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She giggles. “I don’t know if it’s worth her time. You are not good at behaving.”
“You are just as bad as I am.”
“What? Me?” Her eyes widen, but her grin says she’s pretending. “No way,” she whispers. “This is all your fault.”
At the elevators, I jab the button for the fourth floor. “You coming up?”
“A ride in an elevator with you is the last thing I need.” She sips her coffee and steals a look up at me through her lashes.
Her lips look perfect on the rim of the mug.
I want them on me again.
I want to pull her in and kiss her right here because of how sweet she looks right now.
“You like the mug?” she asks.
“I do.” I twist the ceramic cup in my hands, taking in the letters again.
“Rhonda got it at a tag sale. She brought in a bunch of silly ones.”
“Seems like a mug you’d give to a boss, not have at the back of a cupboard in the break room. And yet, no one showed me.”
“You’re intimidating.” She catches my eye. “Inspiring, but intimidating.”
The elevator yawns open. It’s empty. I get in and look out at her.
“Sure you can’t ride up with me?” I ask. “Lots of room in here. Sorta like the backseat of a car up on a lookout bluff, but better.”
She shakes her head. “You are very bad… you know that? I’ll see you in a couple of hours. Text me if you need me.”
When the doors slide closed, the last impression I have of her is that knowing, playful smile.
She is enjoying this as much as I am.
For now, at least.
It’s only when the doors stretch open to the fourth floor that it hits me: I didn’t talk to her about what’s going on between us like Jordan suggested—like I decided to do.
I kissed her. I flirted with her. But I didn’t talk to her about what we were doing.
I could tell myself it’s because Janelle walked in on us, and I didn’t have time to bring it up.
That would be a lie.
The truth is, I’m scared of the discussion that has to happen, and that’s why I didn’t dive into it in the break room.
I’m afraid of it because I don’t know exactly what to say.
I hardly know how I feel about Gwen. All I know is that it’s good to be around her, and I don’t want to screw up. Beyond that, my mind’s a teeming froth of confusion, desire, and what-ifs.
What if we dated?
What if it got serious?
What if we crashed and burned?
I don’t want to cause pain again like I did when I married Mia. I know that the only way to really avoid that risk is to avoid love.
