“Will you just loosen your tie like I always watch you do?Please?It’smy favorite part of the day.” I barely recognize the sound of my own voice. It’s hoarse and husky as a porn star with strep throat.
He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “Okay, so this has officially become a problem. If I’m not going to see you tonight, when will I?”
“Well, you haven’t exactly taken me on a real date yet.”
“And what do you call the shooting range? That was some of my best work.”
“My mom always told me to find a guy who would treat me like gold. I’m not sure I would describe firearm instruction aslike gold.”
“You’ve obviously been dating the wrong guys.”
I smack him.
“I’m kidding. I wouldn’t dream of disappointing Beverly.” He takes my hands in his. “Kate, are you free to go out with me tomorrow evening on arealdate?”
“I believe I am.”
“Good. Then it’s a date.”
“Good.”
We grin at each other, two teenagers playing hooky. I fuss with his tie, which has gone askew from my groping. Oh, who am I kidding? I’ll find any excuse to touch him. I’m seventeen again and want to make out by the lockers—or, you know, up against the door of Hart’s seventh-floor women’s restroom.
“I don’t want to go back,” I whisper against his mouth.
His eyes flame. “You want to meet here again this afternoon?”
We make another bathroom date for three o’clock.
When I get back to the office, Stephen raises his hands in question. “Where’s my coffee?”
“Oh, um... the line was too long. I’ll go back later.”
He shoots me a funny look as I retreat to my office and shut the door. I’m overheating again, so I strip off my jacket and fan myself with a file folder—then glance out the window.
Ben’s watching me and wearing a big smile.
Chapter 25
Monday passes in a flurry of texts, mostly silly, unimportant things that make me giggle: screenshots of our step counts to taunt each other; an update about a lingering smell in one of the Dirksen committee rooms; Ben’s observations of the shameless nose picker in the office two windows below mine; a story about a new intern in his office who quit after just two hours of answering the phones. It’s all the normal, mundane parts of the day that are only interesting to others who are living it, and it’s ridiculously fun to have someone to share it with.
I’m also discovering how thoughtful he is. On his way back from meetings, he texts to see if he can grab me coffee or food. He makes me promise not to stay late since he can’t walk me home tonight. He congratulates me on some positive press Carol received for a bill she’s cosponsoring. It’s wonderful. Also, weird. The evolution of our relationship is so improbable, I feel like I should buy a lottery ticket.
On Tuesday we’re both out of the office for large chunks of the day, which means no steamy bathroom trysts. Sad trombone. By the time I meet him in the lobby at six o’clock, I’m so eager to see him I’m ready to jump out of my skin. We’re not two minutes away from our building before he nudges me, dropping his mouth to my ear.
“Are we out of jail? Is the coast clear?”
I make a dramatic show of looking around. “I think so,” I whisper back.
He leans over and kisses me, like it’s the most natural thing in the world to do, like he’s done it a million times before. It’s short and sweet, the equivalent of a welcome-home kiss from a significant other—nothing like what I know he’s capable of—yet something about its inherent possessiveness makes me weak in the knees.
He takes my hand in his, interlacing our fingers. “Any ideas on where we’re going?”
The only hint he’s given me was a cryptic text I received late last night asking me if I had cowboy boots, to which I’d flippantly responded:
Me: What kind of Tennessee girl do you think I am? Of course I own cowboy boots.
“A country concert? Some sort of live music?” I guess like this is the first I’ve considered it and didn’t spend my day obsessively googling which bands are in town.
