Parties in Congress (24 page)

“And number two?”

“It makes me want to jump you…something fierce,” Bijal said in a throaty voice.

Colleen was nearly as startled as she was breathless. “Have I told you how much I love your candor?”

“Really?” Bijal seemed pleasantly surprised by the admission.

“Mmm-hmm, it’s nice not having to guess what you’re thinking.”

“Even when it’s terribly inappropriate?”

“Oh,
especially
then,” Colleen replied suggestively. Her heart was racing.

Bijal leaned closer. “You may be the only person in the world who appreciates that about me.”

“Perhaps that’s because you don’t share such complimentary information with everyone.”

“So if I’m saying something less pleasant, like ‘hey, asshole, you suck,’ that might be why it’s not well received?”

Colleen bit her thumbnail in amusement. “I think that hypothesis has merit, yes.”

“You have a great vocabulary, Colleen. It illustrates how deliciously brainy you are.”

“Hmm, you’re no slouch yourself. You know, we probably shouldn’t be so free with our praise of each other. We’re only making the tension more unbearable.”

“Are you implying that it’s not really a hundred ten degrees in here?”

Colleen nodded. “Exactly. You’re making it a bit of a challenge to keep this platonic—coming in here looking so sexy, filling your mouth with fish in the most provocative manner possible, then casually mentioning that you want to jump me.”

The corner of Bijal’s mouth quirked upward. “I didn’t realize that I was eating any particular way.”

“Oh, trust me, you are.” Colleen pushed her chair away from the table and picked up her water glass on her way into the kitchen. As she reached the refrigerator, she realized she was being a bad host. “I’m sorry, did you want more water?”

“Sure,” Bijal replied, standing to bring her glass over. “More ice would be great too.”

They shared smoldering eye contact until Colleen became suddenly self-conscious and pointed to the ice dispenser on the outside of the fridge. “Crushed or cubed?”

“Crushed, please.”

Colleen slid the switch over to the crushed setting and watched Bijal press her glass against the levers one at a time until her water glass was suitably refilled. Then Bijal raised the frosty beverage to her lips and drank. How she turned that simple act into something so erotic, Colleen wasn’t sure.

Colleen let her gaze drift down to Bijal’s neckline where just enough cleavage peeked out from her collar, enticing with the promise of breasts so remarkable that they might sing when her bra came undone. She then let her eyes wander to Bijal’s silver necklace, where the clasp had worked its way to the front, near the pendant.

“Make a wish,” Colleen said softly, setting down her glass and sliding the clasp around to behind Bijal’s neck.

Bijal looked both overwhelmed and out of breath. “I wish you’d just kiss me,” she whispered.

Colleen, for once, made no effort to stop and assess the ramifications of her actions. She didn’t weigh the pros and cons. She merely accepted the hushed entreaty and met Bijal’s lips with hers.

What initially felt foreign was, in an instant, sensual and sublime. She was captivated by the way Bijal’s mouth moved against her own, the way she nibbled at her lower lip. Colleen moaned instinctively as Bijal pulled away.

“Oh, my God,” Bijal rasped, out of breath. “Why did you do that?”

Colleen’s head was still spinning and adrenaline was shooting through her body like lightning. “You asked me to.”

“But if I’d known you kiss like that…I mean, how will I be able to think about anything else now?”

Colleen began kissing Bijal’s neck, unable to suppress the urge any longer. “You’re saying it was too good?” she murmured.

“Mmm-hmm.”

“I didn’t realize there was any danger of that.”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“Maybe I can make it bad for you,” Colleen offered as she pulled back to see Bijal’s face.

“You think?”

“I’ll do my best,” Colleen said, pressing her lips once again to Bijal’s.

This time, Colleen encircled Bijal’s waist with her hands until they rested on her arresting bottom, which felt just as marvelous as she had imagined it would. Bijal’s mouth opened ever so slightly, which Colleen interpreted as an implicit invitation. She increased the pressure as her ardor began to utterly consume her. She slid her tongue past Bijal’s lips and was rewarded with Bijal’s tongue in return.

She wanted nothing more than to spend the next forty-eight hours this way—tasting Bijal and feeling all the sensations she evoked.

Bijal drew back again, the desire evident on her face. “You call that bad? I don’t think you were even
trying
to make that unpleasant.”

“Um…I thought I was. But that was pretty incredible, wasn’t it?”

“That was definitely in the top five kisses of all time,” Bijal replied, resting her head on Colleen’s shoulder and running her hand slowly down Colleen’s back. “We may have crossed that line.”

“Agreed,” Colleen said, enjoying their embrace.

“What do we do now?”

“Try, try again?”

Bijal grinned. “I like that you take pride in your work, I really do. But we should stop before this escalates into something hot, sweaty, and…carnal.”

“I’m sorry, was the word ‘stop’ somewhere in that sentence?”

Bijal’s eyes were dark and filled with hunger. “It was,” she whispered before kissing Colleen again, this time softly and briefly. “But when can we get together again?”

Bijal propped her elbow on the kitchen counter, impatiently staring at the coffee maker and mentally willing it to brew faster.

Fran shuffled out of her bedroom wearing an inside-out bathrobe and fuzzy bunny slippers. She pulled up a chair at the kitchen table and slowly sat, making a sound similar to what a leaky Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade balloon might make.

“You look like hell,” Bijal said.

“Go ahead and bust my balls, but I’ll bet my Friday night was ten times better than yours—and that’s just counting the parts I can remember.”

The muscles in Bijal’s jaw tensed. “Fran, despite what you think, you don’t know shit.”

“I know that last night your boss appeared on local TV looking like an incognito zombie and announced that she had syphilis.”

