Our eyes met. I was speechless, my voice a paralyzed, aching, call in my throat. He searched my face and my body for an answer. My thoughts a thunderous whir in my skull. It was loud and jumbled, nothing coherent or orderly about the way my mind and body battled inside of me. I struggled to quiet the incoherent words, the kaleidoscope of lust and anticipation shaping and reshaping in my veins.
His lips were millimeters from mine still, his fingertips tracing me, memorizing me, branding me into his memory. He didn’t grab at me or squeeze my breasts, didn’t cross that line. I didn’t understand that—how he didn’t take what I offered. Couldn't make sense of the way my body felt enraptured by him while my mind screamed that I was in over my head, doing something I didn’t know how to navigate.
How could he be so in control, when I was so thrown off balance?
“We should get back.” He pressed his forehead to mine. Isaac cleared his throat and I followed him, knees made of gelatin, back into the crowd. We stopped touching then. He laced his fingers in mine and kept me close, but not in that sensual dance we’d enjoyed before. He guided me to our group’s meeting spot, where he dropped my hand completely and they appeared sometime later.
A woman was standing in front of the parliament building with a megaphone, preaching to the swarm of activists slowly making their way to Parliament Square. I took out my phone and filmed while Isaac photographed her and the crowd. Kieran nudged me when our group found us. We all listened to the woman speak, standing in a crowd of like-minded liberals who wanted a world where women could walk the streets without fear of men. Where we had bodily autonomy and weren’t afraid we’d be arrested for protesting. Or trafficked domestically or into foreign countries for sex work.
I admit, I spent much of the time watching Isaac, memorizing the angle of his jaw and the shape of his waist in that tee shirt. The protest’s energy was waning as the afternoon turned to dinnertime. We had everything we needed to report on, so most of us had already left to go home when Kieran, Jackson, Isaac, and I made our way out of the smaller crowd and back down the street where we came.
Jackson and Isaac walked behind us. Kieran’s cool fingers laced with mine.
“Jackson says he thinks Isaac’s got the hots for you,” she whispered in my ear.
“Y’all have too much invested in a work friendship that is completely platonic. Besides, I’m not ready for anything right now. Especially not a messy office fling.”
“Well, you’re hot, so it makes perfect sense,” Kieran ignored me. She wrapped a hand around my waist. “We don’t need men anyway,” she flipped her head back to Jackson. I looked back to find they were both looking massively guilty at the floor. “Isaac, you coming out with us?” She asked him with a squeeze to my waist.
I wasn’t aware we were going out. My heart stopped for a second. I would not be able to keep up this façade over drinks. I was still hot and unsatisfied from that very stupid, very reckless, make out session. My brain still hadn’t had enough time to decode whatever the hell had compelled me to shove Isaac against a wall between two vans in an alleyway during a feminist march.
What kind of a woman does that?
Isaac answered after a very long pause. Long enough to have us all stop outside of the underground station and turn to him. He studied me and answered nonchalantly. “No, I don’t think so. I’m going to go upload all this and send it to the media team. Hopefully the lawmakers will change their minds and bring Sarah Taylor home.” He pointed to his camera.
During the train ride home, Jackson had his nose buried in Kieran’s neck, kissing her softly as she and I chattered about the rally and checked social media platforms.
My phone vibrated and a text notification pulled down from the top. It was Isaac. I checked Kieran’s focus and titled my phone slightly more towards myself. I opened the text and a series of pictures downloaded within seconds.
They were all of me. Gasping for air, smiling up at him after our run, my thick braid hanging over my shoulder, pointing to the floor. One of me and Kieran. We looked deep in conversation, but I knew that at the time she was just teasing me… about him. The next, the same closeness with Kieran, but my eyes piercing the cameraman through his lens. He’d flipped that one black and white.
Another of me, looking out at the mass of people, listening to the speaker, eyes narrowed, one hand on my hip one shielding my eyes from the sun, my nose crinkled, sweat glistening down my neck.
