Knock Me Up, Boss: A Bad Boy Office Romance

by Juliana Conners

I go to the bathroom and splash some water on my face. I sit down on a bar stool near the exit, trying to decide what to do. My fingers instinctively reach into my purse where I keep my Kindle. I’m in the middle of a great book— William Trevor’s Love and Summer— and suddenly it seems a lot more appealing to me than making out with random strangers like my friends are doing.

  I start to pull the Kindle out from my purse, wondering what kind of comments people might make about how lame I am, but just then Tessa comes up and grabs my arm. I nearly drop the Kindle but instead it falls back into my purse.

  “Come on,” she says. “Gotta get out of here.”

  I’m only too happy to oblige.

  We run back into the square, Monique and Tessa laughing loudly and drunkenly.

  “What’s so funny?” I ask. “Why did we leave?”

  “Oh come on, like you care,” Monique practically snorts. “I saw you itching to read your Kindle in a bar.”

  She erupts into another cackle of laughter.

  “Were you really?” Tessa says, chuckling along with her.

  Shit. I was hoping both had been too drunk to notice. I decide to focus the conversation back onto them.

  “You both looked like you really into those guys. So why did you run out?”

  “Oh please,” Monique says. “Mine decided to tell me he was married, after he decided to make out with me.”

  “Ewwww,” I exclaim.

  “I know, gross. He was like, ‘Oh hey can we go to your flat because my wife is home.’”

  “Wow, that’s even worse.”

  “Yeah, so it was definitely time to split. I don’t hook up with cheaters. Of course he wasn’t wearing a ring and I hadn’t thought to ask his marital status before we started locking lips. Note to self: never get to drunk to check on this first.”

  “Was yours married too?” I ask Monique.

  “No, he was just a really bad kisser, which is almost as big of a sin.”

  Now I laugh heartily with them.

  “But why were you trying to curl up with a book in the corner?” Monique asks me. “You didn’t even fill up your calorie meter with enough drinks.”

  Tessa and I look at each funny and then Monique laughs.

  “Is that even a thing? I don’t know. I’m drunk.”

  “Seriously, Jade,” Tessa joins in. “What’s up with that? It’s not like you have to be DD or something.”

  “I know,” I tell them, shaking my head. “I’m just…”

  “What?” Monique asks, stopping on the street and turning towards me, seeming surprisingly more sober than she did just a few seconds ago when she talking about ‘calorie meters.’”

  “I’m pathetic, I guess,” I tell them.

  “No you’re not!” Tessa insists. “Don’t say that!”

  “Well,” I shrug, shivering in the cold night air despite being the only one of the three of us sensible enough to be wearing a coat.

  It’s an orange leather jacket I just bought last week while shopping on Grafton Street. It’s warm but I’m still cold. “I know college students and even high schoolers are supposed to be experimenting with everything under the sun but I just never have.”

  “You never have what?” Monique asks.

  I look at her and then at Tessa. Both of their eyes are bulging out, waiting for me to answer, as if I’m a rare specimen of 19 year old woman they’ve never seen before.

  “I’ve never done a lot of things,” I confess. “I never drank before I came to Ireland where I’m legally allowed to do so.”

  I start to explain myself. “I guess I was always afraid of getting in trouble. And I know it sounds lame but I like to be clear-headed so I can read…”

  “No offense, but we kind of already knew that,” Tessa interrupts, and she and Monique both laugh. “I mean, you always ask us what’s in every drink and how everything tastes and stuff.”

  “Remember when Tessa asked if you wanted an Irish car bomb and you said, ‘Do the Irish like to smoke weed in their cars?” Monique asks.

  “Yeah,” I say, laughing with them.

  “You thought I’d said Irish car ‘bong,’” Tessa explains, unnecessarily.

  “To my defense, you were slurring your words,” I laugh.

  “I’m sure I was,” she agrees. “I was already a couple Irish car ‘bongs’ in and I’d also had a hit or two from an actual bong. And you didn’t even want any of it.”

