Page 78 of Bi-Partisan

Chapter 25

Adrian

Song: Oceans Away – ARIZONA

Despite picking a profession that often requires me to wake up early, I’ve never been a morning person. If left to my own devices, I will sleep until at least 9:00 a.m. and stay in bed for at least an hour or two after, cuddling with my cats and reading a book—something Sophie says is called “hurkle-durkle.” According to her, it’s an old Scottish term meaning to lay about in bed past the time you’re supposed to get up. I’m not Scottish, but “hurkle-durkle” sounds a lot better than “my anxiety is trying to convince me that the world outside my bed isn’t a safe place,” or “my cat looked cozy and I didn’t have the heart to move her,” so I go with it.

And when I’m forced to get up early, the waking up process is always slow going and unpleasant. Apparently, not even waking up in Jamie’s arms makes the process more enjoyable. In fact, it kind of has the opposite effect. It makes me want to stay in bed even more. So when the alarm goes off at six thirty, I can’t help but groan and burrow further into the soft, jersey-knit sheets.

His arm tightens around me for a moment, then he’s gone, leaving my back suddenly cold as he turns over to silence the alarm on his phone. Now that the room is quiet, he presses himself along my back again, hugging my waist. He noses at the nape of my neck, then brushes his lips against my skin.

“We need to get up, darlin’,” he murmurs.

I grumble and take his hand to hug it to my chest, effectively keeping him in place. “Ten more minutes.”

He chuckles and kisses the back of my neck again. “Nope, none of that. I know you, which means I know that ten minutes is going to turn into another ten, then another five, and so on, and so on. And while we have plenty of time, I also know you’ll get anxious if you’re not at the train station at least forty minutes before your departure time.”

I let out a heavy sigh. I may not like it, but he’s right. I do get anxious if I don’t get to the train station with plenty of time—worrying that the train will leave early without me, or that there will be something wrong with my ticket that I won’t have time to fix because I’m late. The problem is that I’m also anxious about leaving, so my brain is telling me to delay it for as long as possible.

I slowly turn in his arms to face him, then let my eyes blink open. “Just ten, I promise,” I say before pressing my lips to his, not caring about morning breath.

He hums against my mouth, deepening the kiss ever-so slightly. Then he pulls away with a sigh, and I know I’ve won when he rolls over to set a timer on his phone. “Fine, ten more minutes,” he says as he returns and drapes his arm over my waist again.

I’m tempted to close my eyes and snooze for another ten minutes, but then I remember that this will be the last time I see him until September when the House is back in session and he’ll be back in DC—and who knows if I’ll get to see him then. He’ll probably be just as busy there as he will be here for the next month.

So instead, I thread my fingers through his sleep-mussed hair and kiss him. Ten minutes isn’t really enough time to do anything, but that doesn’t stop me from pulling his bottom lip between mine. Or from licking into his mouth when he lets out a surprised gasp. It also doesn’t stop him from rolling me onto my back and settling over me or sliding up my T-shirt as his fingers explore my waist.

I hook my legs around him to bring him closer, earning a soft groan that has me smiling against his lips in response. When I pull gently at his hair, he groans again.

Then, his mouth disappears from mine. “Adrian,” he says, almost like a warning.

“Shh.” I lift my head and kiss him again briefly. “Seven more minutes, baby,” I say before another kiss, although I have no idea if that’s accurate or not.

He grumbles, and I let my head fall back to the pillow so I can study his face. It looks like about a thousand thoughts are running through his head at once—something I’m more than familiar with.

My hand loosens on his hair and moves to cup his cheek instead. “What is it?”

His head turns so he can press a kiss to my palm, which somehow makes me feel more light-headed than when his tongue was in my mouth a few seconds ago.

“I want to keep doing exactly what we were doing, including what it would lead to if we had time,” he says, hesitant.

“We have a little time,” I offer, desperate to still put our six minutes to good use.

“Which is what part of my brain is telling me, but there’s another part that doesn’t want to risk it because I don’t want you to get anxious because we’re running behind the schedule we discussed last night. Then there’s another part reminding me that even if your train wasn’t a factor, I still wouldn’t have time because I need to get to work.” He says it in a rush, his own anxiety plain in his voice.

It’s like a bucket of cold water for the warm, floaty feeling I had moments ago. Of course he has to get to work. He already spent three, probably valuable campaign days with me, and now I’m asking for more. I’m being selfish, which is so unlike me. I don’t even know where it’s coming from.

The realization must pass over my face because Jamie’s eyes soften with concern.

“No, it’s okay,” I say before he can say whatever apology is on his tongue. “You have a lot to do. People need you, and I understand that. Your job is more important—”

“No,” he says so firmly that I nearly flinch. “My job is important, yes, but it is not more important, okay? You are also important.” He punctuates the statement with a hard and fast kiss before I can react. “And so is getting you to the train so you can get home to your fur babies.”

“They’re cats, not fur babies,” I say flatly.

“I watched you swaddle Joseph up in a blanket and carry him around just last week,” he retorts.

“He likes it,” I say defensively.

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