Rocket Man

by Melanie Greene

  Because if she thought about him, she’d have to figure out what had happened. And so far, despite Rachel and Gillian’s advice, despite the mind-clearing yoga class, and despite whatever strange things her brain had thrown at her on Saturday and Sunday nights, she was no closer to an answer. So she’d made the decision to just not think about him. Simple, really.

  Of course, it would help if he wasn’t standing at the end of the hall, looking at her. Inscrutable. Gorgeous. Sexy. But silent and unreadable. She was flushing up again, she could feel it, and she caught herself running her hands over her suddenly itchy neck in search of hives. Damn. Fortunately Janice picked an opportune time to pass between the two of them, and collared Serena. They headed towards the warehouse door.

  “Looking good today, Toots.”

  “Thanks. Likewise, I’m sure.”

  “Right. Brand new Levis, what could be more exciting?”

  “Hang on, you went shopping? You never go shopping.”

  Janice flushed. Interesting! Serena nudged her shoulder in a ‘give it up’ gesture, and finally Janice mumbled something about needing new workout gear anyway.

  “You also didn’t answer my calls.”

  “You called?”

  “Don’t play innocent. I know a woman with tales to tell when I see one.”

  Janice rolled her eyes. “Fine. Smoothie Shack for lunch?”

  “We aren’t allowed to go get tamales instead?”

  “Tamales? Toots, when have you ever seen me eat tamales?”

  “Well, you’re missing out. You can order the black bean tacos instead.” Serena glanced over her shoulder, relieved to see that Dillon hadn’t appeared behind them. With or without a Psycho-style knife poised to stab. Damn Rachel and her fear reflexes anyhow—this was weird enough without a potential criminal record thrown into the mix. And the only reflex she’d felt when seeing him again had been to rush towards him. She’d been able to suppress it, but only thanks to Janice’s timely intervention. Serena was beginning to foresee a large number of problems cropping up in her workdays to come. Fantastic.

  As if on cue, her phone trilled with the ring tone she’d assigned to all of her coworkers. Swallowing a lump, she drew it out of her pocket, and saw with relief it was just her boss.

  “Anica’s calling. Catch you later—noon?”

  “Noon,” Janice agreed, and slipped into the warehouse.

  Serena answered the call, then groaned a little when Anica asked her to bring her workflow projections and the nearly finished layouts for two web ads by her office as soon as possible. It could only mean more work landing on her plate, and odds were good that the new tasks would involve working with Dillon. It wasn’t like Serena hadn’t known when she’d been so excited—so freakishly giddy!—about the farmers market date that if things didn’t go well between them it might get awkward. But she’d never even considered the sudden desperate need for antihistamines and a throat so closed she could barely draw in air, much less make polite excuses prior to her headlong departure. And how exactly do you go about telling your coworker, “Sorry we didn’t have sex, but I seem to be allergic to you, so could you keep your distance, please?” It didn’t help that most of what her brain had thrown into her dreams the past two nights were blatant fantasies about Dillon. Beyond blatant. Inflammatory. Who knew her subconscious had this much steamy stuff lurking within?

  Well, best to leave that for another time. She managed to skirt the regular path to her office—past Dillon's—by detouring through the break room, and barely glanced at her in-box while she gathered everything for Anica. No message from Dillon. Well, why should there be? And she was ignoring him anyway.

  Well, she’d been ignoring him. Until she practically stepped on his toes as she left her office.

  “Oh. Um. Hi.” (Good lord, that was smooth! Way to start off assured, Serena.)

  “Morning.”

  Why did he have to look so good? Why did she have the itch to smooth the slightly scruffy black hair falling over his eyes? Why did his eyes have to be the blue of deep mountain pools, and why couldn’t she read anything in them? She was sure her own face was giving all kinds of things away.

  “I—good morning. Anica called me in, I have to get over there.”

  He nodded slowly. It failed to look like agreement of any sort.

  “So I’ll see you later, okay?”

  There was a flash in his eye now. Anger? Anticipation? Hurt? Lust? It was gone too quickly. He spoke quietly. “Will you have lunch with me?”

