by Emily Sharpe
Jessica could feel his erection pressing into the small of her back and she moaned as his hand lifted up the edge of her skirt, just teasing her lady parts through the satin panties. "Yes, there! Touch me there," she whispered. He slipped one hand under the fabric and stroked her gently one time, but only one, before withdrawing and pulling her around to face him in the darkness.
Instinctively, she began to slide her panties off. "Oh, Eric!" she moaned. "Oh my God!" The counter would support her weight; she was sure of it. Or the floor, anywhere. Eric was just one surprise after another!
Instead, she sensed, rather than saw, him move away from her, the sound of a helmet being replaced, the soft hint of the doorknob being turned. Even the faint light from downstairs was bright, interrupting the sensual velvet she had been surrounded with seconds before. When the door closed, it was completely dark again.
"What in the world," she muttered, reaching for the light switch. A glance at the mirror made her grateful she hadn't followed Eric out, even though that was what every cell of her body had wanted to do, run right out the door after him. One breast was almost completely exposed; satin panties circled one of her ankles. Her lipstick and mascara were smeared from the heat and energy and fierce embrace.
Finishing the glass of wine in one gulp, Jessica readjusted herself and searched until she found make-up wipes and cosmetics. Rita wouldn't mind.
"Wowza," Jessica said softly to her reflection as she touched up her face. She would whisper in Eric's ear that she was ready to go home and not take no for an answer. If she didn't attack him in the car, she'd certainly do it when they reached his apartment. She had never experienced passion like that, not ever. He had really been holding out on her!
Suitably put back together, heart still pounding, Jessica started down the spiral staircase, looking for Eric, ready to flash him one of those "come hither" looks her mom joked about.
There! Standing by the bar, he'd given up on the helmet altogether, apparently, and was nibbling a slider while chatting with Rita's sister. Cousin? She couldn't remember, but who cared! Eric had finally found his pa–
When she was a few steps from the bottom, a voice to one side made her turn. "Looking for someone?"
Jessica gasped. Darth Vader stood to her left. Stupidly, she gazed across the room at Eric, who caught her eye and gave a little wave. Not moving her head, she looked back at Darth. Back at Eric. Back at Darth.
Not-Eric-after-all took off his helmet, and Jessica looked into the greenest eyes she'd ever seen—or maybe she had? She had caught the eye of a handsome mail carrier recently at the office, but, no, not possible. His head was completely shaved, with a neat goatee and mustache. She would have known it wasn't Eric.
Or would she? In a panic, she realized that things had gotten so hot and heavy so quickly, she honestly didn't remember if she'd caressed Bathroom Man's head or not.
The man smiled a little sadly. Jessica was startled by what looked to be a deep blush on his cheeks. He stepped up beside her and whispered, "Whoever Eric is, he's one lucky man." Without another word, he put his helmet on and walked out the front door.
The room suddenly started to spin.
"Have a little too much wine, honey? I could tell," Rita said, hurrying up with a laugh as she led her friend to the white leather sofa.
"I'm fine," Jessica said, waving her hands at Rita. "Really. Go! Do your party!" She closed her eyes, leaning her head onto the sofa cushion. The incessant drone of canned jazz and bits of a dozen conversations blended into white noise. She let it all fade away until it was dark inside her eyelids, quiet inside her head, and she could imagine she was in the bathroom again with the man who had made her realize what passion could be. What it should be. What it would be? Of course not, silly woman. Mistaken identity all around. Jessica opened her eyes and looked across the room at Eric, catching him staring at her. He frowned.
Halloween, Jessica thought, will never be the same. And neither will I.
Chapter 3
The Apology
Pulling out of her apartment's parking garage the next Monday morning, Jessica glanced up into the rearview mirror and realized she had left without a smidgen of make-up. That's what I do, she thought. I get so distracted that I don't think straight. She did a quick U-turn, backtracked to her numbered spot and ran up the stairs. Maybe a little more exercise will shake my brain back into gear. So much for yoga reducing my stress, she thought wryly.
