by Piper Rayne
“Comments won’t start for a while. We won’t know anything until later.” The sound of him biting another huge bite of apple rings through my cubicle.
I say nothing in response to his comment. The man hasn’t mentioned anything about us going to dinner since Sunday night after we got off the train.
We sit in silence except while he continues to eat his apple. I grow more and more annoyed with his cavalier attitude about dating me. I told myself that when I got involved with someone, I would be that person’s number one. It’s probably because I witnessed my brothers fall down on the sword of love. They’d do just about anything for the women in their life. This half-assed approach of Ethan’s isn’t working for me.
The sound of his feet landing on the ground alerts me that he’s probably leaving. I refuse to turn around. At this point I’m embarrassing myself by openly throwing myself at him.
His fingers slide into my field of vision, pushing a piece of paper across my desk. I keep my eyes on my computer screen.
“I’ll check back in a little bit, but don’t sweat it. Everyone gets a pass on their first article.”
A strangling sound echoes out of me. He finally leaves my cubicle, allowing me to breathe.
I pick up the piece of paper to find a scrawl of male handwriting on the note.
Come to my house so I can cook a hot meal for you.
Seven o’clock
726 Copperton, Apt 3D
I slowly fold the piece of paper back into a rectangle and tap it on my desk.
Two voices battle inside my head. Or more like my libido and my ‘I am woman hear me roar’ voice. My libido says this is it—dinner at his apartment means sex will happen. The ‘I am woman’ voice says that he should be wining and dining me. He should have followed up with me days earlier, not the day of.
My phone dings a second later.
Ethan: Please.
Does he know he’s doing wrong expecting me to come?
Another ding sounds and I quickly silence my phone.
Ethan: Do you want me to beg? Because I will.
Then a whole slew of messages come through.
Ethan: I promise the dessert alone will be worth it.
*
Ethan: That’s not some sleazy come on either. By dessert I mean a chocolate ganache pie.
*
Ethan: No expectations. I’ll walk you home after dinner.
*
Ethan: I just want some time alone with you. No distractions. Just you and me.
I finally decide to respond.
Me: Yes. I’ll come, but that ganache better be worth it.
His chuckle echoes over the partition between our cubicles.
“It will be,” he says and I place my phone down.
When I notice the time on the computer screen, I realize that the article went live as we were having our little exchange.
My first line of business is to see how Ethan’s article went. Taking the opposing side of mine, I’m not surprised by the fact he’s weighing in heavy on the taboo part. But to suggest that it’s a high people chase makes me take pause for a second.
Is that what intrigues me about possibly dating Ethan? I realize that I don’t even know if I’d be Ethan’s first co-worker romance. My eyes scroll, not reading as deep into the article as I should. It’s then I spot his admission.
“I’ve never had a work relationship, nor did I ever think I would. Which leaves the most important question of this article. How important is finding the one? Does it hold more weight than financial security? Because if you cross the line once, you must prepare yourself for the consequences and statistics aren’t on your side. One survey noted below said half of all Americans have had a workplace romance when only fourteen percent made it down the aisle. Add on the national divorce rate and do I really need to say more? The workplace is not where you should be looking for your happily ever after.”
I lean back in my chair, my limbs heavy with annoyance. Annoyance because of his facts which I’ll reluctantly admit have a good point.
His cologne fills my cubicle and a dark shadow falls over my desk.
“Good article,” he says, not coming any closer.
I swivel my chair around. “Thanks. You too.”
“I think your points hold a lot of weight.” He leans his shoulder against the cubicle wall and I half wonder why he’s not taking his usual spot on the filing cabinet.
“I don’t have nearly the statistics you have.”
A cocky grin splashes on his face. “So you agree with me now after a few statistics?”
“Did I say that?”
“Statistics are used to prove theories.”
“So let me get this right. You write this article with all these facts…” I put facts in quotation marks with my fingers. “But then I get this on my desk.” I hold up the piece of paper with his address.
His grin grows so wide the indent from his dimple could fit a half dollar. “I’m not sure what answer you’re looking for.”
I shrug and my own smile breaks across my face. “I kinda feel like I won.”
“Won?” He almost chokes on his own saliva.
“I’m your co-worker and…” I hold up the paper like it’s a trophy.
“What can I say? You’re worth the risk.”
My entire body heats and my stomach flips and flops like a gymnast doing her final trick for the judges after a perfect routine.
Mr. Copeland appears and stops at the edge of my cubicle, leaving Ethan no choice but to fill the small space. Cassie isn’t far behind with her usual wad of gum cracking and popping. I shouldn’t love being this close to Ethan, but the crispness of his cologne puts all my lady parts on high alert.
“Love it, you two. The comments are flooding in, shares, mentions. I think we have something here. Meet me in the conference room at two to discuss what direction we need to go. We can’t let this go to waste.”
He knocks on the top of my cubicle and disappears down the hall without either of us even answering.
Ethan raises his hand and I high five him.
“Way to go with the idea. I say we compare bagel places next issue since you’re still going to that awful Bagel Place.” His eyes zero in on my coffee cup.
