Fling

by Jana Aston

  “Why are you assuming it can’t be something real? He seems sort of taken with you.”

  “Does he?” I question. “I’m not sure.”

  “He does. If you’re worried that he’s going to leave you for your best friend, you can rest assured. Gabe is not interested in me.”

  “Well, that is reassuring. Thank you,” I say, even though Preston is kidding.

  “How many times do I have to tell you that it’s not your fault that your ex dumped you for your best friend?”

  “I don’t know, but I’m hoping it will be less than a hundred.”

  “Sandy.”

  “It feels a little bit like it’s my fault.” I shrug. “How did I surround myself with two such awful people?”

  “Don’t give that to them.

  Don’t let them hold you back from your happiness because of their shitty behavior. That’s on them, not you.”

  I sigh. “You’re right.”

  “Or do you think Gabe doesn’t like you because he bolted on New Year’s Eve before the cum was dry?”

  “Oh, my God, Preston.” I’m sure I’m blushing a thousand shades of pink. “Stop.”

  “It sounded like he liked you enough for a repeat in his office on Monday,” he continues anyway.

  I throw my napkin at him to shut him up and he laughs, but I think about Gabe as we walk back to the office. Am I selling myself short thinking that Gabe is only interested in a secret fling? I think about it. A lot.

  Nine

  Gabe

  Why the fuck is she going out with Dave on Friday? It’s ridiculous. What is he giving her that I’m not? She can’t be fucking him. I mean she could—we haven’t even quantified what is happening between us, so it’s possible. It’s just not likely. All the blushing when I touch her. The lack of condoms at her apartment. And I know even thinking it makes me a dick, but she doesn’t seem like the type to sleep with more than one guy in the same week. So no, I don’t think she’s having sex with Dave.

  He is a lawyer. That’s probably appealing to women, right? But I’m the chief financial officer of a multibillion-dollar corporation. That trumps lawyer, doesn’t it? Hell, he’s not even the head of legal, not even close. How long has that guy worked here anyway? I open a browser on my desktop and access the company employment files. Dave Harcourt, twenty-five, a year younger than Sandra. He graduated from law school last spring and started working here a month after. He’s probably still in debt from school. Fuck, what kind of dick am I for even thinking about this?

  I should take her out. Dave’s taking her out; I should stop having sex with her at the office and take her out on a date. Now how do I get sweet Sandra to agree to date me?

  I drum my fingers on my desk. I think she’s been avoiding me all week. She disappeared on Monday after the liaison in my office and it’s been cloak-and-dagger ever since. I could pull her phone number from the company database and start sexting her, but I think that might freak her out.

  I want to take her to dinner, somewhere nice, and maybe a show. I should woo her, take her to New York City for the weekend. Pull out all the stops and convince her to give me a chance. Because I want to be with Sandra. I fucking like Sandra. And I’m a goddamned idiot for thinking a fling with her would be enough.

  I’ll start with lunch. Today. It doesn’t hurt that her date with Dave is tonight. I’ll take her to lunch and make sure I’m all that’s on her mind tonight. I glance at the clock as I punch in her extension and wait for her to pick up, but it rings through to voicemail. Shit, I don’t want to miss her, so I push back from my desk and stand. I’ll have to do a casual walk past her desk and try to catch her.

  Preston’s desk is outside my office. I pause as I’m walking past. She has lunch with him most days.

  “Preston,” I start, then stop. Can I just ask him if he’s having lunch with her today? And what, tell him I’m stepping in?

  “What’s happening, hot stuff?”

  “Can you not with the ‘hot stuff’ shit? We’ve discussed this.”

  “Don’t get your knickers in a twist, big guy. I’m married.”

  I groan and rub my forehead.

  “What do you need?” he asks, turning his attention back to the computer in front of him, already bored with me.

  I’m never going to hear the end of this, but…

  “Are you having lunch with Sandra today?” I ask before I can think better of it.