  “Hey, I tried yours!” I say defensively. “I just hated the taste.”

  “So what else haven’t you done?” Monique asks, her face taking on a serious expression again.

  I can’t believe I’ve never told them any of my deep dark— or more like extremely innocent and boring— secrets. But we haven’t been friends for very long and I’m a private person. Plus, I just feel silly when I talk about it.

  “I’ve never gone out and partied for like, gone to a bar even,” I confess. “I mean, before tonight of course.”

  “I guess that’s kind of obvious too,” Monique snorts, as we all start laughing again. “Because you were like ‘What is Temple Bar?’ ‘Why is this square named the same thing as the bar— or is it the other way around?’ ‘Where in the world are we?’”

  “Okay, so since you never had a sip of alcohol back in high school then I assume you’ve never done drugs either?” Tessa asks, getting back to the business of interrogating me about my past experiences or lack thereof.

  “Correct,” I respond, as if I’m on the stand under oath.

  “Wow, what did people even do at your high school?” Monique asks.

  I laugh again.

  “Oh, my friends and I were band geeks and book nerds,” I shrug. “We liked to go to musicals and movies and such.”

  Apparently I’ve seen Ferris Bueller one too many times, I think, but I don’t add that.

  “Have you ever even…?”

  Monique starts to ask, but Tessa nudges her and says, “Shhhh.”

  “It’s okay,” I tell them, the liquor making me bolder. “I know what you’ve both been wondering.”

  They want to know the answer to the Big Question. If I’m still a virgin. If I’ve had my first time. If my cherry’s been popped. And I’m feeling brave enough to tell them the answer.

  Chapter 3 – Jade

  I take a deep breath. This is it. The moment I confess my embarrassing secret to my friends.

  “No,” I tell them, letting out a big breath as if I was just blowing up a balloon. “I’ve never even had sex.”

  “Ooooh,” Monique says, as if she’s discovered a rare gem.

  “Stop it,” I tell her, feeling stupid. “It’s really not that uncommon.”

  “No,” she says, grabbing my hand in apology. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant like, wow, I’m kind of jealous.”

  “Really?” I ask, looking at her skeptically.

  Her brown curly hair threatens to come loose from the crazy cinnamon bun- style hairdo propped on top of her head with bobby pins and hair spray. Her dark eyes look sincere.

  “Really,” she says. “You’re a blank slate. You can have any kind of ‘first time’ that you want.”

  “I sure wish I could go back and have my first time over again,” Tessa agrees.

  “Why?” I ask her.

  “It was with some douchebag jock in the back of my car.”

  She scrunches up her face in disgust.

  “As soon as it was over he drove me home and dropped me off and that was that. I wish I had waited until I was in love.”

  “Love is overrated,” Monique declares. “I wish I could have a ‘re-do’ of my first time too, and it was with my boyfriend of nearly three years and we were madly in love a the time. Or so I thought.”

  “Really?” I ask.

  Now it’s my turn to be intrigued.

  “Yeah, I built it up in my head to be some amazingly big deal and it so wasn’t. It hurt and then it felt boring. He just laid on top of me for a minute or two a
nd that was it. The beginning of the end for us.”

  “Everything changed after that?” I ask her, genuinely curious. “Because you had sex?”

  “Because we had bad sex,” she says. “And I realized I just wanted something better.”

  It’s kind of a funny statement but all three of us nod our head solemnly, as if it is very sad.

  “Hmmm,” Tessa says thoughtfully, which is my sentiment exactly. “So maybe my first time wasn’t that bad after all. At least he made me come.”

  We all laugh and I feel a sense of relief about unburdening myself of this formerly shameful secret. And about knowing that they’re envious of me instead of pitying me.

  “So how do you want your first time to be?” Tessa asks me. “With someone you love? Or with a stranger?”

