gave a curt nod at Asher and his father before he left.

  “What did I say about a party, Mom?” Asher leaned back, propping his foot over his knee.

  “Oh, so sue me, I want to have a party for my son. I’m such a terrible mother.”

  “Something tells me I’d lose that lawsuit.” Asher threw his head back against the sofa cushions and groaned. “Do we have to make it a State affair? Can we just invite a few people?”

  “No. We’re inviting everyone we know who has kids your age. You need to meet more people and make new friends.”

  “I have Harper.”

  “And we love Harper, but you need boyfriends, darling.”

  “Make her stop talking.” He shot a glare at his father.

  “I don’t perform miracles, son. And your mother is right, you’re like a lone little fish in a sad little bowl here in Washington. You have, like, fifteen people in your class, and I’m willing to bet most of them are assholes—though that’s off the record and doesn’t leave this room. We want you to meet some real people. More like Harper, but you know … boyfriend material.”

  “Oh my God, you guys are trying to get me a boyfriend for my birthday? I think I hate you.” Asher stood, slinging his messenger bag over his shoulder. “Just try to contain yourselves with the party planning, please. And if you expect me to show up, I’m going to need a few people on the guest list I actually like.”

  “Of course, sweetheart, it’s your party. Um, who else do you want to invite besides Harper?”

  “I have other friends, Mom.” He rolled his eyes. “Invite Becks Anderson and his boyfriend Nicky St. Germaine.”

  “Oh, the singer and what’s-his-name’s son?”

  “Grayson St. Germaine,” his dad supplied. “One of the finest NFL players in history.”

  “Yeah, them.”

  “You’ve kept in contact?” His mom looked like she was about to threaten him with hugs, his cue to leave.

  “Yep, so I’ve got homework now.” He darted for the door to the Rose Garden. “I guess, just tell me where to show up and when.” He jogged across the immaculate lawn to the residence, ignoring the people he passed along the way. Super Danny followed on his heels, his constant shadow. Asher charged up the red-carpeted stairs to his bedroom on the third floor. The only people allowed in his room were his parents and, occasionally, the secret service. Asher’s room was his escape. One of the few places in the White House where the tension that was always with him finally eased. Asher grabbed his phone to text Becks and Nicky, but he already had a group text from them.

  Becks: Party at the White House!

  Nicky: We can’t wait to see you. Happy Birthday, and thanks for inviting us.

  Ash: Wow, word gets out fast, I just told her to invite you guys like ten minutes ago.

  Becks: FLOTUS works fast, bro, she called us a few minutes ago. I almost peed my pants.

  Nicky: Babe, she’s not FLOTUS anymore, she’s POTUS now.

  Becks: You know I just pretend to know what that means, right?

  Asher grinned, watching two of his closest friends argue with each other. They were sickeningly sweet, but Asher was secretly jealous of their relationship. He wanted that with someone, but at seventeen, behind the sterile walls of his world guarded by a flock of secret service agents, Asher had never been kissed, much less had a relationship with anyone.

  Ash: I need you two to keep me sane, you know I hate these stuffy official events.

  Nicky: We're here for you, Ash.

  Becks: It’s sweet that your parents want to play matchmaker.

  Nicky: You probably weren’t supposed to say that, honey.

  Becks: Oops.

  Ash: I’m going to kill them.

  Becks: Whatever, we’ll come. I’ll sing. We’ll dance, and if there are cute boys there, even better.

  Ash: Love you guys.

  Asher tossed his phone on the desk. Laying back on his bed, he stared up at the ceiling wondering how many other president’s children felt trapped in this mansion that felt more like a prison than a home.

  3

  Kenny

  Didn’t someone say senior year was supposed to be the time of a high schooler’s life? It got easier, they’d always told him.

  Lies. Kenny scribbled the last of his algebra notes, writing down their homework assignment for the weekend, just as the final bell rang. To his right, Diego Reyes rested his head on his desk, making of mockery of the fact that he was even in this class. Kenny kicked Diego’s desk, jerking the tall boy upright.

