I spot Alfie entering the hall and roll my eyes. The guy is one of the smartest people I’ve ever met, and yet he wears slacks and dress shoes to a line dancing class. Isn’t he supposed to be blending in? You can tell he’s a rookie at stalking because hehas no characters, no costumes, no pageantry. If he’s going to do this, he’s going to seriously need my help.
He hides behind a wooden pillar and sneaks a glance at the dance floor, scanning the room in the most unsubtle way possible. He looks like a dad who is trying to catch his kid smoking weed.
I sneak up behind him and watch as he pulls his phone out. He opens up his messages, and my heart stops as he pulls up my contact.
He begins typing, pausing every few seconds to look up at the ceiling, or the heavens, who knows? Perhaps he’s looking for some divine intervention.
No, you shouldn’t be stalking your patients.
No, you also shouldn’t be stalking your office manager.
Yes, she’s an office manager, stop calling her a receptionist.
I rise up on the toes of my boots but I can’t see what he’s typing until I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket. I fish it out quickly and see the message.
Alfie:Let me know if you need a ride back from the Jonas Brother’s house. I’m free later.
I snort at his joke. I didn’t really get those guys’ numbers. I mean I totally would have, but stopping to get their contact info seemed slightly anticlimactic when I was trying to bad-bitch strut out of the bar. Besides, three on one? I haven’t had sex in a while, and the prospect kind of terrified me. Even if they were all total sweethearts.
Is Alfie worried about me?
Seems odd because he’s never been concerned about my personal life before. My chest aches a little, and I can’t work out why. Maybe it’s because he wants to care but doesn’t know howto keep things professional. Maybe he’s just annoyed that I’ve become a nuisance that he doesn’t know how to handle.
He huffs, pulling out the phone again, tapping furiously on the phone and hitting send before reviewing. Bold move.
I pull out my phone, but nothing comes through.
He seems to be messaging back and forth until I feel the call coming in. I hesitate for a second but decide it’s best that he doesn’t realize I’m here stalking him, stalking a patient. Given this week's tension filled office, I’d say Alfie isn’t in the mood to find me here.
I text him instead, something that will certainly keep his thoughts occupied.
“Fuck my life,” he grumbles.
My chin dips to my chest, my knees suddenly unable to hold myself up. What the hell am I doing? Have I learned nothing with my limited experience with men? Playing games with inappropriate role models in my life is something I should have squashed a long time ago, and yet here I am doing it again. Alfie stands running his hand over his mouth. His head is dipped low, a small smirk playing at his lips and a gleam in his eye that tells me he’d indulge me if I don’t put a stop to it now.
Mia:We could do with some better snacks in the kitchen.
I watch as he runs his hand over his mouth again, his shoulders sagging a little, the rough texture of his beard scraping along his palm. My breath catches in my throat as I watch his smile downturn.
Alfie:I’ll look into it.
Alfie:Remember to call me if you need a ride.
He pockets his phone, crossing one leg over the other as he leans a shoulder against the pillar. I watch his eye line and spotHelen dancing next to a man in his fifties. His salt-and-pepper hair is trimmed at the sides but full on top, and he has a bigger build than I imagine she’d go for. He looks strong, but soft too. He has a bit of padding cushioning his muscles, and the look on his face…it's like Helen is lighting up his whole world just by giving him a chance to go out with her. She’s beaming too, smiling from ear to ear as she stomps her foot and lifts her other leg and slaps her boot behind her.
I’m mesmerized by them, and before I can move out of the way, Alfie turns, stopping dead in his tracks as he sees me.
I suddenly feel so stupid wearing a pair of daisy dukes with my cowboy boots, my gingham top revealing a little too much. His eyes wander downward, pausing over my breasts and then my thighs. I feel like I’ve dressed up for him, something I swore I’d never do again for a man. But I’m playing this part, a character that’s brave and bold and despite myself, I just don’t know if I have the follow through. Men make me nervous in general, but this man. Pensive, kind, and considerate. What if I get to know him more and he shows me he’s not those things? What if his professional self is just another part he plays? He already follows his patients around; hell, he’s followed me around. That should screamred flag.
“What are you doing here?” he asks.
“What areyoudoing here?” I volley.
“I thought you were with the Jonas Brothers?” he says, and I smile. It really is a good joke.
“They had a last-minute gig. Had to cancel.”
He nods, his hand rubbing the back of his neck, his eyes dropping low once again, like he just can’t help himself.
