I got up and went into the kitchen, turning on the tap like I needed water.
ELLIE: Maybe I’ll send you some photos tomorrow from work.
SAM: Sexy ones?
I couldn’t help biting my lower lip.
ELLIE: Maybe.
SAM: God help me. Okay, but if I get fired for jerking off at the office I’m blaming you.
ELLIE: Aren’t you home working on website stuff tomorrow?
SAM: I’m a very strict boss.
I laughed
ELLIE: Good night, Sam.
SAM: Ellie, I’m dying.
ELLIE: Talk to you tomorrow.
The photos the next day started out innocently: I showed him the circuit breaker and some of the wiring I’d had to remove. But then I started slipping pieces of me in the shots. A thigh. A side-boob. Then a strategically placed cleavage shot, which required me to unbutton the button-down I’d worn that day for this purpose.
Sam was so enthusiastic in his responses, I ended up going further than I’d meant to, and sent him a fully NSFW shot of my boobs. I was alone of course, on the second floor of an empty office space. Still, I didn’t dare show him more in case anyone came by.
Having Sam lose it was worth it.
He called me, telling me he was so desperate to see me he’d drive over there right now if I gave him the word. It was so tempting I even pictured where we could do it in the space.
“I can’t,” I said. “Bad for business to get caught banging on the job site. But it’s QV day on Saturday.”
QV was Quince Valley day, which was kind of like a founder’s day for the town. It happened every June, and therewas a whole thing down in the square, including fireworks later.
Sam was coming over that night, staying for dinner and afterward we’d head out to some of the festivities all together.
Still, it felt ages away.
“You have to know I’m going to do inappropriate things with these photos until then,” he said.
“That’s the idea.”
When Saturday afternoon finally rolled around, I was buzzing with anticipation at seeing Sam. It was as if he’d been gone for weeks. It must have shown on my face, because when I went to the grocery store with Mom that afternoon to shop for dinner, she clearly decided enough was enough.
She waited until we’d entered the grocery store, Henry buckled in the cart, before dropping the bomb.
“So. When are you and Sam going to stop sneaking around?”
I’d nearly smashed into a display of tomato soup. “What do you mean?”
“I mean every time that man sends you a message, you look like that time you were a kid and got too much laughing gas at the dentist.”
I rolled my lips together. “I do not.”
She put a hand on the cart, stopping it to glare at me.
There was no point lying to my mother. She could always see right through me.