Guilt presses heavy in my chest since I now know they’re Seth’s family’s competitor. “I kind of like the girl there. She’s sweet and already has my order memorized.”
He tsks. “You’re missing out.”
I sip my cold coffee just to prove a point. “I dare to be different.”
“That you are.”
But there is no judgment in his eyes, there’s just pure, dare I say it… lust.
Later in the afternoon, we’re sitting in the conference room, once again waiting for Mr. Copeland.
“In all seriousness, what are you really thinking for the next issue?” I ask Ethan who’s been tapping his pen and swiveling in his chair like a child who can’t sit still.
His eyes meet mine like he forgot I was in the room. The guy does nothing for my self-esteem sometimes. His tongue slides out and licks slowly along his bottom lip. “Something controversial. Did you see the comments on our articles?”
“I read a few.” I read every single one.
“Did you stop reading once you realized how many people were siding with me?” He smiles and stops tapping his pen.
“You know what they say, people with negative things to say are louder than the positive ones.”
“Touché.” He bows his head at me. “Still, you owe me lunch next week according to the tally right now.”
“I hope you like The Bagel Place.” I smack on my biggest smile.
Mr. Copeland and Cassie join us in the boardroom, both taking a seat.
“Great job, you guys. We haven’t had this much interaction since you wrote that article about Ethan’s ex.”
I tilt my head in Ethan’s direction and see his jaw clench. Neither of them enlighten me about what article they’re sp
eaking of.
“It’s a little controversial. You’re either for or against. That’s why.” Ethan picks up his pen and he taps it once on the conference room table.
Mr. Copeland side glances him. “Let’s see if you can make magic happen twice in a month. I want your next articles to me by midweek. And let’s continue with topics people will feel strongly about but stay away from politics and religion.”
“You should stick with the sex.” Cassie pops a bubble.
This is exactly what I was afraid of. I don’t want to write heavy topics, but I don’t want to write all fluff pieces either. I want to help people with my writing. But I can’t argue when Mars And Venus took a chance on me.
“Yes.” Mr. Copeland points to his niece. “Everyone loves to talk about the difference between the sexes. So, Ethan you represent the typical male and you the typical female, Blanca. And I’m going to set up a photo shoot for you two. We need a catchy name for your articles too. Think about that this weekend.” Mr. Copeland stands, and Cassie joins him. “I’m so excited about this, guys. This might just put our small magazine on the map.” He claps once and I jump in my seat.
He leaves and my stomach is a ball of knots.
“Oh relax, it’s going to be fine.”
“Who said I wasn’t fine?” I stand and Ethan slides out his chair from the table.
“You look like you’re about to throw up that horrible bagel you ate.”
I shake my head.
“So, I say we write about whether you should sleep with someone on the first date?” He raises his eyebrows and slides out of the room before me.
I watch his backside the entire way down the hallway. Who are we kidding? I have a bad feeling Ethan and I are on the same side of that debate which doesn’t bode well for tonight.
Chapter Thirteen
Ethan
*
My phone rings the minute I walk into my apartment with my bags full of groceries.
Clicking on the speaker and placing it on the counter, I unload the bags in my small kitchen.
“Hey Mom.”
“Congratulations. Love the article.”
“Thanks.”
“The girl who writes beside you. Do you like her?”
My mom wouldn’t be my mom if she didn’t drill me all the time.
“Yeah.”
“She’s sweet.”
“Sweet? You can tell that by the article she wrote?”
My mom laughs and I’ll never grow tired of hearing that sound. It so rarely happened when I was younger. “She takes the side of love over anything else. That’s sweet. A tad sheltered and naïve, but sweet.”
“She really has no qualms on dating at work. It’s… interesting.” I unpack the groceries on the counter.
“Oh, you like her.”
I knew I should’ve dodged this line of questioning well before my mom could hear it in my voice.
“I like her too much, if you know what I mean.”
“Oh, mi Tesoro,” she coos her usual endearment for me. “All I want is for you to be happy. You know love comes with ups and downs.”
“I haven’t done anything to pursue it. She’s a co-worker, that’s all.”
“Okay, you bring her over for dinner if that changes. Food is the way to a woman’s heart too, you know.”
I blow out a breath and grab my frying pan. There’s no way I can be honest with my mom now. She’ll get invested and it will break her heart when Blanca and I end. She’s had enough heartbreak in her life without me adding to her suffering.
“Yes. I will. How’s it going?” I ask, looking to change the subject to anything else.
“Your dad was in a good place today. I think this Sunday will be a good visit.”
Anything but that.
“Hey, Mom, I gotta go. Work.” Guilt tugs at my insides.
“You need to take that girl out and forget work for a night at least.” Little does she know. “See you in a few days. Love you.”
“Love you, Mom.”
I press end on the phone and lean against the counter for a second.
My entire head has been at war over having Blanca here tonight. She’ll be in my space and there’s no changing that fact. Every time I walk in, I’ll have images to recollect about her on my couch, her in my kitchen and if we’re both on the same page, in my bed.