This was how he saw me today. Little snapshots of me looking into the distance, serious and flushed. In the only picture of me smiling up at him, I looked exactly how I had felt in that moment, as if he’d captured the essence of me. Elated. Adrenaline thrumming in my veins. Attracted to him. Happy. Young.
Free.
I could not deny that I felt freedom with my hand in his, heels punishing the pavement. I felt free even when trapped by his lips, his fist in my hair. My hands pushing him against a wall. Freedom from what? I didn’t quite know yet, but it was exhilarating all the same.
Who is that woman?
Another. Laser-focused on me as I straightened my clothes, hair tousled by his fingers, lips parted. She looked up at me, mischief dancing behind those eyes. I was thinking about fucking him in that moment. I was practicing how I’d throw him down behind that stone wall, straddle him and drink him in, consume him the way he devoured me in my fantasies.
The last picture came through and downloaded, breaking me from my thoughts. A sweet picture of me and Kieran, holding hands, heads pressed together, walking in front of him and Jackson. He captured our friendship perfectly, the sweet love we shared penetrating through the image. Some could mistake us for lovers from that image. It was precious and I saved it immediately. I tilted my phone to Kieran and she and Jackson cooed.
“He takes the best candids. Social media gold. I’m posting that,” Kieran said as she accepted my airdrop.
I didn’t know how to respond to him. How to navigate the aftermath of not just crossing a line… but hurling myself over that line gleefully. I'd never done this… I’d never wanted to have sex with someone so badly my entire body turned liquid at his touch.
So much for I don’t need a man.
Shit.
But I didn't need him—I wanted him. In a way I had forgotten I could want anyone. I could live if he never showed me any attention again. But I wanted him to. I need to let myself want this, I thought. I needed to learn to trust myself.
However, it terrified me to my bones, went against everything I was trained to be for the past decade. I was taught and trained by Anthony that sex was a man’s world. It wasn’t for me to desire, and initiate, and beg for. I wasn’t so desirable a man couldn’t keep his hands off of me.
That’s what I was shown as truth, anyway, when Anthony rejected my advances and even jeered at my wants in bed.
Yet, the way Isaac’s shaky breath and trembling hands had touched me, his rigid length at just my kiss, I knew that was wrong. Isaac… today… he’d wanted me.
That’s exactly why I had to allow myself this little forgiveness. Give myself grace for acting on my lust. I should end it now. I should make it clear that it was a moment of insanity. We’d made out, he admitted he wanted me, it should be enough to quell my desire. We had to work together.
I finally settled on what to text him back.
Thanks. Smiling emoji tacked on the end.
What else was I supposed to say? Were we going to pretend like it didn’t happen? Would it happen again?
Or worse…. Would he want to talk about it?
Oh hell no. I was not ready for that conversation. I couldn’t even figure out what it was and how I should feel about it. He had said more than once that we shouldn’t have crossed that line. And I agreed.
The agony I felt while waiting for his response scared me.
See you tomorrow. He added a smirking emoji.
I shoved my phone in my pocket. No, I hated this. Guessing what he felt and thought about me. It
triggered a deep anxiety that crept to my chest and painted me red. It was a struggle to make it through dinner and pretend my stomach wasn’t in knots.
I didn’t have any excuse for throwing him up against that wall. I wasn’t drunk or high. I wanted to. And he wanted me to. But I really—really—shouldn’t have gone there. The aftermath was not worth it. What if someone had seen us?
What if after he came to his senses, he realized he’d made a huge mistake?
The questions kept me up for half the night.
Especially as I checked my phone eighteen thousand times.
If he didn’t put a stop to this, I would. Nothing about this sleeplessness was fun.
CHAPTER 21
Isaac
“Morning, Celeste,” I called out, kicking the door shut behind me.
“Good morning,” she shouted from her office. I crossed to my desk and an iced coffee sat on a coaster, waiting for me. “Got you something!” She finished in a sing-song melody.
