Presidential Pursuit: A Kamala Harris lesbian love story

Chapter 17

Christmas Eve

"I'm outside."

"Coming, dear."

"Hurry up! I'm dying to see you."

She swung the door open with the phone to her ear and ended the call once our eyes met.

"Dying, huh?"

"Suffering. You have no idea."

Once I stepped inside and the door closed, I dropped my bag on the floor and walked up to her, gently throwing both arms over her shoulders and clasping my hands behind her neck. Her arms did the same, gliding around my waist, and we softly swayed for a few seconds, just looking at each other.

"Hi."

"Hi."

She looked down at my lips, and I took that as a hint to close the gap. It was a soft peck. Gentle. Her lips brushed against mine, and then suddenly everything was calm again. Although I was eager to come over, anxiety overwhelmed me in the hours leading up to my arrival. I'm an overthinker. I ran through every scenario, every conversation we might've had today. Everything that could go wrong, everything that could go right. But it didn't matter. Things were always so natural between us; there was no need to plan. I forget that.

"Nothing new, but you look beautiful..." I said examining her features.

Looking down and lightly shaking her head, she giggled.

She was wearing jeans and that goddamn white button-up, sleeves rolled up to her elbows.

"What's in the bag?" she asked curiously.

"Nunya."

She furrowed her brows at me. "What's nunya?"

"Nunya business..." I smirked.

"OHHH! Yeah, you're not getting anything tonight." She chuckled.

"No! Wait I'm sorry! I just had to; it's too easy with you."

"Easy huh? We'll see about that, dear," she said, rolling her eyes. "Come. Dinner's almost ready."

Dinner is her; so is dessert, but I decided to zip my lips.

She took my hand and led me to the living room. We both sat next to each other in the middle of the couch. Grabbing the remote, she began sifting through titles.

"What are we watching, Madam President?"

"Polar Express."

I audibly groaned and threw my head back on the headrest. "Ughh, can we watch something else? I've seen that movie a million times."

"No. My house, my rules," she said, looking at me smugly.

"Those kids are all idiots."

"You should relate then."

My mouth opened at the insult, and I stared at her, dumbfounded.

"It's a joke, Emily! But if you take such offense, that should tell you something, dear."

My mouth opened even wider. "Holy Jesus Christ, is it 'Be Mean to Emily' day? I thought it was Christmas," I said dramatically.

I knew it was a joke—very lighthearted—but it hit me on a deeper level than it should've. Yes, I am an idiot. A dumb fool. Look at where I am! Sneaking around with the freaking president of the United States. I don't think that's what makes me an idiot, though. It's the fact that I don't care. Not one bit. I'm past the point of rationalizing this; I just wanna live it. Spend as much time with her as possible until everything inevitably comes crashing down.