  “Oh, um. Sorry. Janice and I—we have to talk about something.”

  The next nod was definitely not agreement. “Right, then,” Dillon said, and turned away. Serena watched his stride as he left. Quick. Shoulders set. She sighed. That hadn’t gone well. Understatement of the day—it had been tense and awkward and she was as red as a beet. Rather than chase him down to explain that lunch with Janice had nothing to do with him, she squared her own shoulders, took a couple of reassuringly deep breaths, and headed to Anica’s office.

  It felt like days that she was closeted with the boss, getting a crash course in scheduling, budgeting, sourcing, bidding, and about seven hundred other things that Serena had probably forgotten before she’d finished writing them down. Most likely it was only hours, not days, since she was in the lobby to meet Janice at noon.

  “You been dragged backwards through a barbed wire fence, Toots?”

  “Just about. And I’m not sure, but I think I have about a dozen more fences before Anica is through with me.”

  “Ha. No wonder Dillon told Eddie he’d better get used to being shut out of An’s office and not knowing what’s happening. Eddie was bull-mad about it, pacing up and down the hall and glaring at the door. Was Anica training you to take over Eddie’s job or something?”

  Serena blinked away her hurt at Dillon's cynicism. “No, but I am apparently destined for great things.”

  “Toots! I guessed as much. What’d she say?”

  “Oh, it’s all still vague at this point. I’m being evaluated, and how I deal with the Atkinson job will prove my worth. Or lack of worth.”

  “No chance of that.”

  “Well, you’re nice to say so. But Anica keeps it all close to her chest, so how this gets played out might not be so easy to read. Honestly, I could really use the official promotion, and the raise—well, mostly the raise. And the mortgage it’ll allow me to get.”

  They chatted Anica strategy until after their lunches were ordered. As Operations Manager, Janice had worked on a more equal footing with Anica than Serena ever had. She was able to give her a little guidance about pet peeves and some of the higher-echelon Lanigan workings.

  “But none of that tells me what happened about Ricky.”

  “He’s gone.”

  “Gone? What, fired?” When Janice nodded, not meeting her eyes, Serena asked, “Isn’t that good? What happened?”

  Janice sighed and stirred her iced tea. “I went to Miguel like we said.”

  “Okay. And?”

  “When I told him the dyke comment, he first of all said some boilerplate about Lanigan not discriminating on the basis of sexual orientation.”

  “The hell?”

  Janice looked briefly heavenward, then leaned back to let the waitress deposit their lunch platters in front of them. “Yep. I mean, he was pretty furious about what Ricky said, I’ll give him that. More steamed than those tamales, you know? I’m not sure Ricky escaped his termination intact. Not that I object. Know what that vulture shit did after lunch on Friday?”

  “He said something else? You’re kidding.”

  “No, but I had to call him to offload a couple of pallets that had just come in, and when he got to the dock, he got down from the forklift and pumped his hips a couple of times at me, dumbass tongue wagging the whole time. I mean, not if he were Johnny Depp would that action be sexy, you know?”

  “Aw, sweets. I’m going to sneak into Emily’s office after lunch and find his
address, okay? You can come with me when I go flatten his tiny nads.”

  “You’re too kind,” Janice smiled. “I think Miguel already knows his address. And a couple of the guys on the floor were giving me these upright stances and serious nods after Ricky was shown the door, so I’m not sure, but....”

  “Maybe Ricky already had a bad weekend? Serves him right, if so. Here, try this tamale, it’s the spinach one. To die for, right?”

  “Mmm. I can feel the fat warming my tummy now.”

  “Oh, you’ll just spin class it off later on. Come on, tell me what else Miguel said. Not just the anti-discrimination stuff, right?”

  Janice shook her head. “Nope, he buzzed Emily and told her to get Ricky’s termination paperwork together, fired for cause, and guess what?”

  “Hm?”

  “He told her about the dyke thing and I had to sign a statement after all.”

  “Good.”

  “Well, it’s not what I was looking for. But Miguel was—I guess ‘considerate’ is the word. I don’t think it’ll change much of anything. People talk so progressive until Little Missy puts on steel-toe shoes, and suddenly there are manly lines not to cross. But at least Miguel sets a good example for the rest of the warehouse.”