  He stops typing immediately and twirls his chair a complete three-sixty before slapping his hand on the desk to stop the rotation, then crossing his legs and dropping an elbow to his knee and propping his chin on his fist.

  “No,” he says. But he draws it out while tilting his head and waiting for my next move.

  “Just spit it out, Preston.”

  “She’s already gone for the weekend,” he says with a smile while carefully watching my reaction.

  The weekend, he said. Not the night. I mull that over for a second. Yes, it’s Friday, but the way he said weekend I’m clearly meant to read into it. Wait, she left with Dave for the weekend? The weekend? What the fuck?

  “The weekend?” I repeat back to him, as casually as possible.

  “Yup,” he responds, clearly enjoying this. I can feel my jaw twitching and I stuff my hands into my pockets while I contemplate what to do next.

  “You’re an idiot,” Preston says.

  “Excuse me?”

  “You’re an idiot, sir?” he tries again.

  “Just tell me how much she likes Dave, Preston. I don’t have time for this girly bullshit.” Jesus fuck, am I going to have to resort to getting girl advice from my gay assistant? What the hell has my life come to? Sandra has turned everything upside down.

  “She doesn’t like Dave. She likes you. She’s had a crush on you forever and I’m totally breaking girl code telling you any of this.”

  “Then why the hell is she spending the weekend with Dave?” I ask, ignoring his girl code.

  “But you know Sandy’s a nice girl. She doesn’t know what to make of a guy who fucks her in his office but never asks her to dinner,” Preston continues. Apparently girl code is over. “Women are complex creatures, Gabe. They think it means something when a man takes his sweet-ass time asking her on a date. They think it means you’re just interested in the sex.” He narrows his eyes at me. “Obviously that’s not the case here, as based on the way you look at that girl it’s clear you’re already half in love with her.”

  I really am getting girl advice from my gay assistant.

  “Since you know everything, care to tell me where she went with Dave?”

  “Marissa’s wedding.”

  “Who the hell is Marissa?”

  “Hello? She works here? In sales?”

  I shrug. Still no idea who he’s talking about.

  “You know, if you’d taken me up on my suggestion about briefing you on company gossip during Whisper Wednesdays you wouldn’t be so behind right now.”

  I’m going to kill him before this conversation is over.

  “So Marissa from sales is getting married this weekend. To a professional golfer, which is the only excuse for having a wedding in January, am I right?” Preston shakes his head in disbelief. “Philadelphia in January, ridiculous.”

  “Preston, is this story going somewhere?”

  “It’s not my fault you’re behind the eight-ball on company gossip. I’m setting a scene here, Gabe.”

  “Can we skip to the part that explains why Sandra is on a date with Dave?”

  “They’re not on a date, Gabe,” Preston says, not hiding his exasperation. “They’re both in Marissa’s wedding party. Marissa’s fiancé is Dave’s cousin. It’s a small world, yadda yadda. The church run-through is this afternoon. If you leave now you can catch her before she spends the evening sitting next to Dave at the rehearsal dinner. Because while Sandra doesn’t like Dave, Dave does like Sandra. So you best get a move
on. I’ll text the address to your phone. You’re welcome.”

  I head past him with keys in hand while shrugging into my coat.

  “Glad we had this talk!” Preston calls out.

  Ten

  Sandra

  I slip into an empty pew near the back of the church as the mother of the bride and the mother of the groom argue about the music choice for the bridesmaids’ processional while the wedding planner steps in to mediate.

  “I was thinking we could have drinks later,” Dave hums into my ear while sliding his arm onto the wooden pew behind me. He’s been making subtle advances on me all afternoon.

  “No, I don’t think so.” I give him my polite ‘no, thank you’ smile.

  “Come on, Sandra, you’re single, I’m single, we’re at a wedding…” He trails off, as if the implication is self-explanatory.

  It’s not. I mean it is, I know where he’s going with this, but seriously?

  “Would it be crazy if I just cut to the chase and asked if there’s any possibility you’re going to have sex with me this weekend?”

