Chapter Six. Colleen smiled as she held eye contact with Bijal

Colleen smiled as she held eye contact with Bijal. “I am, as a matter of fact. Sue and I are just old friends. We went to high school together.”

“That’s nice,” Bijal replied, the relief that this fascinating and sexy woman was unattached warring internally with her common sense.

“It is, yeah. She’s done a lot to organize the statewide LGBT community not to just be more politically active, but to work on both my campaigns. They’ve been very supportive, and their involvement has proved invaluable.”

“So, do you date?” Bijal asked, feeling emboldened by her deepening connection with Colleen. Heat surged through her, and while she wasn’t exactly sure just how much the alcohol had prompted, she was determined to do a little research on the issue.

“I date, I just haven’t recently.”

“Do you think your election could handle that?”

Colleen’s gaze traveled up to the ceiling for a moment. “Are you implying that I’m a more palatable lesbian when I’m single?”

“Exactly,” Bijal said, pouring herself another whiskey. “You’re kind of like an unloaded gun—an antique one with a fancy pearl handle.”

“Should I stop this simile before you start speculating on how I might feel in your hand?”

“No, I mean everyone knows how a gun works, what it does. And as long as there aren’t any bullets in it, even someone who doesn’t like guns can admire one without feeling threatened.”

“While that may be, I’m firmly opposed to pretending or hiding something to get votes. I’m more the open-book type.”

Bijal took another sip of her drink. “You must drive your campaign staff crazy.”

“I think they appreciate my frankness,” Colleen said, putting her chin in her hand.

“You don’t constantly decline their ideas and tactics?”

“My staff understands that I have a philosophy of no pandering. I’m not capable of it, even if I wanted to—which I don’t. So when you stop and look at it that way, I’m refreshingly reliable in my opinions. It makes strategy sessions much shorter and keeps the flip-flopping to a minimum.”

“Yeah, believe me, I know. I’ve dug through your record with a microscope.”

“See?” Colleen asked. “If I’m pissing y’all off, I must be doing something right. But we should probably stop talking about this.”

Bijal felt a small pang of guilt for crossing over the agreed-upon threshold of what they could discuss. “You know, it’s infuriating how likable you are.”

Colleen sipped on her straw. “Would it make it easier for you if I was a violent bitch?”

“I’m not sure. Would you leave the red handprint of love?” Bijal punctuated the question with her best attempt at a leer.

Colleen covered her mouth with her hand in what appeared to be a polite attempt to hide her amusement. “I hope you didn’t drive here. You took a cab, right?”

“No, I drove,” she replied, finishing her drink. “Why?”

“You may be just a little tipsy.”

“Yeah, I probably should have eaten more of my faggity-ass fries.” Just saying the words cracked Bijal up, and she giggled for several seconds while Colleen simply watched. “It’s all right. I’ll just call my roommate. She’ll come get me.”

Removing her cell phone from her pocket, she dialed her home number and was frustrated when she got their voice mail. “Hey, Fran. It’s Bijal, and I’m sitting here at the bar with none other than my opponent, who has been very commodious…um, wait. I don’t think that’s the right word. Anyway, I need a ride home, so spit out that snatch and come and get me.” With that, she closed her phone and slipped it back into her pocket.

“Well,” Colleen said with a smile. “How can she refuse a sweet, helpless request like that?”

Bijal continued laughing. “Was that rude of me?”

“Only if she actually listens to that voice mail while she’s servicing someone. In which case, I think she’d have you beat in the rudeness department.”

“Oh, good point.”

“Do you live nearby?” Colleen asked.

“No, I live in DC.”

“How about I give you a ride?”

Bijal considered the offer. “But I called Fran.”

“But you didn’t reach her. What if her phone is off? Or the battery is dead? Come on, I can’t leave you all the way out here. It’ll take her at least forty-five minutes just to drive out here, and just as long to get back.”

Bijal was warming to the thought of being alone with Colleen in a car for an hour or so. “Well, if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all. It’s partially my fault that you drank so much, so it’s only right.”

Bijal stared at her for a moment. “You’re so fucking fair, it’s just wrong.”

“Maybe I’ll make that my e-mail auto-signature,” Colleen said, standing and removing two twenty-dollar bills from her pocket and tossing them on the counter. “Hey, Sue, she needs to leave her car here, okay?”

Sue approached them slowly with a smirk. “Sure thing. What kind of car is it, sweetie?”

“A blue Subaru.” Bijal stood up and realized she was a little less sure on her feet than she’d expected. “Um, what do I owe?”