The images of that would haunt me.
It’d be pure torture.
I pick up my ingredients and put them in the fridge and tuck the frying pan back under the cabinet.
Protect yourself, my brain screams at me.
Grabbing my phone, I type out a quick text message.
A minute later I get the answer I assumed I would. She’s fine with the change of plans. Ignoring my blue balls that say I’m fucking this up, I head to the shower and wash away any doubts.
I sit in the exact same spot I did weeks ago.
“It’s like déjà vu,” Blanca says, taking her purse off and hanging it off the bar height chair before sliding into it next to me. She’s wearing fitted skinny jeans and a loose-fitting shirt tonight and all I can fixate on are the shape of her legs crossing over one another.
“Sorry for the change of plans.”
She shrugs. “I’m used to the noncommittal with you.”
I swivel on my bar stool, abandoning my beer. “I’m sorry.”
She nods but I can tell she doesn’t truly believe me. I wouldn’t either if I was her.
“Why did you come?” I ask because if I was her, I wouldn’t have. I would have told me to fuck off and walked in the opposite direction.
“I like you.” She says it simply as if there isn’t much else to know.
The bartender comes over, a different one from the other night, but Blanca orders the same drink. This time she orders her dinner immediately and looks at me for me to order mine.
“Tacos,” I say, and Blanca shakes her head, laughing to herself.
After the bartender leaves, I grab my beer again. “Did you expect for me to change our plans tonight?”
She shrugs one shoulder, her eyes watching the bartender prepare her margarita. “I think you’re a nice guy, Ethan. Confused and unsure of what you want right now. But we’re co-workers and Phil Copeland obviously wants us to work closely on this whole opposing views thing, so we have to get along.”
“And that’s why you’re here? To have a cordial work relationship?”
It shouldn’t feel like a knife to the gut. I felt we shared something special. Something I’ve never had with anyone else. But I’ve been the one trying to cool things off, so I shouldn’t care if that’s the only reason she’s here. Shouldn’t, but I do.
She laughs, accepting her margarita from the bartender who has eyed her chest one too many times for my liking. “Not at first. I’ll be honest because I’m not a bullshit or play games kind of person. That first night on the train I was…” Her eyes meet mine. “I really liked you. I felt this pull. When I walked into work on my first Monday morning and there you were, I thought it was a sign and I am not a person who believes in fate or kismet or anything. Then you asked me out only for me to find out it was a work thing, not a romantic date because you don’t believe in dating your co-workers. Which I understood. Then you ask me out last week but say nothing about it until today. You were going to cook for me but now we’re back at the taco place. And to think they say women are confusing. So at this point in our” —she waggles her finger back and forth between us— “whatever we are, I figure work friends will have to do since I don’t see either one of us going anywhere soon.”
I stare at her blankly. When she lays it all out like that I realized I’ve been a bigger ass than I thought. I wonder if Sierra was telling the truth when she said I changed my mind too much. When she’d pry into my business to try and find out what demons I was hiding that caused me to function like an irregular human. Her words exactly.
“Fuck.” I run a hand through my hair. “I’ve comple
tely fucked this thing up.”
She chuckles, sipping her margarita, showing how different she is than any other girl I’ve ever dated. “We can be great co-workers.”
“I can’t be your co-worker.” The words leave my lips in a rush before I can think better of it and I realize how true they are now that I’ve spoken them out loud.
She leans toward me like she has to tell me a secret. “Hate to break it to you, but you don’t have much choice on that one.”
“What I mean is that I think about you naked every time I see you. I imagine having sex with you everywhere in my apartment, on every surface. The whole reason for bringing you here was so that wouldn’t happen. Fuck. I don’t know what I’m doing. I’ve royally screwed this up.”
Our dinner arrives and she unwraps her silverware calmly. At first glance, I didn’t think my words affected her, but then I notice the flush in her cheeks. Her tongue slides out and she licks her bottom lip, right before biting down on it and inhaling a deep breath. Maybe I haven’t screwed this up… yet.
“You know how attracted I am to you, right?” I ask.
She side glances me.
“I’m sorry for being an ass these past few weeks, but I do want you. Don’t question that. If we didn’t work together—”
“Yeah, yeah, we’d already be dating. Heard that line already.” She bites into her taco and chews aggressively. “Let’s just stop the whole back and forth thing and remain co-workers who are friends.”
“We could, but I’ll never survive.”
She rolls her eyes. “I’m just going to enjoy my tacos once again. Do we get to go to Scrumptuals again too?”
Her sarcastic tone says I haven’t lost this round yet. She’s pushing me on purpose.
“Blanca?”
She wipes her face and places her napkin on her lap. “So tell me? How do you see this working?” she asks. “Because I can’t figure out what you want.”
“What working?” I take a bite of my taco, which is delicious.
“This pull between business and pleasure and the fact that you don’t mix them.”
I wipe my mouth and look to her to decipher her meaning. “I don’t.”
She huffs. “Do you want to talk articles?”
I shake my head. “Blanca?”
