Crushing on You

by Jen Trinh

  Despite the silly images that he painted, the dynamic direction of his thoughts helped me view each song in a new light, and I found myself trying new combinations and hunting for old samples. By the end of the drive, I knew what the theme was going to be: Second Impressions. I silently thanked Ian for the help.

  Though I was excited about our progress on the playlist, by the time we arrived at the hotel, I was wrung out from the long day of traveling and ready for bed. I blearily checked in beside him, and was somehow unsurprised to find out that our rooms were right next to each other. We took the elevator up and walked down the hallway together until we paused in front of our respective doors. “Here,” I said, unzipping his hoodie and handing it back to him. The air-conditioned hallway was cold, but I knew that a warm shower and a bed were just steps away. I yawned, then added, “Thanks again for the hoodie and the ride. Goodnight.”

  I opened the door and stepped inside as I heard his echoed, “Goodnight.”

  After shutting the door with a small click, I leaned against it and sleepily reflected on our interactions that evening. We’d gotten off on the wrong foot, but after correcting course, he’d been attentive, curious, and playful. Our conversation had an easy flow, and I actually kind of enjoyed talking to him. And though I’d swear to my death that I wasn’t attracted to him, I couldn’t deny that he was quite the masculine presence, which was definitely not something I was used to noticing.

  He had potential. As a friend.

  Chapter 4

  -Ian-

  Once inside my room, I raised the hoodie to my face, inhaling her scent and warming my nose with her residual heat. Soft and floral, with hints of something herbal. Maybe rosemary?

  I tossed the hoodie onto the bed and chuckled, reflecting on the evening’s events. She’d make the world’s worst poker player, what with the way her eyes lit up whenever she talked about music, or the death rays she’d shot at me during our heated exchange. She’d been so lively, her feeling so infectious, and it had been a long time since I’d felt so much easy chemistry with someone.

  I looked forward to getting to know each other better that weekend. Maybe I’d ask her out when we got back to New York. It’d been a few months since I’d last gone on a date, and I was looking forward to getting back into the game, especially if it was with someone like her.

  She seemed...different.

  All the women I’d dated before shared three qualities: they were sweet, pretty, and highly educated. They’d also all been really into me. But there was always some other adjective that I didn’t find out about until later: possessive, awkward, manipulative, bland, etc. So while my parents wanted me to get married relatively soon, and I wasn’t opposed to the idea, I just seemed to have terrible luck. It’d been a rough couple of years, and I’d gotten tired of trying.

  But Anna intrigued me more than any other woman had in a long time. Once she’d let her guard down, we’d had a great time talking to each other. She was definitely smart and pretty, beautiful even, although I wasn’t so sure about sweet. Even so, I was drawn to her passion and her fiery spirit, things that I’d never really thought to look for in a partner before.

  The only problem was that she seemed to take her “No Asian Guys” rule seriously. It was pretty off-putting that she was so closed-minded about it, but I wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt. Maybe she’d had terrible experiences with other Asian guys in the past. But I knew that she wouldn’t have a terrible experience with me. I just had to figure out how to get her to give me a chance.

  I drifted off to sleep that night to pleasant fantasies of how I would do just that.

  ◆◆◆

  The morning passed by quickly. I woke up early, went to the gym for an hour, showered, and went downstairs to the hotel cafe to grab a light breakfast. Hoping to get some work done, I’d brought my laptop down with me. Anna was there, too, hiding in a corner with her earphones in, carefully avoiding eye contact with everyone. She briefly looked up and waved at me as I passed, though.

  After picking up a croissant and a cup of black coffee, I sat down at a high-top table by a window. I cracked my neck and fingers, opened up my laptop, and began chipping away at my huge backlog of work.

  30 minutes later, as I was deep in some python, someone tapped on my shoulder.

  “Hey. Mind if I sit and work with you?” Anna had come over with her laptop and a half-empty mug of coffee. She was looking pretty cute in her navy blue sweater and white shorts, her hair pulled back in a high ponytail.

  “Not at all,” I said. I usually preferred to work alone and undisturbed, but I would’ve rather gotten nothing done that day while talking to Anna than plow through all of the code reviews that I’d planned on doing.

  “How’d you sleep last night?” I asked, moving my stuff from the seat next to me so that she could sit down.

