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The dim light conceals the stretch marks that cross my inner thighs. Those stretch marks appeared at age eleven after a continuous growth spurt of close to ten inches. My mum died two years before, and Dad hadn’t been great about stocking clothes before my spurt. But that year, all my pants were high waters and skirts inappropriately short, until he gave up and bought several sizes too large. Belts kept the gathered fabric up on my narrow hips.
Dad would never in a million years approve of what I just did. He’s no saint, but as a matter of principal, he doesn’t date colleagues. But shagging’s not quite the same thing as dating. Definitely not the same thing as a relationship. It’s a physical act. A release. It’s not a big deal. We have chemistry, and we acted on it. There’s no reason for anyone to ever know what happened between us. I can only hope this doesn’t sabotage future career opportunities with Arrow.
Heavy footsteps outside the door let me know he’s done with the bathroom and he went to the kitchen. He leaped up and gathered his clothes and headed down the hall to the half bath. A considerate move, leaving me with my bedroom bathroom, but it also left me feeling dirty.
Conceptually, I fully support a woman’s right to enjoy sex when the opportunity arises. But perhaps I’m not built for casual sex. Likely, that is the case. At university, sure, casual sex happened. Only most of the time mine happened with friends who grew to be more. Sometime in the future, when I have time, I’ll do a more thorough self-examination to better understand what exactly about this situation is leaving me so unsettled.
With one last glance at my toothpick legs, I throw on my clothes and pull up my rumpled sex hair into a band. Having sex with a man I work with isn’t an intelligent course of action. But Ryan is a professional. And he already agreed that anything that happened between us will be kept under wraps. If we’re discrete, theoretically, there will be no downside to an occasional romp. And it was indeed great. A memory of his reflection thrusting into me from behind while working my clit has me squeezing my thighs together.
I check my t-shirt for dirt smudges and recall the feel of his hard muscles. How his massive body covered me. He’s the biggest man I’ve ever been with, and I liked the novel sensation of feeling dainty. I am the Amazon woman. A different species from the petite girls at school and university. My dad says height doesn’t matter. One friend back home claimed that when it comes to sex, the only thing that matters is the length of the torso. Still, at university, I never relished being climbed like a beanstalk. Something that is a non-issue with a man Ryan’s size.
“You okay in there?” Ryan asks through the closed door.
“Yeah,” I answer with one last glance at the mirror.
“Trace is scratching the kitchen door. Should I just let him out into the back yard?”
“Yeah. You can let him out.”
I step into the bathroom and close the door. As I flip the lid on the toilet, I grab my phone and type out a text to Sabrina.
Me: You won’t believe my nooner
But then I delete it.How pathetic am I? Desiring to tell a friend I just had sex. I mean, I will tell her. I hear about her sex life all the time. Now I finally have something to contribute to the conversation. But texting her right after…that is low class behavior.
I wash my hands, dry them, and wipe beneath my eyes.All right. Go out there and be normal. Carry on like an adult.
Ryan is in the back yard. The storm door creaks as I open it, and he glances up from his phone for one brief second. Trace raises his leg and wets the fence.
Ryan doesn’t say a word as I approach. He’s glued to the phone in his hand. Is it the sex? Did I muck up everything? Will a nooner prove to be the ultimate mistake?
I slide my hands into my shorts pockets and waffle back and forth from my toe to my heel. Waiting. He’s engrossed in his phone. Maybe he’s avoiding me. Maybe I should just query about diseases then send him on his way.
“The meeting with the FBI team in San Diego has been confirmed. Eight a.m. tomorrow. Can you make it?”
“Do you think they’d want me there?” Agent Ryland hadn’t been exactly welcoming. The FBI has its own Behavioral Analysis Unit, or BAU. They don’t need me.
“You’re on my team. In my experience, FBI agents are accustomed to working with multiple parties. It comes with crossing jurisdictions. And in a case like this, additional manpower is a good thing.”
“I’m available.” It’s a phenomenal opportunity for me. I will absolutely be available.
“We can fly down in the morning. Jack said Wayne will pick us up from the helipad.”
Ryan drops his phone into his pocket and looks off in the sun’s direction. His shades provide cover. He’s unreadable. Which isn’t an issue for me. I do not need to read him. He is a colleague with benefits. Possibly one-time benefits.
“Should we go back to the office?” I ask.
“Erik didn’t have any updates. Let’s go on that walk.” Trace trots to the far fence and sniffs the air.
“Good idea. Especially if I’m gone all day tomorrow. I wonder if my neighbor will be okay watching him. Do you think we’ll spend the night?”
“Doubtful. But you never know. One of the good things about the FBI taking up the case is that they have resources. Boots on the ground means we don’t have to do it all.” He looks beyond my tiny yard, into my neighbors’ yards. “I bet Stella would take care of him.”
“Stella? From your office?”
“She has a fenced-in back yard for her dog. Well, it’s Trevor’s dog, but basically hers. And she has a teenage son you can hire. Want me to call her? She’ll be understanding if our plans change.”
Given I barely know my neighbor Jenny, and I have already leaned on her, I say, “Sure.”
