Dave strode up to Jessica. He asked her how her weekend was, and deep,
deep within her she knew that her response would be “It was good.” Then,
out of nowhere, even though her brain was yelling at her to stay quiet,
she felt a powerful urge to ask him how his weekend was, too.
They entered the elevator together. He swept his hair out of his eyes
and gave her a nod that acknowledged that they were, indeed, in this
elevator together. She nodded back, watching as his strong, masculine
finger pushed the same lobby button she had just pushed, moments ago.
Her lip quivered as she wondered why, oh why, did he do that? Why didn’t
he just trust that she had adequately pushed it already? I mean, the
button was lit up.
As they approached the building’s exit together, her heart pounded. When
the time came, should she walk with him to the lunch spot? She knew that
she didn’t want to. She wanted to sprint away, as fast as she could, in
the opposite direction, but she had to get her daily grain bowl.
An intense curiosity, a wonderment of some sort—but they both knew how
this would play out. They would discuss their favorite lunch places, on
and on they’d talk, until they could think of no more, and recoiling,
exhausted, they’d sit in total silence for the rest of lunch.
A strange feeling overcame Bill as he and Patrick began to talk about
baseball. They quickly discovered that they were both born and raised in
the same state and, as they discussed their favorite local teams, Bill
felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. A warm tingle of
familiarity ran down his spine and he let out a soft breath of relief.
Could it be? Yes. Maybe, just maybe, they could keep this conversation
going until he spotted someone he actually knew at this holiday party.
Perhaps it was overly rash to leave the party so hastily, but there was
something about him that screamed “warning.” Not that he was dangerous,
per se. No, this was something much, much more terrifying. It might have
to do with the fact that he’d detailed his I.T. responsibilities so
thoroughly, and then continued to talk about them even when she tried to
bring up another topic. Something about him screamed danger, and told
her to run—and run she did.
As they lay entwined in bed for the first and final time, she asked her
co-worker a single burning question: whether he took the L or the G
train to get to the office, because it seemed like the L would be faster
but she wasn’t sure. He told her the L was faster. Then she asked how he
planned to deal with the L-train closure. He replied that he’d probably
take the G, even though it’d be crowded. And with that, she departed his
studio apartment with nothing but his scent to remember him by. It was
Axe cologne. She showered as soon as she got home.