  “Like a log. I was so jet-lagged. It’s only a three-hour difference, but I was so tired. Still am.” She jumped into the high chair, her ponytail swishing back and forth, bouncy and energetic and in direct contradiction to her words.

  “Well, you look like you got you enough beauty sleep.” I winked, feeling slightly cheesy...but hey, my wooing her had to start somewhere, and girls liked cheese, right?

  She rolled her eyes and said, “Uh huh. So listen, I wanted to run an idea by you. About the playlist last night.”

  “Sure, go ahead.”

  She opened up her laptop and handed me an earphone, then walked me through her rearrangement of the tracks, given her idea for the playlist theme and title, Second Impressions. The first few tracks were old classics from the 70s and 80s, followed by some newer songs that had sampled or referenced lyrics or sounds from the first few. But the newer songs sounded entirely different, evoking seduction instead of joy, or dreaminess instead of funkiness. The samples were stretched, sped up, cut, or modified—still recognizable to the discerning ear, but used in completely unique ways.

  “That’s really thoughtful and insightful of you. I wouldn’t have even caught those samples if you hadn’t pointed them out.”

  “Thanks! That’s what I’m going for.” She sipped her coffee, smiling slightly into her mug, then added, “I wanted to thank you for letting me bounce some ideas off of you last night. It really helped to talk it through with you.”

  “Of course, anytime. Do I get a mention in your blog post?” I joked.

  “Mmm, I’ll think about it.” Eyes playful, she turned to her laptop and began typing.

  I turned to my own laptop and stared at the code on the screen, scanning for any potential issues. Occasionally, I looked up at Anna and caught her frowning or rubbing her smooth, supple neck in thought. As a result, I frequently found myself reviewing the same section of code two or three times. At one point, we both looked up and locked eyes.

  “What are you working on?” she asked, quickly shifting her gaze back down to her screen.

  “Code reviews.” I turned the laptop around so that she could see the brightly colored lines of code. “Making sure my team’s code quality is up to snuff.” I spun it back around to face me and frowned as the text blurred together slightly. Staring at a screen all day sucked.

  “Do you have to review everyone’s code?”

  “Not everyone’s, just the most important pieces.” I sighed. “It’s pretty boring right now, though.” As usual. I popped the last of the forgotten croissant into my mouth.

  Anna’s eyes widened when her stomach rumbled in response. She slowly placed a hand on her belly, her face sheepish.

  “Uh...do you want to grab lunch?” I asked, suppressing a smile and closing my laptop.

  “Yeah, that might be a good idea. What do you want to eat?” She gently shut her laptop, too.

  I considered. What was in the area? Ah! “How do you feel about Ethiopian?”

  “I’ve actually never had it before.”

  I rubbed my hands together. “Oh, then we’re popping that cherry, right now.”

&
nbsp; She smiled and rolled her eyes yet again. “Sure, whatever.”

  ◆◆◆

  We put our stuff away in our rooms, then walked to the Ethiopian place that was four blocks away. It was one of my favorite restaurants, and I was glad to have an excuse to stop by during that trip. There was just something so carnally satisfying about eating with your hands and using the sourdough injera to mop up the delicious, spicy juices from the stewed meat and vegetables. Anna was in for a treat.

  The waitress seated us at the last available table, then brusquely handed us menus to look at. Ethiopian jazz played in the background, and the air was heavy with the scent of meat, butter, and berbere. My mouth watered—I was in for a treat.

  After a minute of browsing, Anna deferred to me, putting down her menu and craning her head to look at the colorful arrays of dishes on the other tables. I hadn’t even glanced at the menu, having already planned on ordering my two favorites, the kitfo and the veggie combo.

  “I can’t believe you’ve never had Ethiopian food. You’re going to love it.” I rubbed my hands together, excited to see her reaction to one of my favorite cuisines.

  “I hope so. I don’t get to eat out much.” She sipped her water.

  “In New York? That’s like half of what there is to do there.”

  “Yeah, but I mostly eat the same things. A lot of pizza. I once challenged myself to try every pizza joint in New York.”

  “How far did you get?”

  She scrunched up her face in thought. “Mmmm, over 40? Then I lost count.”

  “Wow. That’s pretty impressive that you even got that far. What’s your favorite place?”

  “I have several favorite places. But what I realized throughout my pizza journey is that I like Sicilian pizza the best. No matter where it’s from, if they make Sicilian, it’s good.”