“Thanks, love.” Her head snapped, as if she couldn’t believe what I’d said. Smooth. Real fucking smooth. So much for following her lead and pretending it didn’t happen.
I sat and booted up my desktop, staring into the screen intensely, as if acting natural would somehow make my pet name seem natural. She wasn’t English, maybe she’d think it was just a word. No meaning.
We worked in complete silence for a torturous hour. Payton strode in without knocking, and we all huddled at a safe and appropriate distance. My heart was pounding as I searched her for any tiny indication of how she felt about our little tryst.
“Did you all read the email? There’s going to be a surprise this Friday. I hope it’s a raise,” Payton cut through the awkward vibe between Celeste and me.
“What does that mean?” Celeste flipped over a card and recited some facts about pandas.
“Maybe the game will be different,” Payton said, flipping over a card and reciting facts about Australian wildlife.
I flipped over a card. “They better not switch up teams.” I recited facts about cumulonimbus clouds versus stratus clouds.
“They can’t do that,” Payton chimed in, “because the donors wouldn’t gamble on certain teams.” We laughed and Celeste looked at us bewildered.
“I don’t like surprises,” Celeste added. Was she talking to me? I read into that cool statement. We all agreed and finished without any more commentary.
When we were done, everyone stood rigidly and left to their respective desks.
After several minutes of complete silence, save the clicking of our typing, I couldn’t stand it anymore and went to the open door to her office.
“We have to talk about yesterday,” I folded my arms across my chest and waited for her to look at me.
“No we don’t.” She kept typing.
“I think we should.”
"I think we shouldn’t.” Her fingers stopped. She didn’t— couldn’t— meet my gaze. Her skin told me everything I needed to know. The crimson blotches crept up her neck and across her cheeks. Even the exposed skin on her wrists showed me how uncomfortable she felt.
“Celeste, will you please look at me?”
“Let’s just pretend it didn’t happen and go back to the way it was.” She had practiced those words a million times in the mirror, I knew it. I could sense it from the way she spoke so quickly without tripping once. She still wouldn’t look at me.
I was staring. Blinking stupidly as my insides shattered. “Is that what you want?” I asked because I didn’t believe her. Not from the way she’d kissed me. The way she shook at my touch. “Don’t answer that,” I stopped her before she could speak. “I'm sorry.”
She wasn't ready.
Maybe I had pushed her. I searched my memory for the details. Who had led who? She had asked me if I felt it, right? It wasn’t me. I didn’t think. My memory of that kiss was clouded with desire and now, I felt the memory was slightly shakier, and unsure.
“Isaac,” her small voice stopped me as I stood at the exit. I turned to her and found her expression confused and pained. Our eyes met and then she looked down to my feet. “I… we… I… you.”
I cut her off, bile rising to my throat. “I just want to know that it was consensual. I’d feel fucking sick if you felt pressured.”
“No, Isaac. No.” She stood and put a hand to her chest. She didn’t tear her eyes from mine, fidgeting with the sleeve of her loose blouse. “I led you… I wanted it. I pushed you against the wall, remember? It was one hundred percent consensual. We just… we can’t do that again. We have to work together.”
“Yeah, I understand. I was going to say the same thing.”
I’m a fucking liar. I came in here hoping to ravish her on that desk.
“Good. I thought a lot about it. We were in the moment… and it was hot and all the adrenaline, sleep deprivation, we'd been together for like three days straight.” She listed the excuses with pauses puncturing her rational thought. She wasn’t making much sense, but I let her finish her practiced speech. “A momentary lapse of judgment.” She bit her lip and twisted her fingers in front of her navel.
I didn’t have any excuses. I wanted her. I’d let her know. Now I’d take her lead, even though it meant ending something that had barely started.
“You’re right,” I assuaged her nerves. “I won’t ravish you in any more alleyways.”
She covered her face with her hands and groaned.
“Or rather, let you ravish me,” I smiled at her, trying to put her at ease, act like we could just laugh this off and go back to whatever we were like before I learned just how soft her lips were. How wild and wonderful she felt against me. The sound of her gasp when I bit her neck.
