Chapter Twelve
Now
You know how good it feels when you’re lying in bed and stretch out against clean, cool, crisp sheets?
It feels even better when the man you love is lying next to you when you do it. I doze off again and awaken facing Daniel with him snuggling me, my head in the crook of his shoulder and his arms encircling me.
He kisses the top of my head. “There’s my sleepy guy.”
I draw in a slow, deep breath. “Maybe I shouldn’t run for a third term.”
“Whoa.” He rolls me onto my back and stares down into my eyes. “What’s bringing this up?”
I want to sayeverything, but that’s not the truth.
The best I can do is distill it into the strongest thought beating through my soul right now. “Because I want every day to be like this.”
He softly sighs and kisses me, back to what passes for equals between us and not my needy, borderline desperate boy of earlier. “I’m not ready to move on to another job yet. The congressman’s chairing Ways and Means now. I like the things we’re doing. I like being part of all of that.”
“I know.”
“You don’t need to decide to run again right now. You don’t need to declare for almost three years. That’s a lot of time for circumstances to change. With Samuels taking office, that’s eight years of possibly getting a lot of really good shit done, long as the blue majority holds.”
I nod. “I know.”
“Your poll numbers are still better than any potential GOP contender, too.”
I arch an eyebrow. “You saw some internals?”
He smiles. “Maaaaybe. Names are already being floated. A little birdie sent me a Dropbox link, so I peeked.” His smile fades. “We have a good majority in the Senate, but not a veto-proof one.”
“I’d be fifty at the start of a third term. Six more years where my prime’s slipping away. You still going to want me working that hard? You’ll only be forty-two.”
“That’s still young, babe. Say you run for a third term and then retire. That’s eighteen years of doing what you said you always wanted to do, and that’s make a difference.”
“But am I? Really?”
He sits up. “Dude, don’t make me regurgitate your legislative history during post-coital cuddles. Please?”
I love how he believes in me even when I don’t believe in myself.
Especially when I don’t believe in myself.
He doesn’t bullshit me, either. If he thinks I’m being a dumbass, he calls me out on it. I didn’t marry a doormat—I married a smart, sexy, independent man who deserves for me to be the best man I can be. To challenge me as his husband and as a senator.
To help me stay on the right path.
If you think that makes me “less dominant,” then fuck you. I’m comfortable enough to know when I need someone pointing out parts of my life where I need to do more work to improve.
“What if I retire at the end of this term and be your house husband?”
He pretends to gag. “Like you’d be happy doing that. You’d end up working, no matter what. It drives you. You’re like that as an attorney, and you’re like that as a lawmaker. How many clients do you still represent for the firm?”
I sigh. “Ten.”
“Ten.” He pokes me in the chest. “Who spent an hour yesterday reviewing paperwork for one of those clients?”
“Me,” I mutter.
