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“I just thought, you know, since we’re both here and we’ve got the day off…” he trails off, looking uncertain.
I hesitate for a moment, then make a decision. “I’m sorry. I really do have some place to be.”
He smiles, looking politely disappointed. “There’s a little café down the road that does amazing pancakes, and I think we should get to know each other a little better before we start this project.”
Feeling cornered and out of control, I lash out. “Look, I said I’m busy. I’m not the one who broke into your apartment two days ago and forced myself on you. We agreed to let it go, so leave me alone.”
The words spill out of my mouth before I can fully grasp the situation. I can see the shock and hurt in Lycus’ eyes, but I force myself to turn and walk away, not giving him a chance to reply.
Why did I say that? It wasn’t fair, and it certainly wasn’t true. He didn’t force himself on me, we were both equally willing participants in what happened. But that’s what has me feeling so out of sorts.
I thought I hated him. Idohate him. But my actions didn’t reflect that. So what does it mean? What do I really think of Lycus? Do I have feelings for him or do I just really need to get laid?
I hastily leave the leisure facilities and make my way out onto the street, without even stopping at the coffee shop for my favourite pick me up, for fear of Lycus following me.
A mix of guilt and anger is coursing through me, making my hands shake. Guilt for the way I just spoke to Lycus, and anger at myself for letting my attraction to him cloud my judgement.
As I walk, my phone buzzes in my pocket. It’s a text message from Lycus.
Lycus
I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I won’t bother you again. See you at work on Monday.
I stop in my tracks, feeling a pang of regret in my chest.What have I done?
* * *
The rest of the weekend is blissfully Lycus free. Well, the days are. Somehow he still invades my dreams at night, popping up everywhere and causing even the most innocent grocery shopping dreams to turn into porn-worthy movies, featuring vegetables I’ll never be able to buy again.
The conclusion?
I definitely need to get laid. And by someone other than Lycus.
But I don’t even know where to start going about that. It’s been a long time since I dated. Sure, I had a couple of one night stands and a regular booty call, friends with benefits, kind of thing, going on with a guy up until he left to work overseas last year. But the last time I had an actual boyfriend? I was still in school.
I download a couple of dating apps, but they all seem pretty overwhelming, so I quickly abandon them without even completing my profiles.
What would I say? I’m a workaholic currently enjoying a three way relationship with wine, cheese and the Satisfaction Supernova?
What a catch.
Sunday I return to the gym, to work out this time, and I don’t see Lycus. Which is just as well. If I bumped into him a second time, I’d have to look at changing my membership for the place across town, and I don’t want to do that. I like this place. It’s literally as close to home as you can get, opens early enough that I can come before work and has the best post-workout smoothies. Plus, it’s free. Company benefit.
With nothing else to do for the rest of the day, I throw myself into work, going over my pitch for the client again and making notes on things we could change, or where we could incorporate Lycus’ ideas.
It’s all pointless really, until we meet with the client and hear exactly what they want, but it gives me something to do and at least this way I’ll be able to contribute to that meeting and show that I’m flexible and full of dynamic ideas we can implement.
I’m curious about the second project though, wondering what it could be and why Mr Mortimer was so secretive about it. Maybe he wanted to share the news with Lycus and I both present. Hopefully we’ll find out at work tomorrow.
When I reach a point where I can’t go any further with the assignment for work, I switch to a little side project I work on sometimes for me.
It’s silly really, a fantasy, but in my spare time I like to sketch mockups for my dream shop. It’s cliché, definitely, but I always wanted to own and run a bookstore-cum-coffee shop. Ever since I was a little girl.
You know, once I outgrew the idea of being a marine biologist, because I was convinced, age six, that it would just involve swimming with dolphins all day long.
As I got older, the idea expanded and grew, but the original drop of love remained at its centre. Even if the books I wanted to stock became a lot filthier.
I thumb through all of the designs I’ve toyed around with over the years, going all the way back to simple colourful sketches I made as a child. They make me smile, but I tuck them away.
