Sweatpants Season

by Danielle Allen

  “Thanks for the heads up.” He opened the door to the conference room for me. As I walked by him, he leaned down and whispered, “And this is why I don’t mix business with pleasure.”

  The feeling of his breath on my neck sent a shiver down my spine. With a sharp intake of air, I ignored the familiar ache between my thighs. I looked up into his eyes and saw he knew exactly what he was doing.

  “Welcome!” Ann greeted us. “I’m so sorry I hadn’t included you two on the staff email group yet. But I’m happy you were able to make it. Take a seat at any of the seats over there.” She gestured around the room.

  Smiling, I took the first empty seat against the wall. Most of the seats at the table were taken by what appeared to be seasoned staff members. I expected Carlos to take the seat next to me, but he continued walking, sitting directly across the room.

  I stared him down until he looked at me, which didn’t take long. Quirking my brow, I gave him a single nod.

  Noted.

  “Hello,” Luna Daniels greeted us as she glided into the room. She looked flawless and comfortable in jeans and a t-shirt.

  I made a mental note to let Meghan know that if ballet flats were good enough for Luna, they were good enough for me.

  The meeting was a typical staff meeting, but I was riveted. She went over story ideas, traction with last week’s edition, last minute changes to the October edition, and so many other things that my head spun. I took notes about everything and hung on to every word. Those of us along the wall were mostly spectators as Luna and the staff at the table loudly discussed issues regarding content.

  “Speaking of new,” Luna began, extending one arm in my direction and one in Carlos’s. “We have a special series running for the next few weeks. Akila and Carlos are co-series writers for the He Said, She Said opinion piece that’ll debut in tomorrow’s online edition.”

  As everyone clapped and cheered, pride and excitement filled me. I grinned and couldn’t help but look over at Carlos who was smiling as well.

  “They are taking on the Richland dating scene and hitting the recurring singles events—the trivia night at Pops, the happy hour at Koi, the artist showcase at Rich Gallery, and Sunday Expressions. They are giving us accounts of their experiences. The hope is to grab men and women from eighteen to forty-nine and give them two different perspectives.”

  “I like what I read,” a redhead at the table commented. He flashed me a smile before continuing. “Both articles were engaging, and they paired well together.”

  “Thank you,” Carlos and I said in unison.

  “But will it translate to the print copies of Re-Mix?” the redhead man continued.

  My heart sped up as I watched Luna pondering over my future with Re-Mix.

  “We haven’t gotten that far yet. We need to see how it goes before we think about adding it to print,” Luna declared, rising to her feet. “Meeting adjourned.”

  As everyone started talking and began exiting the conference room, Luna called Carlos and I over to her.

  “How was last night?” Luna asked, folding her arms across her chest.

  I shifted my eyes to Carlos before responding. “Last night was unique…”

  “Yeah, there was an incident at Koi,” he added.

  “Oh, I know. I read Akila’s rough draft and wow…” She turned to me. “It’s really good. It has multiple layers with the dating dynamics, power plays, and socialized behavior. But I don’t know how we can get it down to five hundred words and adequately tell that story. I’m considering it for a separate piece in the print version. I’ll let you know.”

  “Oh my God,” I breathed. Shaking my head in disbelief, I put my hand over my mouth. “I mean, thank you. Oh my—thank you…so much. Oh my god.”

  “In the meantime, you’ll need to write something for next week’s online edition. I want you to focus on the parallels you created between Date Night with The Lost Boys and this loser at the bar.” Luna looked at Carlos and smiled. “I want you to focus on your experience, and without naming Akila, feel free to detail how and why you came to her defense.”

  “I can do that,” Carlos replied.

  Luna flashed him a wide smile. “I have no doubt in my mind. The two articles will reflect the differences between the way a real man handles a night out and how a loser spirals out of control upon rejection.” She winked at him. “Have you read Akila’s article yet?”

  He took a quick look at me before returning his sights on Luna. “I haven’t read it yet, but I’m sure it’s great.”

  “As yours will be,” I returned with sincerity.

  She looked between us and her smile slowly grew. “You two get out of here and enjoy the rest of your night. I need your articles by Monday.”

  With that, she turned on her heel and walked out.

  Hoisting my bag on my shoulder, I tentatively peeked at Carlos—who was staring at me.

  “What?” I asked softly.

  He hesitated. “Did you do the homework for Romano’s course?”

  “The relaxation picture?”

  He nodded, opening the conference room door open for me. “Yeah.”

  “I’ve already submitted it. I did mine here actually. Well, Empire Park.” Studying his face, I kept the conversation going. “What about you?”

  “The Riverfront.”

  “Have you taken yours yet?”

  “Yeah. I did it Wednesday.”

  “Oh, okay.”

  We continued down the hall in silence.

  With each step we took, the awkwardness between us grew. It was a tension like no other and every time I looked at him, he seemed unbothered.

  Is this cordial? Is this how it’s going to be between us?

  I didn’t know what I expected, but stiff conversation about assignments wasn’t it.

  “I’m going to run to the restroom before I get on the road,” Carlos announced before checking his phone. “You take it easy.”

