by Diane Barnes
“Sounds like fun,” Ben says.
I force myself to smile, but in fact can’t imagine anything more dreadful. I can see it now, me sitting alone at a table watching a roomful of happy drunk couples dancing. No way am I going. What reason can I give? “It does, but I have to miss it.” They are looking at me like I need to say more. “I’m going to Atlanta that weekend.” Damn, Rachel is right about my voice getting high when I lie. I sound like I swallowed helium.
Renee and Ben stare at me like they too have picked up on my tell. The silence is unbearable so I keep talking. “I haven’t seen my parents since the summer. Or my brother. And I miss Molly. She’s getting really big. I saw pictures on Facebook.” Apparently Rachel is also correct about me tilting my head when I fib, because it’s practically resting on my shoulder.
Renee and Ben exchange a look. Damn. I wish I were a better liar, but until Nico left, I didn’t do it that often.
“You haven’t opened the envelope,” Ben says. “You don’t even know when it is.”
“You don’t have to make up excuses, honey,” Renee says. “I understand. You don’t want to go by yourself.”
God, it sounds pathetic hearing it out loud.
“I’ll be your date,” Ben says. “One night with me, and you’ll forget all about Nico.” I expect him to wink or smile, but the look he’s giving me isn’t playful at all. It’s downright seductive, sending a most unexpected jolt between my legs. Damn, where did that come from? Must be because it’s Valentine’s Day.
Although, I have to admit that I have thought about Ben that way before. Just once, but it was recent and couldn’t have been at a worse time, the day after I got engaged. It was the night of the company’s holiday party at a fancy downtown hotel. As soon as we arrived, Nico planted himself on a stool in the bar in front of the television. He claimed he had to watch the football games for work because they had playoff implications. I spent the night in the ballroom with Ben, who inexplicably didn’t have a date. We were at a table drinking and talking with our coworkers. Ben made sure my glass was always full. At the start of the evening, he was bringing me wine, but at some point my beverage switched to Captain Morgan and Coke, something I only drink when I want to get drunk. Eventually, our group moved to the dance floor, trying to outdo each other with ridiculous moves that didn’t at all go with the country music the DJ was playing. Each time the music slowed, Ben and I took the opportunity to refuel with alcohol. Right before the party ended, the Garth Brooks version of “Make You Feel My Love” came on. I headed back toward our table. Ben grabbed my arm. “I get the last dance,” he said, placing one hand on my shoulder, the other at my waist. I looped my arms around his neck. At first, we were careful to leave room between our bodies, but as the music went on, Ben pulled me closer so we melded together. His lower hand slowly circled around my waist while the one high on my shoulder drifted downward. Soon his fingers were splayed across my backside. He thrust ever so slightly forward and whispered my name. I thought I heard desire in his voice, and when he pressed against me, I was sure. He quickly took a small step backward and repositioned himself as though he remembered he was dancing with a coworker, not with one of his usual floozies, but the damage was done. The brief moment of feeling him against me had sparked a drunken, unquenchable desire. I leaned into him, grinding my pelvis into his and again felt how hard he was. A few feet away Ellie was dancing with her husband. I felt her watching us but didn’t care. Ben closed his eyes, thrusting against me the same way I was bumping against him. I felt like I was back in the cafeteria at a school dance with my high school boyfriend, doing all we could to arouse one another while fully clothed. “This is dangerous, Jill,” Ben whispered, his words slightly slurred, but he held me tight against him until the song ended.
Nico appeared in the ballroom doorway, motioning for me because it was time to leave. Ben and I walked toward him. Nico and I were spending the night at the hotel so that neither of us had to drive after drinking, which was a good thing because I was having a hard enough time navigating the walk across the ballroom. Just before Ben left my side, he leaned close enough so I could smell the scotch on his breath. I’m not sure I heard him correctly, but what I thought he said was, “I wish I were the one going upstairs with you.”
