Page 40 of Bi-Partisan

“Well, you’re right about me not being able to help, at least directly, since you’re not my district and neither is the rescue. But I definitely know people. I’m on the Oversight Committee with Congresswoman Sanderson—the DC delegate—and we’re pretty friendly, so I’ll talk to her tomorrow to see if she can do anything.”

He lets out a sigh of relief. “Thank you. I really appreciate it.”

“Of course. It’s my pleasure,” I say, smiling even though I know he can’t see it. “I’ll also start looking into federal grants. It’ll have to be in my off time since, again, technically I can’t do any official work for someone outside my constituency, but—”

“You don’t have to do that,” he blurts. “You work enough as it is, so I don’t want to inconvenience you.”

“Helping you with something that clearly means something to you isn’t an inconvenience to me,” I say sincerely. I want to say that he isn’t an inconvenience to me, which I’m almost certain is what he actually meant, but I don’t want to push it.

“I don’t want to get you in trouble, though,” he says.

“You won’t,” I insist. “If there is a grant or federal funding, I’ll direct you and the rescue to Congresswoman Sanderson’s office to apply for it. But I can still help research. I promised you I’d help, and I follow through on my promises. But promises aside, I want to help with this. Getting to help with things like this makes all the bullshit that goes along with this job worth it.”

He says nothing for a moment, long enough that I start to feel a little nervous myself.

“Adrian?”

“Yeah, sorry, I’m here,” he says quickly. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” I say, then before I can muffle it, a yawn escapes. “Ugh sorry. Trains do really drain me, and I’ve been trying to cut back on my caffeine intake.”

“Heeding my advice and taking better care of yourself?” he says, almost teasing.

“More like trying to heed the advice of my doctor, so I don’t do irreparable damage to my esophagus, but as you can probably guess, I kind of suck at it,” I tease back.

“Are you alright?” he asks, suddenly concerned.

“Oh, yeah. My doctor thinks I have GERD—acid reflux,” I amend since I’ve had to explain it to most people I’ve mentioned it to.

“Yeah, I’m familiar,” he says.

“Right, I wasn’t sure how much you know about human ailments,” I say with a small laugh.

“Not a lot, although enough to administer first aid in an emergency. But actually, dogs and some cats can get acid reflux.”

“Really?” I ask, suddenly fascinated.

“Yeah, it’s more common in brachycephalic breeds,” he explains, then adds, “uh, the flat-faced breeds, like pugs.”

“Thanks for that. I had no idea what brachy—you know what? I’m not even gonna try,” I say, earning a laugh. “But anyway, I’m fine. You don’t need to worry about me,” I say, although from what I learned during our conversation last night, telling him not to worry about something is probably like telling a bird not to fly. “I have also taken your advice and am currently at home cleaning instead of at work, though—which I realize probably doesn’t sound like relaxing, but it’s also very necessary since I’ve been neglecting it.”

“Self-care can’t always just be face masks or bubble baths,” he says.

I grin as the image of him in a bathtub wearing a sheet mask and cucumbers on his eyes pops into my head, and surprisingly, I find it more endearing than arousing. “Is that what you do for self care?”

“More like reading a book with a blanket and a cat on my lap and a record on in the background. And yes, I’m fully aware that makes me sound like a grandpa.”

I laugh because it definitely does, but somehow that image is even better than the bathtub one. Oh my god, I need to get a grip.

“Is that what you were doing when I called?” I ask.

“Perhaps,” he says slowly.

And I can’t help laughing again. “Well, I’ll let you get back to it, then.”

“Actually, um, I had another… I guess favor to ask.”

“What’s up?”

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