  A year ago, Kenny might have given Diego grief for being the ultimate nerd, but then he’d learned what it felt like to have a label plastered across his forehead for the world to see. Now, when he looked at the guy, all he saw was the asshole Kenneth Montgomery once was.

  It had taken a month this year for Diego to even meet his eyes. Kenny hadn’t apologized for how he’d treated him. That wouldn’t do any good, anyway. But the tension between them fell away, and Kenny hoped maybe they could end up being friends of a sort. He was short on friends these days, and Diego looked like he could use one.

  Diego pulled his black-framed glasses from his face and wiped them on his shirt. “I fell asleep again, didn’t I?”

  Kenny laughed. “Dude, why are you even in this class? Shouldn’t you be in like trig or calc instead?”

  “I am.” He shrugged and replaced his glasses. “Algebra’s just an easy grade.”

  “Why do you need an easy A?” Kenny paused. “And how does the school let a math genius take plain-old algebra?”

  “They kind of do whatever I ask them to.” He seemed a little embarrassed by the admission. “And I told them I needed the refresher. I haven’t been in an algebra class since junior high.”

  That was when Kenny remembered the Reyes family was one of the big donors to Defiance Academy. They owned a tech company in Silicon Valley, making apps for the financial industry. And if there was one thing that controlled the academy, it was money. Kenny had benefited from that mind-set as well.

  Slinging his bag over his shoulder, Kenny stood and followed Diego from the classroom. The two couldn’t look more different, Diego with his slim dark looks—inky hair, black stubble coating his chin, and deep brown eyes—and Kenny with his athletic build and boy-next-door style.

  Yet, they came from similar backgrounds. Their wealthy parents shipped them to boarding school to keep them out of the way. It was the story bonding most of the students walking the halls of the prestigious, ivy-covered buildings.

  Diego was quiet for a long moment. “I need an easy class in my schedule. I…don’t exactly have a lot of time to study. Or sleep.”

  Kenny filtered through what he knew of the guy. He wasn’t an athlete. What could take all his time?

  They pushed through the front door of the building, stepping into the chilly late Fall air. The quad stretched between academic buildings. At the end of the school day, it teemed with students.

  Commotion came from Cambridge Hall just across the quad from where they stood. Kenny noticed cameramen before anything else. In some settings, it wouldn’t have been unusual, but the Defiance Academy campus sat behind tall walls to protect the high-profile students from such an event.

  Kenny wasn’t watching where he was going and slammed into someone, gripping their arms to keep them from going down. That was how he found himself face to face with Beckett Anderson.

  Ripping his hands away
as if the country star burned him, he stepped back.

  Becks lifted the sunglasses shielding his eyes from view, pushing them into his hair as he slid his eyes up Kenny. “Hey, Ken doll.”

  “Ken doll?” Diego glanced at Kenny. “I didn’t know you had a doll?”

  A grin slid across Becks’ face as he turned to Diego. “I like you. Let me give you a bit of advice though.” He hooked his thumb toward Kenny. “This is not a guy you want to be friends with.”

  With that, Becks sauntered away, making a beeline for his sister, standing with her arms crossed over her chest and a permanent scowl etched on her face.

  Wylder Anderson did not look happy to see her brother.

  Diego released a nervous laugh. “Who’s that guy?”

  “Do you live under a rock or something?” Kenny sent him a questioning look. How could this guy not have seen the fiasco that was Kenny’s media circus of a summer? The one where a kiss with Beckett’s boyfriend turned Kenny’s closet inside out.

  “Pretty much.” Diego shrugged. “I don’t pay attention to much that goes on at this school. Is he like a sports guy?”

  “Are you asking if he’s a jock?” Kenny wanted to laugh. This kid was clueless. “Becks doesn’t go here, thank God.” He couldn’t imagine having to face Beckett Anderson every day. Kenny had been in love with Nicky, and he’d screwed it up with his stupid fear.

  The girl he’d dumped Nicky for hadn’t even lasted long. Penny graduated last year, and it was a relief to have her gone. Sure, Kenny was attracted to both boys and girls, but only one boy had ever made him feel something.