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He’s so considerate. “I think I’d like to drive.” If I get uncomfortable or need to pull the white flag of surrender or the weirdness factor gets too high and I need to race out of there to preserve my innocence, then I’d rather have the means to do so than not.
“I’ll send a missive with directions.”
A missive? Who the hell talks like that? I almost laugh, except that I find his little quirks, like his use of antiquated English, cute.
“I have a better idea.” Retrieving my cell phone from my skirt pocket—the sole reason I bought the too-tight tube of polyester blend fabric—and illuminate the room with its soft glow as I pull up the contacts and create a new one. “Here, put your information in.”
I watch his eyes in the dim light as he takes the phone and adds everything I’ll need, and when he passes it back, I call him, let it ring twice, and hang up. “There, now you have mine too. Text me when you get the chance.”
I catch his smile just before the glow of the screen light disappears, and then I feel his mouth descend on mine once again, and we share a brief but passionate kiss filled with the promise of later.
Then, far before I’m ready, Niles turns me by my waist and pushes me toward the door. “You go first. I’ll text you later.”
I locate the handle and open the door a crack, peeking through it long enough to ensure no one is around to see me emerge, and then I issue what I hope is a sexy, “See you later,” before slipping out and heading back to my desk.
“Hey, you.” Colleen pauses her typing to glance up at me, and I run my hand self-consciously through my hair to make sure everything is in place. I can feel a light burn from Niles’ barely there beard on my chin, and I’d bet money my face is red, but there’s nothing I can do about it.
Colleen’s eyes scan over my form, and I assume she’s seeing my secrets plain as day, but no. Instead she says, “Did you get lost on the way to the machine?”
“The wh…” I trail off, suddenly remembering the excuse I gave earlier. “Oh, right. Yeah. Had a bathroom emergency.” I grimace, hoping it’s enough to sell the lie.
“Oh, man, I hate those.” Her features scrunch. “I hope it’s nothing going around. I can’t afford to take any sick days right now.”
As I take my seat behind hers, I hear the scrape of her metal filing cabinet followed by the aerosol spray that, with a glance over my shoulder, turns out to be a giant can of Lysol. She coats the cubical in a thick smog of floral scent that makes me cough, but all I do is smile because a text just came in and in just a few hours, I’ll be finding out just how sharply a turn my life is going to take.
