I’m noting everything he tells me, of course, because you know damn well I’m going to investigate him, Stella, and his parents.
Hey, if I’m dating the guy, I want to know what I’m dealing with. The landmines. The obstacles.
When he talks about Stella, I sense a little…tone there, and it makes me once again press.
“My little sister can be a pain in the ass, sometimes,” I offer, “but I love her. She’s a practicing psychologist and loves trying to analyze me.”
He snorts. “Yeah, Iwishthat was Stella’s problem. She’s a brat.”
Obviously, he means that word in a different context than where my mind goes, at first. “Little sisters can be…trying.”
“No, it’s more than that.” He turns his face toward me, nuzzling my abs. “It’s like now that I’m in DC, she thinks I’m some sort of favor dispenser. Keeps wanting to set up meetings for me with people to talk to me.”
That concerns me. Quid pro quo like that is illegal. “Do you take the meetings?”
“Rarely. And only after staff goes through everything first. And no, I haven’t said yes to anything, even after a meeting. She’s starting to piss me off, because her requests are always a waste of time for me and staff. I’m about ready to tell her to knock it the hell off.”
I relax a little but I’m already finding myself not liking Stella, even though I suspect I’ll never meet her.
Not as Elliot’sboyfriend, anyway. Maybe as a friend, or vaguely described as Secret Service, or subterfuge like that.
“What kind of meetings?”
“Well, the most recent one, a few weeks ago, it turned out the guy was a preacher who wanted me to introduce legislation to ‘protect’ religion in schools. I almost threw him out of my office.”
“Almost?”
“Well, I did throw him out, but I was polite about it. I stood up, told him that unless he was prepared to protect all religions in schools, including Islam and the Church of Satan, he’d better give up that idea. And I bid him a good day.”
I snicker. “Good for you.”
“Oooh, Stella was pissed off at me for that one, too. I heard about it from her the next day. Let’s just say I’m not looking forward to the holidays this year.”
“What about when you go home to visit between sessions?”
“I rarely see my parents then. I’ll swing by their place when I know they’re busy, say hi, and tell them I’m off to work again.”
“You have a house there?” Yes, I’m trying to figure out how to finagle a visit there where I can spank his ass and make him howl without anyone hearing us.
“Nope. I’m living in the back room of my office space. It’s in a strip mall and the rent’s ridiculously cheap compared to some other places. I don’t have a huge staff, and we have two large offices we don’t need, because I also rent the space next door for my campaign. It’s a different address. So I put a lock on one of the office doors in the back and stuck a futon inside it. There’s a twenty-four-hour gym next door with showers and everything. We already have a bare-bones kitchen with a fridge, sink, microwave, and hot plate. There’s a laundromat at the other end of the complex, and a grocery store across the street, so I have everything I need right there. Don’t even need a car. I call a cab, or use a ride-share service, or a staffer drives me.”
“How, exactly, do they let you get away with that? Your parents, I mean.”
“Their house isn’t accessible. Old, two-story house, and the bathrooms are tiny. But the gym, and my office, I’m happy to say, are both fully ADA compliant for access by people with disabilities. Before I go shower, I take Duck off and use my wheelchair. They have a couple of showers that have seats in them. And, of course, I do work out there.”
I can’t help it—I laugh at his playful smirk. “You tricky pet.” I lean in and kiss him. “That’s brilliant.”
He shrugs and looks pleased with himself. “It really is a savings. I can’t afford two homes on my salary. I refuse to walk around with my hand out to take money from lobbyists, either. If some Congressmen can sleep in their offices here, to save them money, why can’t I sleep in my office there and keep my apartment here? I pay my office rent for the percentage of floor space I take up and the amount of time I’m actually living there. Made sure I was doing everything legally, verified it with the ethics office.”
“And your parents never come to DC?”
“Nope. They have no desire to. And I despise flying, so I don’t go back to Nebraska more than I have to. I hold video conferencing with constituents at my office there while I’m here. I’ve framed it as saving their tax dollars. My staff out there reminds them that with my ‘disability,’ travel is trickier for me.” He wears that playful smirk I know will be my undoing. “I hate using that as an excuse, but it works in my favor.”
We sit there, me massaging his scalp as we gaze into each other’s eyes and talk. I can’t remember the last time I did this with someone.
I could talk to him all night.
“What’s your big goal?” I eventually ask. “Long-term?”