“Get back to work!” She yelled at me, her face still buried in her hands. She lifted her pinkie fingers and peeked at me. “Go away,” she laughed, but her expression was pure mortification.
“Yes, boss.” I turned and did just that.
The rest of the week was painfully awkward. Celeste avoided me and, in return, I ignored her back. We slipped back into the rhythm of work and strained conversation.
Even the friendship we’d shared last weekend was lost. I hated the way she stood at a distance, stayed in her office, and only appeared periodically when I called for her. Maybe I was reading too far into it, but I hadn’t imagined the easy way we had started to work together—the teasing laughter, and friendly annoyance. Even before that kiss.
We’d become a somewhat dysfunctional, but well-oiled machine, and now it was as if we’d broken down somewhere. Something wasn’t working right, and I spent too much time during the day watching her through her closed door, reading into every exchange, and all this silence. A silence that I didn’t know how to break.
“Are you ready for tonight?” I asked her on Friday afternoon, passing her a latte and a croissant, a peace offering of sorts. We hadn’t shared a meal together all week, leaving our coffee on each other's desks and thanking each other from the safety behind our computer screens.
“Born ready,” she said. She glanced up from her laptop and kept a straight face. But she blushed faintly, and it piqued my curiosity.
“Payton is ill.” I took a step back, even though everything in my body ached for me to step even closer, ask her what the hell was going on in her mind to make her blush. Kiss her again.
God, I want to kiss her again.
Celeste shot me a confused look. “He seemed fine yesterday.”
“He said we’re good to go without him.”
Celeste’s face twisted in an expression that screamed mistrust, and she had every right. Payton didn’t hide his envy, and I also suspected he called out to screw us over. With one less person on the team, we’d have to work harder to win, and Celeste was still new. She’d probably be thrown off by how competitive the staff got over these games. Shit-talking between rounds was practically sacred practice.
“I should warn you… I don’t like to lose.” She grinned playf
ully at me for the first time in five days.
“Good, because I always win.” Celeste rolled her eyes. If I could have thrown her over her desk and have her right then, I would have.
CHAPTER 22
Isaac
Celeste arrived with Kieran, wearing jeans and our team tee-shirt, her long hair curled into waves that flowed down her back well past her waist. They held hands and leaned closely into one another, no doubt gossiping because they gave each other a meaningful look and burst into laughter. They made an interesting pair. Kieran was outspoken and more than a little bit reckless in all things, while Celeste was reserved and meticulous.
Kieran grinned up at me. “Ready for me to kick your arse tonight, Isaac?” The buzz of excitement reminded me how much I loved these laid-back nights with my colleagues. As a senior writer, most of them were technically beneath me, but off the clock it still felt like a close-knit web of friends. Some of us were lovers, too. I snuck a sideways glance at Celeste who waved at a colleague.
“Kieran, you know I’d love a good arse-beating from you, but unfortunately Celeste and I are here to win,” I answered. I noticed the naughty gleam in her eyes. She made a show of kissing my cheek so that I’d have to kiss Celeste’s, devil schemer. I wondered if Celeste had told her about… no… she wouldn't… I hoped not.
My insides were cramping with awkward nervousness. Celeste was actively focusing on her nails, wringing her fingers. I dove into her and kissed her cheek, she jumped but kissed me back. Her hair smelled divine, flowery, coconut. My mouth watered, the memory of her hands on me—
“Let’s go inside,” she chirped. Celeste and Kieran parted ways and I followed Celeste inside. To my shame, I couldn’t resist putting a hand to the small of her back while I guided her.
I greeted our donors, who were already seated at our table, and introduced Celeste as I pulled her chair out for her. As the appetizers were served Michael started the evening with his usual speech. My eyes kept slipping to the elegant slope of Celeste’s nose. The way her mascara made her lashes cast a shadow on her cheek. Lips that curved upwards at his rehearsed jokes.
See You Monday: An Office Romance (Weekday series Book 1) Page 17