“It’s all taken care of,” Colleen replied.

“Wait, that’s not right. I can’t let you pay for me.”

“You can buy the faggity-ass food next time, okay?”

Bijal started to nod, then stopped suddenly. “Wait, are you okay to drive?”

“Yeah, I’ve been drinking iced tea.”

“You two have a good night,” Sue said, clearing the counter. “And don’t forget this.” She held out the autographed copy of You Fist My Heart.

Colleen snatched the paperback from her with a grin. “Thanks, Sue. See you next week.”

Sue waved. “G’night.”

Bijal followed Colleen outside, past a small group of women smoking, and started scanning the parked vehicles to see if she could pick out which one was Colleen’s. Not seeing anything particularly unusual, she turned back and saw Colleen undoing the bungee cord on the back of a sleek silver motorcycle. “That isn’t yours, is it?”

Colleen was unfastening two helmets secured there. “You think you’ll be able to hang on?”

Bijal’s fuzzy brain couldn’t process much beyond the image of riding behind Colleen, plastered to the back of her like a hot towel. Suddenly, as though God himself had intervened, her cell phone rang. Still operating on autopilot, she pulled out the phone, opened it, and hit the Speaker button. “Hello?”

“Bijal?” She instantly recognized Fran’s voice as it boomed into the night air. “Are you telling me that you’re with that hot piece of congressional ass, and you didn’t immediately call and invite me out there so I could throw myself at her and try to dry-hump her on the dance floor?”

“Uh…” Bijal felt like her mind was processing a million pieces of information simultaneously, yet she was still unable to form a single word for a coherent response.

“Now hold on,” Fran continued, her voice blaring across the parking lot. “Can you not speak because your mouth is full of—”

“Ahh!” Bijal snapped the phone shut in a fit of panic. “I…think we got disconnected,” she explained weakly.

Colleen was looking at her with what seemed to be a mixture of amusement and pity. “Maybe you should call her back and tell her that you have a ride home. But don’t talk to her on speakerphone this time.”

“Right.” Bijal moved several paces away and dialed. “Fran? Yeah, sorry. No, I’m getting a ride home. Uh-huh. No. No. No! I’m hanging up. Here I go. Bye, Fran. Bye. Bye!” She closed the phone again and slipped it into her pocket. Before she could fabricate what would undoubtedly be a ludicrous explanation, she shifted her gaze to Colleen astride the motorcycle. Her leather jacket was now zipped up, and she had on her helmet and a pair of black gloves. She looked exceptionally sexy. “Oh, dear Lord.”

Colleen held out the other helmet. “Are you ready?”

“More than you know,” Bijal muttered, taking it from her and studying it. The sound of the bike starting up startled her enough to make her jump.

“Hop on.”

Bijal put the helmet on and began fiddling with the chin strap. “Just give me a second to get my pants off.”

“What did you say? I didn’t catch that.”

“I have no idea. So just climb on back here?”

“Yup, and hang on.”

Bijal slipped into the seat behind Colleen and put her feet on the rear pegs. The vibration of the motor was disturbingly stimulating. “Um, hang on to what?”

“Me. Hold on to my waist. I don’t want to leave you behind on the pavement.” Slowly, Colleen began backing the bike out of the parking lot as Bijal tentatively slid her arms around Colleen’s midsection.

“Is this okay?”

Colleen laughed. “Just keep it above the waist.”

“I’ll do my best. You know, this is a great jacket. It’s so soft.” Bijal caressed the leather like a long-lost lover.

“Keep that up and it’ll have some good things to say about you too.” Colleen opened the throttle and the bike took off.

Much to Bijal’s chagrin, the helmets coupled with the engine noise made conversation very challenging. She was able to give Colleen directions, but any additional small talk was out of the question, and Bijal had been looking forward to a little more playful discourse.

But she hadn’t been prepared for the sensation of flying through the evening on a motorcycle, which was absolutely exhilarating. With the wind whipping her face, she sobered up soon, though she was still enjoying hanging on to Colleen, perhaps a little too much. Colleen felt solid, and while Bijal had anticipated some awkwardness in their forced intimacy, a surprising ease replaced it very quickly.

Of course, none of this diminished the carnal sensations induced from the pulsing motor between her legs. The feel of her breasts rubbing on Colleen’s back was beyond arousing. She tried to focus on enjoying the ride, but her libido frequently pushed her mind back to a ride of a very different nature. By the time they pulled up outside Bijal’s apartment, she was relieved that she could now simply take a cold shower and the battle would be over.