  “I couldn’t imagine it being with a stranger,” I immediately answer.

  But then I look around at the plethora of hot Irish guys walking into and out of various bars and around the square and I wonder what it would be like to go home with one. Could I really give my virginity to a total stranger?

  “I really don’t think I could do that,” I tell them. “But in fantasy it might be fun to think about.”

  “Have you never had a boyfriend?” Tessa asks, and Monique elbows her.

  “What?” she says. “I just bared my soul and my embarrassing sex story here so I just thought I’d ask…”

  “It’s fine,” I tell her. “I’ve had boyfriends but they were all good boys and I was a good girl.”

  “So I see not much has changed.”

  “Ha ha.”

  I think back wistfully, about both the positives and negatives of high school.

  “My friends— and the few guys I dated— and I were all destined to go on and become the college students we are now, on the scholarships that we earned while studying our asses off in high school while our classmates were partying or experimenting. We didn’t have time for booze, drugs or sex.”

  And maybe we were a little bit scared, I thought.

  Having sex for the first time is a really big deal. But I’m starting to feel like if I don’t do it now, I might never do it. I don’t mean right now right now, but soon-ish.

  Tessa and Monique might have cringe-worthy stories about their first time but at least they’ve lived through the experience. I’m starting to feel like I’m missing out on something.

  “Well, let us know when you want to do the deed and we’ll be sure to offer all of our support and unlimited liquid courage,” Tessa says.

  “I will,” I tell them. “I’m thinking it should probably be with a stranger, so that at least it won’t mess up my relationship. And I’m starting to think it should probably be soon.”

  “Woo hoo!” Tessa shouts, throwing her arms around me. “I’m so excited for you. I feel like I can live vicariously through you.”

  She shivers into my shoulder. Monique joins us in a group hug.

  “Well now that I’m up against your warm coat, I realize how freezing cold I am,” Tessa says.

  “Maybe it’s just the alcohol wearing off,” Monique jokes. “Time to go get some more.”

  “Yes!” Tessa practically shouts. “Onto the next bar.”

  “I think I’m going to call it a night,” I tell them.

  “Oh really?” Monique pouts. “But the fun was just getting started.”

  “Do you want us to go back with you?” Tessa asks.

  “No, I’ll be okay,” I tell them. “You two have fun finding guys who are neither married nor bad kissers.”

  “We will do that,” Tessa declares. “And you have fun with your Kindle book.”

  “Very funny. Bye ladies.”

  We hug one more time and they head off to the next bar. I still can’t stop thinking about our conversation.

  Why do I feel so ready to lose my virginity? And who could I possibly lose it to?

  As I walk down an alleyway, further away from the lights of the square, I realize I should be concentrating on more pressing issues. I thought that there was a main road this way, from where I could hail a cab away from the bustle of the bar scene and with hopefully less of a wait. Squinting into the darkness, however, I realize I must be tipsier than I thought, because I have no idea where I am.

  Chapter 4 – Jade

  As my apparently very bad luck would have it, it begins to rain. I walk further down the alley, sure that there must be a major throughway just around the corner. But every time I pass a corner, the only thing that greets me is more alleyway.

  The light drizzle begins to turn into a near downpour.

  Great.

  I partially remove the sleeves of my jacket and hoist it up over my head. I contemplate going back to the square and waiting for a cab but it can take over an hour in Dublin on a regular day, let alone during peak pub crawling time on a Saturday night.

  Although I had originally thought the wait would be shorter once I reached a less crowded street, now I’m thinking I can just walk back home. I’m not completely sure where I am but it seems that I’m getting closer to my flat.

  However, it also seems that the area is getting seedier. Garbage fills the alley way now, remnants of people having been here and not bothering to have cleaned up after themselves. A chill runs down my spine.

  What the hell was I thinking, leaving my friends and going out into the strange area all by myself at night? This isn’t like me at all. But neither is going club hopping or confessing my virginity.