  I throw my head back and laugh. “Yes, Dave. Yes, it’s a little crazy to ask me that.” I pat his knee. “But thanks.”

  “So that’s a no?” he asks, seeming unsure.

  “Yup, that’s a no.”

  “I really thought it was going to be easier picking up women after law school,” he says, slumping dejectedly. “But it’s not,” he says, shaking his head. “Women are still a mystery and I’m still a nerd.”

  “We’re all nerds, Dave. You just have to find the right nerd for you. I promise you she’s out there.”

  “You think?”

  “I do. In fact… do you see that girl over there? In the grey sweater with the black skirt?”

  He nods. “She’s cute.”

  “Her name is Jennifer and she’s in her final year of law school—and I happen to know she’s single. You should introduce yourself, offer to give her tips on studying for the bar exam.”

  “You think?” he asks, but he’s perked up.

  “Yes. Go for it.”

  “You know what? I think I will. Thanks, Sandra!”

  “A word of advice though, don’t lead with asking her if she’s going to have sex with you.”

  Dave gives me a rueful nod, then heads over to try his luck with Jennifer as the processional music snafu is resolved. The wedding planner regains control, giving everyone their instructions for tomorrow while my mind wanders. I think about the advice I just gave Dave and wonder if it doesn’t apply to me as well. I just laughed in Dave’s face for so boldly propositioning me, but didn’t I do the same thing to Gabe? With the sex quiz? Obviously I didn’t mean for him to see it, but he saw it all the same. And that stupid quiz was not much more than a blatant proposition.

  We do another walk-through before she’s satisfied that we’ve mastered the correct way to enter and exit the ceremony and the rehearsal is officially over. The group moves to the church vestibule, everyone chatting about the weather and the best route to tonight’s dinner for the bridal party and family. Dave and Jennifer have definitely hit it off, I note with a smile as I’m buttoning my coat. They’ve been chatting non-stop for the past thirty minutes, smiling the entire time.

  We’re exiting the church when I realize my scarf is missing, so I run back to see if I dropped it somewhere inside the church. I locate it under the pew where we casually dropped our coats during the run-through and loop it around my neck, then head back to the vestibule. Everyone is gone. What the heck? I was gone for two minutes. I refrain from rolling my eyes inside of a church and push open the door and step into the freezing January chill while scanning the parking lot for Dave’s car.

  I make it to the top step before I see the white Tesla idling at the bottom of the steps. Before I see Gabe leaning against it. Before my heart skips two beats.

  He’s here for me? He’s here for me. You do not crash a wedding rehearsal you were not invited to unless you really like someone. Right? I bite my lip and grab the handrail as he bounds up the steps and stops on the step below mine so we’re eye to eye.

  “Why are you here?” I blurt out. Smooth, Sandra. But I need to hear the words.

  “I heard you were here.”

  “You came for me?”

  “Is that okay?” He cocks an eyebrow when he says it, all confidence that my answer will be yes.

  “Yeah.” I finally grin. “It is.”

  “I think you have a rehearsal dinner to get to?”

  “Oh, right.” I snap out of it and look around to see Dave putting Jennifer into the passenger seat of his car and giving me a thumbs up.

  “I told him I’d drive you,” Gabe says, seeing where my attention has gone.

  “You want to drive me to the rehearsal dinner?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay.” I trail off, unsure what that means exactly.

  “I want to go with you too, if that’s okay.”

  “That’s okay.” I smile. “But people from work will be there.” It’s a statement, but my tone conveys that it’s really a question.

  “Is that a problem?” he asks, frowning.

  “No. It’s not a problem for me.”

  “Good.”

  I tilt my head and look at him, trying to get a better read on if it’s a problem for him.

  “I want you to give me a chance, Sandra. And your phone number. I want you to give me your phone number,” he adds with a self-deprecating smile. “I should have your phone number, but I don’t because I’m a fool. And I want to fix that. And I don’t care who sees me trying to fix that. So let me take you to this rehearsal dinner tonight. And the wedding tomorrow. And next weekend, let me take you on a date I actually pay for.”