She'd gotten up early to exercise, stretching and breathing, trying to get the bathroom scene to vacate her mind. Not even the Lion's Breath stress pose had helped. Sticking out her tongue and popping out her eyes, while exhaling? All she could think of was his tongue on her neck. Yikes.
Ten minutes later, she checked the mirror again. Two earrings, check. Eyeliner, check. Lipstick, check. Her building was not far as the crow flew, but with traffic, the commute gave her time to gather her thoughts and prepare for the day. Today, the rain would slow things down a little more. She had just missed a downpour when she got back into her car, but now it was coming down hard. More time to gather her thoughts, perhaps, but in the three months she had worked for Our Place magazine, she had never had such thoughts as these.
That man. Bathroom Guy. The more she thought about their passionate few minutes at the party Friday night, the angrier she became. She'd welcomed a man she had thought was her kind and decent boyfriend. True, Eric had never been that passionate, but right up until the point that the other Darth Vader revealed himself at the bottom of the stairs, she had believed she was kissing Eric. She thought those were Eric's hands, Eric's mouth, Eric's… Oh, who am I kidding, she groaned. It could have been anyone and I would have loved it. It was that exciting. She was ashamed of herself to admit it, but it was true. Had she known it wasn't Eric, obviously, she would have slammed the door in his face. Had he forced himself into the room, she would have put her defense training to good use, kicked him right in the—oh dear, right where he had pressed up against her. She couldn't honestly deny that she had enjoyed that immensely.
But you thought you were enjoying Eric, not a complete stranger! She felt guilty and wasn't exactly sure why.
And then, after the big reveal, he'd walked out the door! What had he been about to say? He looked vaguely familiar, someone in her building maybe? Where had she seen him? On the elevator? The lobby? Something about mail nagged at her memory. Great, she thought. The most passionate man on the planet is an entry level mail clerk with no future, taking advantage of lonely single women with good jobs, hoping to get a little on the cheap.
He had taken advantage of her. Taken liberties no man should take. A girlfriend, sure—and she'd thought that was the case! She wondered briefly if she should complain to Rita and Gary then dismissed the thought. She had been right there with him, egging him on. "Yes! Yes!" Jessica's cheeks burned at the memory. What would Mom say? She'd probably be on Bathroom Guy's side.
Righteous indignation washed over her. Eric wasn't passionate, but he was stable. She could depend on him. And now, thanks to Bathroom Guy, she could hardly look at him. When he could pull himself away from Rita's sister, it turned out, he had joined her on the couch at the party.
"Are you okay, Jess?" He'd looked at her with genuine concern, straightening her mask, not guessing, of course, why it was still a little off kilter.
The drive back to Eric's apartment had been awkward and quiet. Instinctively, Jessica had kept her head turned away, her eyes closed. Inside his neat duplex, she'd waited while he changed into sleep pajamas and handed her his costume to return to the rental store. When he saw that she was still in costume, he'd frowned. "Aren't you going to stay?"
"Not tonight," she'd said, heading for the door.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing! I just want to go home."
Eric had not been pleased. "I went to the party like you asked. I didn't want to go, but I went, and now you're upset about something? You're leaving? It's late, I know. But I sleep
better with you. Stay."
The tension had only increased when he kissed her goodnight. It was a perfectly good kiss, but she had not responded the way she usually did, leaning in, forcing him to make it longer and sweeter. Instead, her lips remained closed. She turned her chin slightly without even realizing it, his lips only glancing hers in the motion.
"Goodnight, then." And he had let her walk out. No curiosity, no demands for an explanation. No anger. They'd been dating all this time, and Jessica suddenly realized that she'd been doing all the heavy lifting.
She could make this right. She could make the romance happen as she'd made it happen almost every time. Turn around and melt into his arms, and all would be forgotten and forgiven, her momentary lapse a thing of the past. She could go back to instigating whatever passion existed between them, or she could get in her car and drive away.
