To win this election, I should be trying to kiss babies, not my best friend! 
 
My chances of reelection have gone from slam dunk to nose dive.
 
What happened? A former hookup sold me out to the press, complete with screenshots. In my defense, between being mayor and parenting twins (double the puberty!), I have zero room for relationships that go beyond one night.
 
My campaign manager says I need to change the narrative, aka get a boyfriend ASAP to make me seem more (ugh) likeable. The only person I trust with this ruse is my charming best friend Dusty.
 
Despite living 3,000 miles apart, thanks to endless text chains and 2 a.m. phone calls, we’ve been the constant in each other’s lives, navigating through single dad fails (me) and breakups with cruel ex-girlfriends (all him).
 
Each day we spend as fake boyfriends feels more real, which is odd because Dusty is straight.
 
And yet our playful banter is shifting from friendly to flirty.
 
And he doesn’t stop holding my hand when the crowds leave.
 
And was he always this attractive?
 
With reporters sniffing for the truth, exploring these feelings could mean the implosion of my political career and our friendship.