In the elevator up to our room, I backed Nico into a corner, kissing him and stroking him over his pant leg, desperate to fulfill the desire that had ignited on the dance floor. We were staying on the twenty-seventh floor, and the elevator’s climb up was painfully slow, our passion heightening as we slowly made our ascent. “I need you so bad right now,” I whined, guiding his hand deep inside the waistband of my black velvet skirt.
“I thought you were going to be angry with me,” he said.
“I am,” I gasped.
“Then I need to piss you off more often. I like angry Jill.”
We staggered out of the elevator toward our room, stripping out of our clothes as soon as the door shut. Eagerly Nico led me to the bed. After six years together, I knew where and how he would touch me, knew the exact path his hands and mouth would travel over my body, and still I couldn’t wait. As he climbed on top of me, I closed my eyes and Ben’s handsome face popped in my mind. And then I couldn’t stop myself from fantasizing it was Ben in bed with me, my body shuddering more violently than it ever had before. When Nico moaned my name, it was Ben’s voice I heard back on the dance floor.
Even though I didn’t technically do anything wrong, I felt guilty for days after. Now, after Nico leaving me, I’m happy for that betrayal and thinking that a night with Ben might be exactly what I need to get over him. Ben gives me a cocky grin that makes me wonder if he can see inside my head to the X-rated images of him and me together that are playing over and over again, making me all hot and bothered. I fan myself with the invitation.
“I’m glad it’s not just me,” Renee says. Her neck and face have turned the same color as the roses on her desk. There’s a thin line of perspiration above her lip.
“What do you say, Jill? Is it a date?” Ben asks.
Would Ben and I behave the same way we did at the holiday party? What would happen without Nico there waiting for me this time? Would I become just another of Ben’s one-night stands? If so, would we be comfortable working together after, or would the entire dynamic of our four-person department change? “I’ll think about it,” I say.
Ben and I never talked about what happened between us on the dance floor that night. At breakfast the day after the party, I heard from Ellie that Ben spent that night with the pretty-but-dumb blond human resources temp. I was sure Ellie got it wrong because Ben made a point of never hooking up with anyone at work, but the temp’s frequent visits to Ben’s cube the following week seemed to confirm Ellie’s information was accurate. Later I overheard Ben’s friend Lucas asking Ben why he broke his rule about sleeping with a coworker. Ben said the girl wasn’t a coworker; she worked for the temp agency and he’d never have to see her again after her assignment at our company was over.
I chalked up our behavior at the holiday party to the heavy drinking we had both done. That and maybe I was rebelling against Nico for ignoring me all night long. I honestly never thought about Ben that way before that night and haven’t since. Not until right now anyway.
Chapter 11
It used to make me happy when I heard BS Morning Sports Talk coming from my coworkers’ radios. Today, hearing the show blasting from their cubes feels like a betrayal, like they’ve chosen Nico over me. Only Renee seems to be Team Jillian, and that’s because she doesn’t have a radio on her desk.
I drown out the sound of Branigan’s voice with music, and busy myself responding to emails. Before I can get through them all, Ryan, Tyler, and Ben break into explosive laughter. It doesn’t surprise me that Ryan and Tyler are listening, but hearing Ben howl like that stings. He should boycott the program to show his allegiance to me.
Because the three of them are practically busting their guts, cu
riosity gets the best of me. “What’s so funny?” I call out.
Ryan yells a response, but his giggles jumble his words.
Ben takes a few seconds to compose himself. “The idiots calling in about the contest,” he answers. “Branigan is having them describe their best features.”
“Who knew so many chicks have such bodacious ta-tas?” Ryan asks.
A wave of anger rushes over me as I realize that women are actually trying to win a date with Nico. “What kind of person would enter a contest like this?” I ask.
The guys are too busy laughing to respond, but Renee answers. “Single females in their thirties to forties. They’re desperate because there are so few good men available.”
Her words land like a sucker punch to my abdomen. I am one of those desperate women now. I met Nico when I was twenty-eight. He wasted six years of my life, six of my child-bearing years, a time when I was at my best physically, lean and muscular with no wrinkles or cellulite. At thirty-four, I can already feel body parts shifting downward, see the beginning of a roll in my once flat abdomen. This morning, I plucked two gray hairs from the front of my head and a long dark one from my chin. My chin!
