lines. I got accustomed to flings and no expectations. It was hard to admit to myself, but the truth was, I didn’t need a man telling me what to do. Men in general posed a risk as far as I was concerned. I couldn’t cope with that—the memories associated with suffocating control could send me into a tailspin of organising all my shelves of books, or notes. It was kind of why I’d thrown all that crap out, knowing there’d be no room in my life in London to get bogged down with alphabetizing DVDs every evening.
Cai seemed embarrassed to admit, “My aunt is kinda big in the media world. It opens doors.”
My half-hour lunch was nearly over and I decided to take a leap of faith. “I’d like to know more about your work. I’d like to see it, if you want?”
He turned and smiled with a sincere expression. “Sure.”
My heart skipped a beat and I knew I wanted him. Also, I knew his answer was ominous and that for him to commit to any kind of promise early on… was a risk for him, too. I gathered from his intense eye stares, he was stricken as much as me.
Once outside the kitchen, people on the other side of the door were going to know what was already happening.
He handed me my coffee and we turned to the door, bumping into one another as we zoomed toward escape from the sexual tension residing in that room. It’d probably ferment inside those walls and spread to everyone else, it was so palpable.
As our shoulders knocked, I looked sideways. His deep-blue eyes were framed by dark lashes and sleek brows. He stopped still and remarked, “I could make a stunning photograph of just your one eye.”
I was stuck to the spot with surprise. “Shut up!”
We laughed it off, Cai blushing as furiously as me. He opened the door for me and we left the room. What I really wanted was to snog him senseless.
He was at my side until we reached my desk and, he was gone again. I thought about discovering what shade of blue his eyes were with a Google search but Trev was there waiting for me.
AFTER Trevor loaded me up with a ton of information, on top of everything else, he abruptly left me to it at three p.m. after he got called to deal with a crisis somewhere. I didn’t know what his exact job title was, perhaps, ‘Sorter of Shit and Breaker of Free Will’, you know, something like that.
So, there I sat refreshing my email inbox every five minutes, hoping for a message from Kincaid. Perhaps even something random from a colleague sat nearby. I fired off a couple of emails to friends back home with my new, professional signature—but none of them replied either. My mind wandered with thoughts such as… Did they go to spam? Should I just mail Kincaid? Am I already out the door and they’re just debating how best to break the news?
The day felt so long I was sure time stopped still at certain points, just to spite me. When five p.m. arrived, it was a mass exodus. I overhead lots of people communicating to each other, little convos along the lines of, “Let’s Skype tonight about that.” OR, “We’ll meet at Leicester Square at eight to talk it out.”
Problems. Concerns. Hmm? Possible affairs outside the office more like it! If those little insights into cliques and bonds already formed within the company didn’t make me feel left out in the cold, I didn’t know what else would.
I bumped into Kincaid at the bottom of the stairs as I stopped to adjust my bag before the long walk home. He wore a leather jacket, shoulder bag and light-blue woollen scarf. He dipped his head in acknowledgement and his nostrils flared, yet he stepped right past me and out into the cool, spring air. I watched him standing on the top step outside, like he was waiting for a lift. Then I realised, he was waiting for something else—me to follow him. Either that, or ask him out.
I didn’t have anything to lose so I stood alongside him and murmured, “You… wanna grab a drink?”
“Sure,” was his response. “What’s your
Cai seemed embarrassed to admit, “My aunt is kinda big in the media world. It opens doors.”
My half-hour lunch was nearly over and I decided to take a leap of faith. “I’d like to know more about your work. I’d like to see it, if you want?”
He turned and smiled with a sincere expression. “Sure.”
My heart skipped a beat and I knew I wanted him. Also, I knew his answer was ominous and that for him to commit to any kind of promise early on… was a risk for him, too. I gathered from his intense eye stares, he was stricken as much as me.
Once outside the kitchen, people on the other side of the door were going to know what was already happening.
He handed me my coffee and we turned to the door, bumping into one another as we zoomed toward escape from the sexual tension residing in that room. It’d probably ferment inside those walls and spread to everyone else, it was so palpable.
As our shoulders knocked, I looked sideways. His deep-blue eyes were framed by dark lashes and sleek brows. He stopped still and remarked, “I could make a stunning photograph of just your one eye.”
I was stuck to the spot with surprise. “Shut up!”
We laughed it off, Cai blushing as furiously as me. He opened the door for me and we left the room. What I really wanted was to snog him senseless.
He was at my side until we reached my desk and, he was gone again. I thought about discovering what shade of blue his eyes were with a Google search but Trev was there waiting for me.
AFTER Trevor loaded me up with a ton of information, on top of everything else, he abruptly left me to it at three p.m. after he got called to deal with a crisis somewhere. I didn’t know what his exact job title was, perhaps, ‘Sorter of Shit and Breaker of Free Will’, you know, something like that.
So, there I sat refreshing my email inbox every five minutes, hoping for a message from Kincaid. Perhaps even something random from a colleague sat nearby. I fired off a couple of emails to friends back home with my new, professional signature—but none of them replied either. My mind wandered with thoughts such as… Did they go to spam? Should I just mail Kincaid? Am I already out the door and they’re just debating how best to break the news?
The day felt so long I was sure time stopped still at certain points, just to spite me. When five p.m. arrived, it was a mass exodus. I overhead lots of people communicating to each other, little convos along the lines of, “Let’s Skype tonight about that.” OR, “We’ll meet at Leicester Square at eight to talk it out.”
Problems. Concerns. Hmm? Possible affairs outside the office more like it! If those little insights into cliques and bonds already formed within the company didn’t make me feel left out in the cold, I didn’t know what else would.
I bumped into Kincaid at the bottom of the stairs as I stopped to adjust my bag before the long walk home. He wore a leather jacket, shoulder bag and light-blue woollen scarf. He dipped his head in acknowledgement and his nostrils flared, yet he stepped right past me and out into the cool, spring air. I watched him standing on the top step outside, like he was waiting for a lift. Then I realised, he was waiting for something else—me to follow him. Either that, or ask him out.
I didn’t have anything to lose so I stood alongside him and murmured, “You… wanna grab a drink?”
“Sure,” was his response. “What’s your
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