  “I told you he’d handle it right.”

  “Thanks, Toots, that’s always a classy comment.”

  Serena grinned. “Nyah-nyah-nyah. But wait a minute. Does Miguel think you’re gay?”

  Janice blushed. “I don’t know.”

  “Janice,” she drew out her friend’s name, intrigued. “Do you have a reason Miguel needs to not think you’re gay?”

  “What does it matter if he does or not? We’re just coworkers.”

  Serena tried to hide her wince. It wasn’t so long ago that she’d pretended to a similar level of equanimity about Dillon. “Okay, sure, it’s not like it affects your job. But are you telling me the new jeans and the haircut are purely coincidental?”

  “Asked the woman with a brand-new top and, if I’m not mistaken, a shade of lipstick never before seen upon her very guilty face?”

  “Okay fine, you were just shopping. Time for new clothes. Happens to everyone.” Serena scooped some more salsa onto her tamales and carefully distributed it across the entire surface.

  “Toots, you are easier to read than my first primer.”

  “Don’t know what you’re talking about. And did Miguel notice your hair?”

  “Changing the subject, that’ll work. No, he did not notice my hair. Or how excellently these jeans hug my firm ass, either. Not so as he mentioned, and not that he would mention, on the heels of firing someone for harassment.”

  “Do you want him to notice?”

  “More importantly, who do you want to notice the extremely flirty ruffle on your cute little bodice, Serena? Can’t be Jorge, he’s Bubba’s guy through and through. Can’t be Eddie, he’s a dubiously married man. Philip is probably twice your age. That leaves Johnnie or, and I know you are impressed with my powers of deduction, the sexy-as-sin Dillon.”

  “How do you know it’s not Miguel?” Serena asked, then realized she’d given too much away with just that question. “Or anyone at work? Maybe I met someone at yoga.”

  “Please, after the last guy, with the dream journal? I don’t think so.”

  “Or anyone at all. How do you know I’m not just trying to please myself?”

  “Right, Toots. I will believe that of you, and you of me, and we will have a harmonious little life in fairyland.”

  “Which is where you should be, since you’re gay and all.”

  “I’m pretty sure Ricky thought you were my girlfriend, so you can come live under the toadstool next door to mine.”

  Serena laughed. “Deal.”

  Janice, bless her, didn’t mention Dillon again. Or Johnnie, who was one step away from the frat house he’d lived in fifteen years earlier, so if Janice thought the cute shirt was for his benefit she was really reaching.

  Of course, the cute shirt wasn’t for Dillon, either. She just liked it. A woman was allowed to enjoy her wardrobe without everyone seeking ulterior motives all the time.

  Except Janice looked damn good in those jeans, and Serena had to wonder just how much their new clothes were giving away about both of their ulterior motives.

  That was his smile.

  He wasn’t even aware he’d cataloged Serena’s smiles. Or that he had laid claim to any of them as his particular possession. But she was standing there in the lobby, shaking hands with some silly ass with gray hair and wrinkles everywhere, relaxed and happy as you please, and giving him Dillon's smile. The one that meant he’d said something to please or entertain her. The one that told him she liked being with him. The one that had always quickened his pulse a little, even when they were in the middle of a meeting and it was totally inappropriate.

  Maybe it had been inappropriate every time, no matter the circumstances. Because if he’d been reading anything into that smile, and she was just as likely to give it to a cretin like the one who finally took his talons off of her and left, Dillon was clearly a fool.

  And of course the smile disappeared double-time as soon as she saw Dillon looking at her. Not unlike the way she herself had disappeared double-time on Saturday. He could practically feel her searching the lobby for an exit that would allow her to continue avoiding him. Well, not this time, he thought grimly as he approached her.

  It wasn’t that she took a step back when he was close. But he could tell that she wanted to. He interrupted the half-formed excuse on her unsmiling lips. “Come outside with me for a minute.”

  “I. Anica and I,” Serena started.

  “Have been meeting all day and will probably meet all night, sure, whatever. You took time out to cuddle up to the old man there, you can give me five minutes, too.”

