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The point is, nobody is back here with me. Maybe everybody else here is too intellectual to notice, but I have an unobstructed view of Irving’s tight rear end. I can get right up under the table and clench my thighs together as much as I want.
Watching him makes me ache, deep in my core. Knowing that anybody here could just turn around and see my pink cheeks and probably instantly know what I’m thinking about makes it even a little bit more exciting.
The words don’t matter. Nobody is gonna make me say anything. It’s just my own private floor show, watching the genius tango unfold with the most heartbreakingly beautiful man the world has ever produced.
Suddenly, my phone rattles against the tabletop, alerting everyone that I just got a text message. Sheepishly, I snatch it and mouth an apology to the team leaders who turn quickly scowl at me.
Holding it under the table, I click on the alert.
Tabby: Let me see.
Me: Shut up. No way.
I click Send and the message shoots invisibly to my best friend, who is miles away and is supposed to be in a job interview right now. The only reason I left my phone on was because I was expecting her to tell me if she was gainfully employed yet again.
The phone immediately vibrates between my hands, which are clapped protectively between my thighs. The sudden thrill this zaps into my sex takes my breath away. The team leaders glance back when I gasp, then start coughing apologetically to try to cover it.
Tabby keeps texting me, and it feels amazing. I know I shouldn’t, but I sort of scootch down in my chair a little and angle my iPhone against just the very edge of my panties. My belly clenches in response, starting that sneaky little voice that tells me to get just a little bit more. Just a bit. Just a tease…
The vibration goes off again, then once again immediately. Oh my God, if I could just slip this a little closer to my throbbing bits. I could probably…
No. Oh my God. What am I thinking??
It takes every bit of discipline I have to pry the phone from my suddenly sticky, bare thighs and tug my skirt back down where it belongs. That sneaky little voice almost has me convinced that rubbing one out in the middle of Tuesday Morning Mashup is a perfectly sane thing to do.
Out of habit, I glance at the alert and open the text window.
Tabby: Come on.
Tabby: Come on.
Tabby: Come on.
Me: Would you quit it, ffs? I am in a meeting. I will text you later.
It’s a good thing I didn’t start trying to hump my cell phone, because people are really looking at me now. Not glaring, but sort of checking to see if I am all right. I have drawn attention to myself. Great.
Tabby: Opal! Do it!
Me: The meeting is almost over.
She is going to know I’m lying. Tabby always knows. It’s her superpower or something.
Tabby: Opal, just click on FaceTime… Just for a second.
Me: He’s already left.
Tabby: Shut up. One picture.
Tabby: Of his ass. Magnify 4x.
I try not to roll my eyes or scoff or anything, but what am I going to do? If I don’t do what she says she’s just going to keep after me.
As quietly and nonchalantly as possible, I slide the cell phone against the edge of the table until the camera just pokes up over the top. Irving is reaching for one of the sketch boxes that is positioned near the top of the board, his arms stretched over his head, his ass cheeks clenched together. I sort of want this picture for myself, so I go ahead and snap it. It’s a good one.
Before she can even demand it from me, I go ahead and send Tabby a copy, then stuff my cell phone face-up under my thigh. It doesn’t feel anything like a vibrator there. It’s totally safe.
See? I can be good.