Staring blankly at the rain outside her car, making the turns and stops like a robot, Jessica saw herself in her mind's eye, standing on the sidewalk Friday evening, looking back. Eric had already closed the door. This wasn't a great neighborhood at this hour—what neighborhood was, for a woman alone? He hadn't even thought to walk her to the car. That summed up the relationship nicely, in a way. He slept better with her, so he wanted her to stay, but if she chose not to, well then, that was okay too.
All through the fitful night, through the next two fitful nights, Jessica had fussed at herself for being too hard on Eric. It wasn't that there was anything wrong with him, he just wasn't that guy. It was that simple. And she would never see the guy again. Burning her bridges with Eric didn't seem like wisdom, but if one passionate encounter with a stranger left her feeling like this, what did that say about her true feelings for Eric? It wouldn't be fair to him to just go on like nothing had happened. But how could she explain it to him? She didn't understand it herself. It's not like she had cheated on him—she had thought it was him.
Jessica pulled into the first vacant spot she saw in the building's garage, grateful that she didn't have to park out in the weather. She'd grab a coffee in the lounge before going to her cubicle, but no one would notice she was a few minutes late. The ebb and flow of everyone was much more fluid here than at her previous job.
The magazine had been sold to a new owner just after she was hired. Things were still in flux. No major shake-ups were anticipated, but without a formal announcement yet of some kind, everyone knew that in the journalism business, anything was possible. When Maureen went on vacation, it was rumored that she had taken a severance package, as Jessica had told her mom, but so far, things were running smoothly. Tenser than usual, Jessica guessed, but so far, so good.
Jessica was rummaging in the refrigerator for creamer when Donna exploded into the lounge. "Finally! I could hardly wait until you got here! You're gonna be so excited!"
The fact that Donna was so easily amused was one of her most endearing qualities, in Jessica's opinion. "Did the new owner give us all a raise?" Jessica stirred her coffee and took a deep drink. Ahhhh. She hoped Donna would not ask about her weekend. She really liked Donna and would absolutely love to have someone to talk to, but they didn't know one another well enough to tackle Bathroom Guy.
Her mom had always been the person she talked to, her dad. She made a little face. Not about this, though. Carol had called her Saturday to thank her for the texted photo, but Jessica couldn't bring herself to say much about it.
Donna giggled now, unable to contain herself. She was refreshingly open with her general delight with life. "Like that'll happen. You got flowers!"
Jessica smiled and shook her head. Eric. What a sweetheart. Even though he wasn't skilled at expressing his emotions, maybe he'd finally seen the value of a romantic gesture.
The last time Eric had brought her flowers had not been a stellar moment in their relationship. She'd taken the cellophane-wrapped bouquet from him with a smile that faded as she noticed the grocery store's sticker. She'd tried to laugh it off. "Reduced? You bought me flowers that were reduced? Thanks a lot!" Funny, for some reason, those little hurtful memories loomed more ominously now.
Maybe he'd learned something from it, though. Together, the women zigzagged through the busy room, greeting coworkers as they hurried past. Most of the men and women at the magazine had been there for years, but everyone had welcomed Jessica warmly. She was the low man on the totem pole, of course, so professional jealousy wasn't an issue. The fact that she was in a relationship had appeased any other potential jealousy as far as the women were concerned, and the guys, well, none of them had seemed to be interested in her, and she certainly hadn't been in them. Surely, she hadn't seen Bathroom Guy here? Weeks ago? Over by the—
Jessica gasped. On her desk, in an exquisite and decidedly non-standard-issue cobalt blue vase, was an enormous flower arrangement. At the same time elaborate and tasteful, the combination of roses, exotics and wildflowers took her breath away. Eric has really outdone himself, she thought as she pulled the little card off the plastic holder.
"What does it say?" Donna was practically jumping up and down beside her, trying to see the writing as Jessica opened up the envelope.
Please accept my profound apology. I enjoyed every second, but I can only imagine your anger. After I went downstairs, I saw the other costumed man—your Eric, I presume. Of course, you thought I was he! I don't know what came over me. Please forgive me. If you would have lunch with me, I promise to make it "worth" your while.
The note was signed D.V. Darth Vader, obviously. Ha Ha. So funny, I forgot to laugh. "Worth" your while? Who uses quotes like that?
