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“It’s impossible not to notice him.”
When we first saw Evan in a swimsuit, the girls and I were literally blown away. Indecent thoughts raced through our heads and we looked at one another and couldn’t stop laughing because everyone, single or not, had the same thought. That man was created by God himself to torture you slowly in the circles of hell.
“Do you like him?”
“No! He’s my boss. I couldn’t think of him that way even if he were the only man on earth.”
Gabriela calling me from the other room saves me from this embarrassing conversation with the woman who brought me into the world. When we enter the living room, Evan is seated on the sofa, buried in the throw pillows. Wide-eyed in his suit and tie, he looks like a fish out of water squeezed between the pink and salmon shades. I walk over and remove some of the pillows, putting them on the chair. Evan gives me a grateful smile as I sit next to him. He’s so tense I’m afraid he’ll snap in half.
“Can you feed this kid? Look how thin he is.” Gabriela addresses my mother in an almost pleading way.
My mom chuckles as she approaches the couch. “I wouldn’t call him thin, but I can pack a to-go bag with something to take with you while you work.”
“Ma’am, you don’t need to go through all this trouble…” Evan begins, but I put a hand on his knee and stop him.
He throws me a questioning look and tries to avoid the touch on his leg. “Accept, please, or we won’t get out of here,” I beg him.
I hear the two women chuckling as they enter the kitchen and I try to apologize for the unprofessional situation I dragged him into. “Forgive me for the detour. It is impossible to say no to my mother or Gabriela when they decide this is the right thing to do.”
Evan smiles and shakes his head. “No problem, really. It’s a nice change to have someone who cares if I’m eating enough. Plus, I’m curious to see how you are outside the office.”
I look at him and feel my cheeks heat up. If he really knew what I do during my free time, I doubt he would have that sincere smile on his face. Evan seems to notice my embarrassment and looks down. Sitting on this sofa, small for two people, I feel his leg against mine as a heavy presence that I’ve struggled to ignore since I started working with him. My mother’s words come back to my mind, and with them, the images of Evan in a swimsuit, the sculpted abs, the pectorals that seem to be the perfect shape for my hands, look up and get lost in the perfect features, gray eyes, fleshy lips, and square jaw. My mother’s insinuations have shaken that precarious balance in which I stoically ignored that Evan is handsome enough to take my breath away.
“I’ve prepared a little of everything because I don’t know what your boss likes.” My mother’s voice brings me back to reality and tears me away from Evan’s eyes.
I look at the paper bag she hands me and grab it, my eyes widening. “How much stuff did you put in it?”
“Just a couple of things that I cooked for lunch. Don’t worry about it,” Gabriela minimizes, waving her hand.
Four hours later, we are in the conference room of Jail Records, buried in the notes for tomorrow’s meeting, sitting next to each other on the sofa and the ‘couple of things’ that Gabriela gave us lying on the coffee table.
“Can you explain why a girl who’s part Italian gorges herself on Mexican food as if her life depends on it?” Evan asks, amused when I bite into the quesadilla we just heated up in the microwave. The melted cheese and hot carne asada burn my tongue, making my eyes water.
I smile at him as I try to chew and swallow the bite. “My grandmother is Italian, and my grandfather is Irish. Their relationship was so scandalous at the time that the families disowned them. But, to your point, my grandparents always tried to teach my mother about Italian and Irish traditions. She grew up making dishes from both, but her financial situation was not the best when she became pregnant. She always worked two jobs to afford the mortgage on the house, so I grew up with our neighbor, Gabriela, whom you met today. Both she and her husband are second-generation immigrants, and she has never cooked anything other than what her mother taught her. So when I ate dinner with them because my mom was working a shift, she let me pig out on tamales and guacamole when she could find cheap avocados.”
Evan smiles, fascinated by my story. “That explains your passion for Mexican food.”
“I’d kill for a good quesadilla.”
Evan laughs. “I noticed.”
I reach out to grab another just as Evan reaches for an enchilada. His hand casually touches mine and he immediately retracts it. It’s not the first time he’s acted like my touch hurt him physically. In the last week, he’s behaved strangely with me.
I’ve caught him several times staring at me. He often finds excuses not to be alone in the same room, and if it’s inevitable, he sits far away from me, and I get the distinct feeling he’s avoiding me. I can’t understand what I did wrong.
“Have I done something wrong? You’re avoiding me,” I blurt out without thinking about it.
Evan frowns and takes a bite of enchilada, taking far too much time to respond. “I’m not avoiding you.”
“Yes, you’ve been doing it for days, and I can’t understand why,” I insist. If something is wrong, I prefer to know and fix it, especially if I didn’t even realize I’d offended him.
“That’s not true. I’m not avoiding you.”
I lean closer to him, and he retracts as soon as I enter his space. “See? Until a few weeks ago, you wouldn’t have had any problem if I had leaned on your arm.”
Evan looks down. It is the first time I have seen him struggle to confess his thoughts. He’s never hidden anything from me since we met over two years ago. I like to work with him because there is never any deception, gossip, or bad moods.
“I found your profile on the sugar daddy website,” he admits with a sigh, without daring to look me in the eye.