  As I watched him walk away, my stomach sank. “Bye,” I called out to him.

  He didn’t turn around.

  Chapter Eleven

  “So, I see you’re wearing the fuck me heels this time around,” Meghan observed from the doorway of my bedroom. “Would this have anything to do with the weird way things ended with you and Carlos on Friday?”

  The weekend flew by. Saturday was spent printing out and framing my very first Re-Mix byline. Tears and celebratory carbs filled my day. I was happy, and my belly was full of laughter and sweet treats. But as I stood in a sexy black dress Sunday night, the knot in my stomach grew. Even though I knew I had nothing to feel bad about, I thought about Carlos all weekend.

  “These were the shoes that looked best with this dress,” I replied as I eyed the gold spikes that covered my heels in the mirror.

  “Yes, they do,” she acknowledged, taking a seat on the edge of my bed. “But you’re looking pretty sexy for a work event.”

  I shifted my gaze from my reflection to my best friend. “You think it’s too much?”

  “No, it’s just the right amount of sexy for a gallery event. It’s not too short, but it’s showing off your legs. It’s not too low cut, but it’s showing off your cleavage. And with your back out like that, it’s showing off your ass.”

  That was the hope.

  “Okay, good.” I readjusted the gold pins in my updo and took a step back. “I’m ready.”

  “So, what are you going to say when you see him? Are you going to tell him about the article you’re turning in tomorrow?”

  The knot in my belly tightened. “If we cross paths, I’ll tell him.”

  She scoffed. “If we cross paths,” she mimicked me, rolling her eyes. “If these last two singles events are any indication, you two will find your way to each other. Trust and believe.”

  I shook my arms at my sides. I can do all things.

  We said our goodbyes and twenty minutes later, I was standing outside of Rich Gallery. Gathering myself and gripping my gold clutch
with all the strength I could muster, I walked inside with a group of women I didn’t know.

  “Welcome to Sapphire’s showcase,” a woman in a sparkly dress welcomed us. “If you’re single, I need you to wear this.”

  After checking my jacket, I got in line behind the four women with whom I’d walked in. I watched as they held out their wrists and received black sparkly wristbands so when it was my turn, I followed suit.

  “I think you have an admirer,” the woman in the sparkly dress whispered. Once she attached my wristband, she signaled with her eyes.

  Following her line of vision, the knot in my belly grew as I anticipated laying eyes on Carlos.

  “Oh,” I mumbled aloud, locking eyes with a good-looking man I’d never seen before. “Thanks.”

  She held on to my wrist a little longer than necessary. “If you don’t want him, send him my way,” she giggled causing me to toss my head back and laugh.

  The nerves I’d felt initially dissipated as I moved into the gallery space. The mid-sized gallery in the heart of downtown Richland featured the art of new and upcoming artists for a two-week period. Sundays of the opening weekend were designated singles events and as I looked around, I was impressed with the turnout for Sapphire.

  “Hi, I’m Michael,” a deep voice met me at the first painting.

  Reaching out, I met his outstretched hand. “Hi, Michael, I’m Akila.”

  “You look familiar.” He checked me out. “But I know I would’ve remembered you if I met you.”

  “What do you think of this piece?” I inquired, shifting the focus to the dark colored painting in front of us. I felt him gawking at me, but I continued to look at the fluid lines in front of me. “What does it say to you?”

  “It’s cool.” He paused until I looked over at him. “Can I get you a drink or something?”

  “No, thank you.” I looked back at the painting. “What do you think it means?”

  “I don’t know. This isn’t really my scene.”

  “Oh? So, what made you come?”

  “To meet women like you.”

  I gave him a look. “Women like me?”

  “Beautiful women who could tell me about art.” He let out a sheepish chuckle. “I know nothing about art.”

  “Art is subjective. It’s just about what you see and what you feel. I don’t know much about painting or Sapphire’s work, but I know what I see and what I feel when I look at it…” I gestured to the darkest areas of the portrait. “It’s all about your experience with the work.”

  “You are so beautiful,” he commented.

  I twisted to face him. “Thanks. Did you hear what I was saying?”

  “I was distracted by your beauty,” he flirted.

  I blinked.

  His smile widened.

  I looked at him blankly.

  “I’m going to go get a drink.”

  “Yeah, that’d be good.”

  He spun around and had only gotten three steps before I heard his voice. “You are absolutely beautiful,” he greeted an unsuspecting woman who giggled.

  Shaking my head, a smile played on my lips. Men.

  I met a couple of other men as I moved from painting to painting. There were questions placed around the gallery to stimulate conversation about the art. For singles, there were additional get-to-know-you questions. The entire format promoted discussion while simultaneously honoring the art.

  I was in a discussion with a small group of people about the painting of the faceless woman on the red canvas.

  “I think it represents a woman on her cycle,” one woman observed.

  “Yeah, because of the red,” a man chimed in, nodding. “I think she feels powerless to the pain of her cramps.”

  “Yeah, because it’s a heavy flow. It’s pooling around her. This could be representative of the most emotional time of our month,” she elaborated before tapping my arm. “What do you think?”