As if he knows what I’m thinking, Ben calls out, “If it makes you feel any better, some of the male callers want a chance to win a date with you. Branigan says you should call in if you’re interested.”
In fact, what Ben just told me makes me feel worse because there’s an urgent voice whispering to me that I shouldn’t pass up the opportunity. How else are you going to meet a normal single guy? the voice whispers.
In the hallway, a soda can snaps open. A few seconds later, the top of the bright blue skullcap that Ben’s friend Lucas always wears bobs over the wall in Ben’s cube. “What’s going on, Brother?” Lucas asks. There’s the sound of palms slapping together, and I imagine the two shaking hands.
In my mind, there is no friendship more unlikely than Lucas and Ben’s. Ben is preppy and seems more likely to fit with the J. Crew or Ralph Lauren crowd. With his skullcap, jeans, and flannel shirts, Lucas looks like he should be living in Seattle back in the grunge era. He’s definitely not what comes to mind when I think of an engineer, but no company other than our new one, trying to sound sophisticated, would give hackers the title of cyber security engineers.
“You have to hear this,” Ben says. He turns up the volume of his radio.
Branigan’s baritone voice booms through the area. “If we pick you, how will you make it worth Nico’s while?” he asks.
Jesus H. Christ! I do not want to hear the answer to that. I stomp over to Ben’s desk and rip the radio’s plug from the outlet. “I don’t want to listen to that!”
“Whoa, chill,” Lucas says, taking a large sip of Mountain Dew. He’s six feet tall and thin as a pencil, surprising considering he drinks his first sugary soda before nine in the morning and goes through about ten a day.
“Sorry,” Ben says, “but it’s really funny.”
“Not to me.” The quiver in my voice gives away how upset I am over this. Get it together, I tell myself.
Lucas turns away and busies himself rearranging the collection of toy cars Ben has displayed on his shelf.
“Sorry,” Ben says. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I’ll get headphones.”
A few rows over, Ryan bursts into laughter again.
I mutter under my breath and return to my cube. Behind me I hear Lucas saying to Ben, “She’s all riled up about this.”
“Can’t really blame her,” Ben answers. He whispers something to Lucas that I can’t hear.
Lucas’s enthusiastic response is loud, though. “I’ll take care of it. It will be fun.”
* * *
The sound of a plow wakes me the following morning. Outside, there are at least five inches of fresh snow on the railing. On days like this, I often wonder why I didn’t move to Georgia with my brother and parents, not that they asked. Nope. One Sunday afternoon at the end of lunch, my mother dropped the bombshell that she and my dad had made an offer on a house in Christian’s Atlanta neighborhood. “We feel like we’re missing out on Molly’s childhood,” she said.
“What about me?” I asked. “You’re leaving me here alone?”
“You’re hardly alone,” she said. “You have Nico and all your friends.”
It’s true that I would never leave New England. Miserable winters and all, I love it here. Still, it would have been nice to have been asked.
Staring out the window, I see Mr. O’Brien on the driveway, surveying the damage from this latest storm. He glances up at the window and shakes his head, like he’s had enough. Me too, Mr. O’Brien. If I’m right about the five inches of new snow, our total for the season will pass one hundred, and we still have another week in February and the entire month of March to get through.
As I head for the shower, I hear the snowblower starting. By the time I’m dressed for work and out the door, the driveway is clear except for the end, where the plow has deposited a large icy bank of snow. Mr. O’Brien uses a pick to hack away at it. After starting my car and blasting the heat, I grab a shovel to help him.
“Couldn’t wait for Zachary to get here to help. He’s going to be at work later than usual,” Mr. O’Brien says. He almost sounds like he’s blaming me because I helped Zac get his job.
“Something happened to the station’s website,” he mutters. “Damn technology.”
I watch a plow turn onto our street, praying he doesn’t block us in again. “What happened?” I ask.