  I start to think I should have just gone home to finish my Trevor book much earlier. I shouldn’t have spent so long outside talking to Tessa and Monique about the past.

  Nonsense, I chide myself. I’ve had a great last night in Dublin. Tonight was the last night I could drink, could let loose and actually go out, before returning home to a rigorous study regimen. They’ll be plenty of time to read then— for work and for fun.

  I finally get to a street and the sign says Sherriff Street. It looks like a thoroughfare where perhaps I could catch a cab instead of continuing to have to walk in the rain trying to find my way. There are even some people further down the way—if I squint, I can make them out.

  It looks like they’re passing by on their way to a pub but the pub must be seedier and more of a dive bar than the one I’ve just come from. The people look rather scruffy and dangerous and the area looks dirty.

  I keep walking. I still have my jacket pulled over my head and I hope no one noticed me.

  I’m reticent to continue down more and more alley ways. But I also don’t want to get myself into any trouble with people in a rough area with which I’m completely unfamiliar. The safest decision seems to be the dark alley instead of the frightening crowd.

  But as I continue on my way I see two men in the distance. Two men. I squint and make out the first man raise his arm and knock the other man on the side of his head. The second man raises his fists as if he wants to fight back but the first one pounds him upside the head again.

  The first man is large and menacing, while the second is quite small in comparison. The second one lets out some grunts, seeming to beg the first one to stop the violence.

  I know I should turn and run away but it’s like seeing a train wreck. I feel frozen and compelled to watch, my feet stuck to the pavement and my mouth hanging open.

  The bigger man continues pummeling the smaller one, knocking him upside the head until he falls over onto the ground. My heart races as the first man begins kicking and stomping on the first man, shouting something I can’t quite make out. I gather that the words form sentences that sound something like “I told you so” and “teach you and yours a lesson” but nothing is making any sense right now.

  I feel that I should call out and try to stop this chaos from happening but my better reason takes over and I realize that could be very dangerous. I also don’t think it would help anything. The first man continues kicking the second until he is apparently satisfied that his job is finished.


  And then he looks up and sees me, staring wide- eyed and shocked right back at him, although, luckily, from a distance.

  Holy shit.

  Now I really need to turn and run away, and I do. I run faster than I ever thought I could, down the alleyway and back to Sherriff Street. I careen around the corner and making a mad dash for the people I had just a few moments ago decided I hadn’t wanted to be around.

  Being around them seems like the best idea right now. I barrel down the direction in which I had seen people walking, wanting to shout out for help but also not wanting to attract even more attention from the man I just witnessed commit some heinous crime.

  At last I am among other people and although I’m out of breath and panting, no one seems to notice. They’re drunk and quite rowdy, singing drinking songs and fighting about politics. This does look like a seedier pub area— somewhere that Monique and Tessa avoid when they go out.

  I pretend that I belong among them, hoping that I blend in well enough to hide in between the boisterous pub crawlers. When I dare to turn back around, I see the man from the alleyway, searching the crowd for my face.

  Cars speed down the street and I think about throwing myself in front of one of them and begging the driver to take me somewhere, anywhere, to get me out of here. That idea isn’t much of a plan because it could backfire stupendously on me. So I continue my way with the crowd until we reach a street corner.

  Luckily, it looks like a major crossroad and I see a cab in the distance. I step out into the street and wave my arm like a lunatic, hoping and praying that the cab driver will let me in.

  Miraculously, I manage to flag him down.

  “Where to, Miss?” he asks.

  I hop in and say, “Please start driving,” before he can ask me again.

  I’m panting and breathless, searching for the man from the alleyway. I see him behind me, peering at the cab, and I can only hope and pray that he doesn’t have a way to follow me. I have a flight home tomorrow— I just need to get out of here and home to Boston and put this nightmare behind me.

  What started as a fun last night in Dublin has now turned into a gruesome event. And the best I can hope for in the future is that it will only be a terrifying memory.