  I stared at the painting. “I think she’s living a vibrant life and she wants to be heard by a world that doesn’t want to hear her,” I stated, eyes transfixed on the work.

  They were quiet as they considered what I’d said, nodding in agreement without adding any additional commentary. Even as they moved on to the next painting, I remained in place, studying it.

  “If you were on time, you would’ve gotten a personal escort around the gallery,” Carlos informed me as he positioned himself next to me. “Perks of living three blocks away.”

  The sound of his voice curled my toes.

  I gripped my clutch tighter as my entire lower body clenched. “I was only fifteen minutes late,” I whispered, still staring forward.

  “And you would only know that if you were looking for me.”

  “You aren’t hard to miss, Akila.”

  It wasn’t the words so much as the way his voice wrapped around my name that did me in.

  Drawing in a shaky breath, I looked over at him. The sheer sight of him gave me butterflies. He wore black pants and a black button up shirt, tucked in with a black belt and shoes. He oozed sexiness and all he was doing was standing there, staring at the painting.

  “What do you see?” I asked, praying he didn’t hear the wispiness of my voice.

  “A lot of red,” he answered as I stared at his profile. “I see a woman who drinks red wine to deal with her invisibility.”

  My lips turned upward as he took a sip of brown liquor from his tumbler. “Interesting,” I responded.

  “And you?”

  “I think the absence of blue means that she’s probably not sad. I think red is vibrant and sexy. I think she is living this full life and she wants to be heard, she wants to shout it from the rooftops.”

  “You probably know her social security number, too, huh?” he joked, amusement dripping from his voice.

  Stifling a giggle that threatened to bubble through me, I moved toward the next exhibit. I stayed a step ahead of him and didn’t stop until I was standing directly in front of the monochromatic depiction of intertwined limbs.

  “Hm,” I murmured, eyeing the suggestive painting. “What do you see?”

  He didn’t answer for a while. I didn’t push him to rush his answer. Giving him a sidelong glance, I noticed the way he took in the large canvas. I focused my attention back on the image and tried to figure out what the art was saying to me.

  Carlos cleared his throat. “It looks like…ecstasy.”

  “Yes,” I agreed. As I stared at the image, I tilted my head to the side. “It’s pleasure. It’s desire. It’s…” I couldn’t come up with a strong enough word to describe the lust displayed, but I felt it within me.

  “It’s what?” His deep voice ricocheted in my head and then shot down to the apex of my thighs.

  Peering at him, my lips parted, but I still had no words. Turned on and standing next to the man who had frequented my fantasies, my body understood the painting better than my mind could comprehend.

  When he looked over at me and our eyes met, my heart stopped. Just for a second, it stopped. And then it pounded. We stared at one another and the seconds ticked by.

  Breaking the trance, I took a step back, almost bumping into someone. “I should—we should, um…mingle.” Tearing my eyes away from him, I strode across the room as if I wasn’t affected by him.

  I was glad I broke away from him when I did.

  While I had great conversation with a number of people attending the event, I was getting hotter and more bothered. The art became darker and sexier as the exhibit continued, so the conversations around me did, too. But neither intellectually stimulating conversation nor art held my attention for long. Even when I wanted to engage in conversation with someone about the art, I found myself looking for him subconsciously. Every ten minutes, my eyes would locate Carlos in the crowd. And every time, my eyes found him, his eyes were already on me. And we’d both instantly look away.

  I tried to get him out of my head. But with two glasses of champagne swimming through my syst
em and a very phallic painting in front of me, I couldn’t stop thinking about him. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. At one point I just kept picturing his hands on me, his mouth tasting me, and his dick in me. I tried to focus on the art in front of me, but my mind kept wandering to him. He had officially consumed my thoughts.

  “You should go for it,” a man’s voice interrupted the fantasies brewing in my head.

  I glanced over my shoulder and it was a cute couple having a private conversation.

  “I think you’re right. I’m going to ask the gallery owner about signing up for my own show,” the woman squealed. “Thank you for supporting me, boo.”

  I smiled at them even though they weren’t paying me any mind, and I turned my attention back toward the painting. Even though I wasn’t facing them, I heard the man repeat his advice to his girlfriend.

  “You should go for it,” he said.

  His words mixed with the champagne as I studied the painting in front of me. The heavy usage of red and black were so sexual and primal to me.

  I should go for it.

  It was right in that moment that I decided that I was going to have to fuck Carlos to get him out my head and off my mind.

  Slowly spinning on my heels, I saw him sipping his drink and discussing something with a woman who looked like she was hanging on to his every word. While he was distracted, I allowed myself the pleasure of taking him in from a distance. My gaze traveled down and then back up his body to that stunningly handsome face of his.

  Shit.

  I was caught.

  But unlike all the other times when we quickly averted our eyes, our looks lingered, and something shifted. The room felt hotter, the air felt thicker, and my body felt tingly. The energy between us was calling the shots and the atmosphere in the entire gallery had changed. I felt it instantly.

  Licking my lips, I strutted across the floor, more mindful than ever that his eyes were searing into my skin. As I walked across the room to the painting we’d last looked at together, I lifted my eyebrows, hoping he’d understand my signal to follow me.

  It worked.