The plow passes the house next door. I watch it make its way toward us, hoping the driver will take pity on me and the old man and clear the end of the driveway. The truck slows as it gets closer. The driver’s dour expression brightens. He flashes us an ice-melting smile as he pushes another gigantic pile of snowy mush off the street toward us. My landlord and I both mutter under our breath.
“Zac called me this morning. Said he has to stay late to work on the website because someone did something to the contest page and what’s-his-face’s picture.”
As far as I know, Mr. O’Brien has never used Nico’s name. I’m not even sure if he knows it. “What do you mean, they did something to his picture?”
Mr. O’Brien clears his throat. “It was replaced with a, um, vulgar one.”
I think about Ben whispering to Lucas yesterday and Lucas’s enthusiastic response. Did Ben tell him to hack the radio station’s website? Even if they had nothing to do with it, Nico will suspect me. He knows what my company does and how good Lucas is at his job. Through the years, I told him several stories about the sites Lucas was able to access. Of course, usually the companies know what he’s trying to do. He doesn’t do it illegally.
My shoveling shifts into high gear so that I can get out of my driveway and to the office. After Mr. O’Brien and I clear away enough of the snowbank to get my car out, he looks at his watch. “You’re going to be late for work. You should go.” I feel bad leaving him with the rest of the shoveling, but he insists.
As I begin to back out toward the street, I flip the station on my radio to BS Morning Sports Talk. I’m paying more attention to what Branigan is saying than driving.
“Turn your wheels to the right,” Mr. O’Brien hollers.
“Who did you piss off in our IT department, Nico?” Branigan asks.
“The other way!” Mr. O’Brien shouts.
“No one,” Nico answers.
My car hits an icy mound of snow. Mr. O’Brien frowns. I imagine the thought bubble over his head says Where did she get her license? I pull the car forward and try again. This time, I make it to the street. I beep and wave at Mr. O’Brien as I drive off.
“Well, someone’s mad at you,” Branigan says.
“No one but Jill,” Nico answers.
* * *
By the time I pull into the parking garage at work, I have learned that someone replaced the picture of Nico with a photoshopped image of his head on a big body with, as Branigan put it, “a
tiny male anatomy.” There’s no doubt in my mind that Lucas is responsible. With his ability to hack into sites, he’s our company’s biggest asset. We usually start a sale with an assessment of a prospect’s technology. After we present them with a list of their applications and data we were able to breach, the sale is easy to close.
Once I get in the building, I travel down the maze of hallways on the first floor that leads to Lucas’s windowless office. He stands when I enter the room and adjusts his blue cap. Stacks of empty Mountain Dew cans, each about twenty high, line the side of his desk. “What brings you down to the slums?” he asks.
“Did you hack the BS Morning Sports Talk website?”
He reaches into the small refrigerator under his desk and pulls out a soda. “I heard about that. They messed with Nico’s picture.” His grin gives him away.
I stuff my gloves into my coat pocket, wondering if I should hit him or hug him.
“Lucas, you can’t mess with their site. Nico will know I had something to do with it.”
“If I were the one who hacked it, I promise you that I’m good enough not to get caught, but I didn’t do it,” he says.
“I don’t believe you.” I head back for the door.
“Jillian, I’m an engineer. I don’t know how to change a picture.”
When I arrive in our area, Ben has a dopey smile on his face. “Did you hear?” he asks. “They had to take the radio station’s website down because it was hacked.”
“Yeah, by you and Lucas.” I try to make my voice sound like I’m annoyed, but truthfully, I’m touched that they’re trying to do something nice for me. “I appreciate you trying to help me, but you can get in big trouble. Don’t do it again.”
Ben’s expression and words are almost identical to Lucas’s. “I’m a graphic artist. I don’t know how to hack a website.”
“The picture was fantastic,” Renee says. She’s sitting in Ben’s cube eating her oatmeal. I can tell by the aroma that brown sugar is her flavor of choice today. “I saw it just before they took the site down.”