"Sooooo. What did he say? Did you and your boyfriend have a great weekend, or is this to make up for a bad one?"
"Let's just get to work, Donna. We can talk later." Jessica sat down and slid the massive arrangement to one side, signaling to Donna that she was dismissed. Jessica shook a little as she sat down.
Bathroom Guy knows where I work. Did he know I would be at the party or would he have followed anyone up the stairs? He hadn't known about Eric, though, or apparently, that putting quotation marks in weird places was one of her pet peeves.
More difficult to accept at some level—a level Jessica was not proud of—was his obvious shame. Apologetic. Full of remorse. Those flowers had cost a pretty penny, maybe his entire week's wage if he did, in fact, work in the mailroom. Lunch, which would never happen, she decided, would have probably been the hot dog vendor on the street.
You love hot dogs, her inner goddess chided.
Jessica sniffed, clearing her head. Oh my God, I'm about to cry! Bathroom Guy had stirred emotions in her she hadn't even realized she had. Let's be brutally honest, she told herself, #metoo and all the rest. Even though she felt bad about what the incident had already meant to her relationship with Eric, she could not honestly say she was sorry it had happened. Angry at the presumption, yes, but the experience had been strangely liberating. Every cell in her body shouted with joy that this was what love and life was supposed to be like. It was like the universe had handed her a gift, a life-changing wake-up call.
Bathroom Guy may regret it, but she, oddly enough, did not regret it in the slightest.
Her office phone buzzed, jarring her back to the present. "Daniels. Oh, good morning, Skip. Anything new on Gallagher? I haven't had a chance to look yet." A young man named Tim Gallagher was all over the local news. He'd burned a house down then committed suicide. Investigators were trying to find out why.
A sudden ache pierced Jessica's heart. Any mention of fires did that. Her father had been so handsome in his uniform. He'd worked a little past his retirement age. If he hadn't, he wouldn't have been there to run into that building. And he would still be here today.
Jessica brushed the painful thought away. If anyone knew the latest, it would be Skip, movie-star handsome assistant to the editor. He'd been without anyone to assist, since Maureen had left for vacation, but he always managed to look busy.
More than once, a female visitor to th
e office had begun to swoon before someone gracefully whispered in her ear, "He's gay." More than once, a male visitor had begun to swoon before someone also whispered, "He's married to Paul, one of our photographers."
Skip cleared his throat for dramatic effect. "Forget Gallagher for the moment. We have a new editor as of this morning, Jessica. Maureen is out, a Mr. Vincent is in. The new owner's personal pick."
"Okaaaay—are we all having a meeting?" Jessica checked the calendar covered with chaotic scribbles behind her laptop. "I have an interview this afternoon, but if I need to reschedule—"
Skip let her voice fade. "No meeting called yet, but you might want to cancel that interview."
"Why?"
"Mr. Vincent wants to take you to lunch today." He paused for effect. "Just you." When she said nothing, Skip continued. "Three Oaks at noon. Bon appetit. And good luck. I even asked if he wanted anyone else there. And he knows you just came to the magazine."
What the hell? As the newest hire, it sounded like she was getting the axe. Skip must think so, too. At least the editor wanted to ease the blow with a nice lunch. Three Oaks was a five-star restaurant downstairs, in the same building. Jessica had never splurged either the time or the money on her lunch hour to that degree. After hanging up the phone, she tried to keep her mind on her research, but it was difficult to stay motivated. Why go to any trouble this morning, when I'll be out of a job this afternoon?
At 11:55, Jessica picked up her purse and made her way to the elevator with everyone else. Donna was still bubbling about the flowers on the elevator, but she didn't pry. "Wanna try that new Mexican place down the block today? I think it's stopped raining."
"No," Jessica smiled nervously. "I have a lunch appointment. Maybe tomorrow." Except that tomorrow, she'd be out of a job. Donna had become a friend. Jessica might lose her job, but she decided that whatever it took, she'd hang on to Donna. Impulsively, she laid her head on Donna's shoulder. "Mexican would be nice."