  “I like you, Gabe.”

  He smiles. “I like you too, Sandra.”

  “Good.”

  “Good,” he says and leans in closer, our lips inches apart, then stops. “I’m going to kiss you now, unless you have any other objections?”

  “No,” I respond, flustered. “I mean yes—”

  Then I cut myself off and just kiss him.

  I think I got it.

  Epilogue

  You know what today is, don’t you?”

  “Hmmm.” I tap my fingertips on Gabe’s bare chest. “Wednesday?” I guess, tilting my head back to look at him.

  “No. Well, yes, but not what I’m getting at.”

  “Today is March twenty-third?” I try again.

  “Also accurate, but wrong.”

  I frown and turn my head to rest my chin on his chest. “How can something be both accurate and wrong?”

  “Factually correct, but not the answer I’m looking for.”

  “Okay.” I shrug. “What’s today?”

  “Our anniversary,” he says with a grin.

  Um, is it? I rack my brain thinking of what he’s using as a benchmark. The first time we had sex? Our first real date? I’m not following him.

  “The quarterly meeting is today,” he says with a sly wink and a laugh.

  I slap a hand across my eyes and groan. “That is not our anniversary date. No way.”

  “Sure it is. That sex quiz deserves to be celebrated quarterly,” he says as he flips me over and pins my hands over my head. He likes to pin me down when he knows I’m going to blush so I can’t cover my face.

  “Stop.” I laugh, turning my head away.

  “I cannot believe you’re still blushing over that note,” he says, moving both of my hands into one of his so he can grasp my jaw with the other and turn me towards him.

  I squeeze my eyes shut.

  “You know I can still see you, right?” He releases my chin to trail his hand lower while pressing his lips to my neck.

  “Do not give me another hickey. I will kill you.”

  He laughs, his lips vibrating against my skin.

  “I’m serious. It’s not turtleneck w
eather anymore, Gabe. I cannot go to work with a hickey on my neck. I cannot. It’s unprofessional. Childish. And—” And I don’t get another word in because Gabe’s covered my lips with his.

  “You know your tits blush too,” he tells me once he’s dragged his lips off of mine.

  “Pervert.”

  “Yet you love me.”

  I do, but I roll my eyes and slip my hands out from under his, then tug his head off my chest. “We have to get ready for work.”

  “Five more minutes,” he argues. I give in, because Gabe’s proven it’s worth my while to rush my morning routine.

  Gabe drives us to the office, my car still in the parking garage from yesterday. I’ve learned to keep a few outfits at Gabe’s because “have dinner with me after work” turns into an impromptu sleepover at least once a week. We spend most weekends at his condo or my apartment. And last month he took me to Savannah to meet his parents. They just retired there and it was nice to get away. Gorgeous city, the live oak trees in Forsyth Park not something I’m likely to forget. The entire city was lovely, as were his parents. His mom could not contain the smiles whenever Gabe put his arm around me or took my hand.

  We get to work and Gabe parks in the garage, then we head inside. We stopped at a Wawa on the way in so I could get a chai tea latte and an oatmeal to go, while Gabe got coffee and a breakfast burrito—and a blueberry muffin for Preston.

  We part ways after we step off the elevator. Everyone knows we’re dating, or I should say everyone who cares to know knows. It’s not a secret and it’s not a big deal. My job is working with Sawyer, so I don’t have that much to do with Gabe on a day-to-day basis anyway.

  I think Gabe was worried about what Sawyer’s reaction was going to be to us dating. He tried to prep me that weekend of Marissa’s wedding—that Sawyer might not react well come Monday. But Sawyer has been totally fine. He had a huge grin on his face, actually. Told Gabe not to fuck it up because he was on Team Sandra and that’s all that was said. I’m not sure why Gabe was so worried about it, but men are a mystery sometimes.