Colleen shut off the bike as Bijal stepped onto the sidewalk and started to undo the chin strap on her helmet.

“So, would you like to come up?”

“I’d better not. What would your roommate think?”

Bijal pulled her helmet off. “Before or after she tries to dry-hump you? I mean, she’s a big fan of yours—she’s a Democrat.”

The corner of Colleen’s mouth rose slightly. “Yeah, we Democrats are big dry-humpers. It’s in our blood.”

Bijal bit her lower lip. “I’m sorry. That was so badly worded.”

“Maybe a little.”

“Well, thanks so much for the ride.”

“Anytime,” Colleen said.

“Do you go to Sue’s bar regularly?”

“Bijal, we probably shouldn’t do this.”

“Chat in the street?” Bijal looked around uneasily. “I know it looks like a sketchy part of town—”

“No, I mean the other ‘this’—flirt, get involved with each other. At least while this election is going on.”

“Is that what we were doing?”

“Well, that’s what my jacket thinks.” Colleen’s voice softened. “Look, I really like you. You’re becoming one of my favorite Republicans.”

Bijal felt herself blushing and couldn’t remember the last time that had happened. “I’m flattered.”

“You and Teddy Roosevelt are my short list, though you’re far cuter.”

“Um, thanks.”

“Well, he had an adorably pert nose,” Colleen said.

“With all due respect to Teddy, I think I have the better ass.”

Colleen chuckled but her eyes quickly raked over Bijal, causing a quiet moment of heat between them. “I thoroughly agree.”

“So what were you saying before you stopped to ogle my ass?”

Colleen snapped back into the conversation. “Oh, right. I was saying that if we saw each other before the election ended—even if we promised not to talk about politics—it would still be a problem.”

“Ethics are so goddamn inconvenient.”

“Which is precisely why so many politicians choose to ignore them.”

Bijal handed the helmet back. “I guess I’ll see you around, then.”

Colleen took it and secured it to the back of the bike. “Yeah, I have a feeling you will. I’d tell you that tomorrow will be better for your campaign, but that’d be bad for me.” The smile she flashed made Bijal’s breath catch.

“Thanks anyway.”

Colleen started the motorcycle. “Good night.”

“G’night,” Bijal answered, giving a quick wave and heading up the steps. As she unlocked her apartment door, she heard Colleen riding away.

Fran walked out of the kitchen with a tall glass of orange juice in one hand and a bottle of Evian in the other. “I just want you to know how disappointed I am in you,” she said, passing the water to Bijal.

Bijal opened the bottle and drank as she flopped onto the sofa. “I know. I didn’t intend to flirt with her. I’ve completely compromised my integrity.”

“No, I mean I can’t believe you just let her bring you here and drop you off. I’d have given her directions to the Sheraton and asked her to walk me to my room.” She sat down next to Bijal and crossed her legs.

“Subtle, Fran. Were you watching out the window?”

“Hell, yeah. So are you going to sit there and tell me that you didn’t find her and that motorcycle hot?”

Bijal laughed. “Oh, my God! She’s so sexy it’s ridiculous. She may be one of the hottest women I’ve ever met. My whole body is throbbing.”

“Ooh, there we go. Tell me all about it.”

“She’s so confident and smart. She started teaching me about whiskey and bourbon, and I could only stare at her mouth while she was talking.”

“Hmm, and is that how you ended up too drunk to drive? Or did you just pretend so you’d have to catch a ride on her pulsing pelvic torpedo?”

“There was no pretending, though I am feeling strangely thankful that I drank too much.”

Fran brushed the hair off her forehead. “So have you decided to quit your job?”

“What? Why would I do that?”

“Because you want to fuck your opponent, and honestly, that’s the first thing you’ve done in the last two years that I completely understand.”

Bijal slowly absorbed the words and turned them over in her mind. “Look, I have no intention of quitting just because I think Colleen is attractive or because I like her as a person. There’s personal and there’s political, and those two things can and should be separate.”

“So you honestly think you can actively work for a candidate with an ass clown for a campaign manager, while secretly banging the opposition?”

“There was no banging…just a little jacket fondling.”

Fran cocked an eyebrow. “Was she wearing it while you fondled it?”

Bijal nodded, then put her face in her hands. “I’m going to take a shower.”

“I’ll just bet you are.”

Bijal stood and yawned. “And if you’re nice, when I get out I’ll tell you about the author I met tonight at the bar who hit on me.”

“No shit? What was her name?”

“Um, I think it was Spanky McFisterson.”

“Nice.”

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