“I’d correct you but, sadly, that’s pretty close.”

“You don’t seem as upset as I expected. What, did you win a bet that she would publicly self-destruct?”

“Yes, I had ‘on-air STD admission’ in the fuck-up pool,” Bijal said sarcastically as she poured her lollygagging coffee and held the hot mug reverently, hoping the contents would not only warm her body, but also nourish her soul.

“Well, congratulations. I hope the prize was a new job.”

“Nope, all I won was a sense of impending disaster and a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.” Bijal filled a steaming cup for Fran and handed it to her before sitting across from her.

“Thanks. You’re still in an inexplicably good mood.”

“That’s because I went on a date last night.”

Fran’s face lit up. “Thank God! Where’d you meet her?”

“Um…at the debate,” Bijal said softly, looking at the tabletop. “She left a note on my car.”

“Ooh! Is she hot?”

“Astoundingly.”

“And she was at the debate, saw you, and was smitten?” Fran took a sip of coffee.

“So she said,” Bijal replied evasively.

“Where’d y’all go?”

“Her place.”

Fran looked surprised. “Wow, making up for lost time? Does she have one of those sex swings?”

Bijal shook her head. “There was no sex. Though, admittedly, I can’t say it didn’t cross my mind.”

“What’s her name?”

“Huh?”

“Her name,” Fran repeated, her tone slightly more stern.

“Um…hmm.”

“Oh, Jesus. It was O’Bannon, wasn’t it?”

“Or an incredible look-alike.”

“What the hell are you doing, Bij?”

Bijal rubbed her forehead in frustration. “We kept it PG-rated. Well, if you don’t count the Surly Fellatrix.”

Fran stared for a moment with her mouth hanging open. “What happened to your professional decorum? I thought you decided to wait until the election was over.”

“It turns out that the main thing that the two of us have in common is a shameful lack of impulse control,” Bijal said sheepishly.

Fran sat back, crossing her arms and glaring.

Bijal was somewhat incredulous. “I’m sorry, I’m finding it amazing that the woman who slept with her married statistics professor is sitting here, no doubt covered in dried beer and urine, judging me for just having dinner with someone to whom I’m genuinely attracted.”

“Dr. Adams was separated from her husband at the time,” Fran said defensively. “And I’ll have you know that I learned a
lot
about math from her.”

“I’ll bet you did. If you’re riding on a northbound professor who’s had two and a half glasses of Chablis, and her husband is on a southbound train going forty miles per hour, approximately how long will it take you to get expelled?”

“If I’m careful, I won’t. And don’t try to change the subject.”

Bijal took another swig of java. “I’m not changing the subject, just providing a methodical walkthrough of your fragile glass house and very impressive stone collection.”

“I’m not the one who claims to have scruples.”

“Sad but true.”

“And I’m happy to report that I’m urine-free this morning,” Fran said, tugging on the lapel of her robe.

“That’s three mornings in a row,” Bijal said, her voice rife with condescension. “Good for you. Remember, baby steps.”

“So back to
your
night of indulgence.”

“Again, all we did was have dinner.”

“At her place,” Fran added with more than a hint of innuendo.

“She wanted to make sure we wouldn’t be seen together, now that everyone knows her from TV.”

Fran blew into her coffee mug. “She’s smooth. I’ll give her that. Did it occur to you that she might have a nanny-cam set up to catch you two…fraternizing?”

Bijal nearly laughed. “In an effort to stop the runaway momentum of Mayor Denton’s campaign and her magical mystery infection? Doubtful.”

“You have a hell of a lot more to lose than O’Bannon does. Everyone knows she’s gay, and she’s already leading in the polls. If you get discovered, not only do you get outed without knowing how the NRCC will respond, you get to look like some kind of sex spy too.”

“Colleen’s not like that, Fran.”

“How do you know?” Fran asked with a scowl. “It sounds like you’re starting to believe her campaign ads.”

“Well, she
does
have some very good commercials.”

“You’re killing me with this shit. Are you serious?”

“No, I’m not,” Bijal snapped. “But I
am
serious when I tell you that Colleen happens to have a great deal of personal integrity.”

“Which is why she’s trying to bang someone who works for her opposition,” Fran replied.

Bijal was surprised at how serious Fran was being. “Look, there was no banging. Though, trust me, if she’d really made an effort, she’d have had me.”

“Uh…wow. I wasn’t expecting that. You’re not concerned at all about the possibility that if this comes out, your career is over?”

“Don’t think I’m being cavalier about this.”

“I’ll tell you what I think,” Fran said abruptly.

“Okay.”

“You’ve completely immersed yourself in this campaign, to the detriment of your personal life and your mental health. In the haze of fatigue brought on by being overworked, managed by incompetents, and isolated from all other lesbians except for one, you’ve developed an unnatural attraction for said muff-diver at hand—partially because of the illicit danger she represents.”

“Where did all that come from?”

“I fucked my abnormal-psych professor too.”

“The obese guy with the prosthetic hand? Dr. Dernwaller?”

“Okay, not really. I just thought you might give my argument more credence if it could possibly have come from someone else.”

“Someone whose professional opinion you could have consulted at some point between all the grunting and rug burn? Not really, no.”

Fran’s eyebrows rose as she no doubt considered that. “Regardless, I think I’m right.”

“You usually do.”

“You’re coming out with me tonight.”

Bijal scoffed. “Oh, no, I’m not having you fix me up with anyone. We’ve gone down that road before too many times.”

“What do you mean?”

“Are you joking?” Bijal was almost unable to finish the question because of her laughter. “Have you forgotten the girl you set me up with who called me ‘sugar box’ all night?”