  At that point, Serena literally did search for exits, but with Dillon deliberately crowding her space, she couldn’t come up with an escape plan. She did mutter something about the guy being an accountant not a teddy bear, but let him lead her to the door. He didn’t touch her, though. As much as he wanted to, he didn’t even reach for her arm to guide her. The last time he’d touched her, after all—well, first she’d torn at her shirt to get him closer to her breasts. Then she’d bolted.

  Once clear of the door and any prying eyes or ears within the building, Dillon just looked at Serena. She looked good. Gorgeous. Composed. But with widened eyes that belied her calm façade, so at least he knew she hadn’t forgotten what had happened. Whether she could explain it or not was another matter.

  “So.”

  She fidgeted, then squared her shoulders. “So.”

  “You left.” He instantly wanted to revoke his words, to go for a less direct approach. While most of him wanted to confront Serena, compel an explanation from her, and give no quarter, an ungovernable part of him begged him to slow down and give her a chance. To accept whatever feeble excuse she gave—dead phone, broken modem, dead relative, broken bone. His own mind had come up with a hundred reasons for her leaving, and for her dodging of him afterwards. All that reckless part of him wanted was for her to offer up any half-hearted excuse that he could whole-heartedly embrace so that they could move past Saturday and see what might happen next.

  But, no, he’d gone for the confrontation. So it served him right that she said, “I left. I’m sorry I didn’t say goodbye.”

  No excuse at all. No apology for the lack of an explanation. His eyes narrowed as he determined to pin her down. “That’s what you’re sorry for? Only for not waving as you ran down my steps? What about avoiding me for the past forty-nine hours? What about a pretty clear indication that we could have some sort of relationship, and then you leaving without a word? What about a two-word text then radio silence? What about kissing —”

  She broke in, flushed and furious. “Relationship? Dillon, who said anything about a relationship? Did I say it? I think I’d remember. You didn’t either. I never gave
you any reason to believe we were headed to the altar here, did I? No I did not. For your information, I’m not looking for a husband, so maybe you could lay off and give me some space to figure this all out for a minute or two?”

  He clenched his jaw, drew a hissing great breath in through his nose, and didn’t move. If he moved, he’d open his mouth. If he opened his mouth, no one in the building behind him would miss the fact that he was pissed. Royally, royally pissed.

  His utter silence apparently gave her a chance to replay her own words—they were certainly echoing relentlessly through his mind. At any rate, her eyes widened, her honey skin paled, and her mouth worked for a quiet moment.

  “Oh, God, Dillon, that’s not what I meant. Shit. I can’t—I just don’t know why....” ‘Why’ what, he wondered. But didn’t ask. He still wasn’t moving. “Don’t listen to me, Dillon. I won’t listen to Rachel, and you don’t listen to me, and we’ll remember that we’re friends and if we’re friends then whatever is happening with my breathing isn’t panic—it’s something but I don’t know what but we can take it slow, taking it slow worked fine, and then I’ll figure this out. Okay? Is that okay?”

  But he was galvanized—‘friends’ was all she had to say to get him moving after all. Friends. It was clear enough, as brush-offs went. One did not suckle one’s friend’s breasts. One’s friends did not tantalize one’s erection. Friendship was not carnal.

  Never mind that friends, real friends, explain when they behave inexplicably. Or at least apologize. No, Serena was not his friend. And she clearly didn’t want more. So he would remove himself from her orbit and she could befriend the ancient accountant with his vintage abacus or whatever. It was, after all, the friendly thing to do when one’s friend is hell-bent on avoiding one’s company. Only polite to comply.

  So he walked away.

  Serena watched the stiffest neck she’d ever seen, retreating from her at speed. Just walking away without a word. So, that’s how that felt. No wonder he was mad.

  What had she just said? Talking about weddings? Where had that even come from? And who was she kidding, she didn’t want a relationship? Last time she checked, people only shaved before trips to the farmers market when they wanted—well, okay, often just sex. But more than friendship, at any rate. And she’d gone full-tilt into the encounter—the kiss, the more—with Dillon. No rewriting history, Serena.