  I laughed at the image of her going on a pizza journey, then filed away that tidbit about Sicilian being her favorite. No doubt it would help in my conquest.

  We discussed the merits of various pizza places and how New York pizza differed from anywhere else’s pizza (it’s got to be the water!) until our Ethiopian feast arrived.

  Anna’s eyes went wide at the huge platter of food. “Uhhh, I hope you’re going to eat most of this. I have a really tight dress that I need to be able to fit into tonight.”

  I looked forward to seeing it. “Hmm, yeah, that might be a problem. Ethiopian food tends to result in food babies. Twins, at least.”

  I demonstrated how to use the injera to eat. She followed suit and ripped off a piece of injera, swiped it into the mound of shiro wot, then brought the tiny wrap to her mouth. Her eyes drifted closed as she slowly chewed, savoring the flavor and letting out a small moan of pleasure. The shiro wot dripped down onto her fingers, and I wanted to take each one into my mouth and lick them clean.

  “Oh my god,” she said, mouth still full. “That is so good. Holy shit.” One by one, she slowly sucked on her own fingers, each one slipping out of her mouth with a slick little pop.

  Wow. If she was that erotic with Ethiopian food, what would she be like with sausages? Eclairs? In bed? I discreetly adjusted my pants under the table, then shook my head, frowning at myself. There was a sumptuous feast before me—I should focus on that.

  We ate in silence for a little while, punctuated only by the occasional groan whenever Anna tried something new. It was more than sensual; it was nice. I’d forgotten how it felt to just sit and enjoy delicious food together with someone, especially someone as enthusiastic as she was. Experiencing every new flavor and mouthfeel with her, through her, somehow made it taste even better.

  After a particularly long, throaty sigh (she’d finally tried the kitfo, the marinated raw beef), she asked, “So are there good Ethiopian places in New York?”

  “Yeah, definitely. But I think the ones in the Bay Area are better.”

  She licked her lips and hummed with pleasure after trying the atakilt wot, which consisted of stewed carrots, potatoes, and cabbage. “I wish I could cook like this. Or like, Indian food. All those spices...it must be so complicated.”

  I picked up a slice of stewed potato and popped it into my mouth. “It’s actually not that hard.”

  She stared. “You know how to make Indian food?”

  I tried not to look too smug as I said, “I make it all the time. And Ethiopian. You just need to buy the ingredients at a good market. There are several in the Bay Area.”

  She nodded slowly and gave me a Not Bad face. “So you cook a lot?”

  “Yeah, I love cooking. It’s a nice creative outlet, and I find it really relaxing and satisfying to make my own food.” I hesitated, then said, “You know, you’re welcome to come over for dinner anytime. I love cooking for other people. The only people who really eat my food though are my parents, and they’re not exactly impartial critics.”

  She smiled, lips and teeth stained red from the kitfo. “I’d love to.”

  I chuckled. Did she consider that a date? I did.

  ◆◆◆

  We came close to finishing all of the food, but in the end, there was just way too much of it. I offered to pay, but for some reason, Anna vehemently protested. So we ended up splitting the bill, which hadn’t been very much anyway. And from the satisfied look on her face, it was clear that she was going to be a lifelong fan. I was glad to have been the one to introduce it to her.

  We got back to the hotel and went into our respective rooms. Luckily, we had a little over an hour for the food to settle and to get dressed. I breezed through and approved a few more merge requests, then put on my new bespoke cobalt suit, pale pink tie, and brown leather shoes. My mom had insisted that I buy a new suit when she’d splashed soy sauce (accidentally? Unclear.) onto my old light gray suit at my cousin Lianyang’s wedding, but I was glad for it—I looked good. I restyled my hair to give it a tad more volume, then spritzed myself with a tiny extra bit of cologne. Satisfied, I went downstairs and lined up with several other wedding guests who were waiting for the shuttle to the venue, which was about a 30 minute drive north.

  From where I stood in line, I saw that there were a couple of Stumpstashers from the SF office standing near the front. That was no surprise, as Cassie seemed to be friends with everyone at work. I turned to look behind me at the rest of the line and—

  Damn.

  Anna was walking towards me, and she was absolutely stunning.

  She wore a rose pink satin gown that hugged her curves in all the right places, with a long slit that stopped high up on her hip. A simple black belt emphasized her slim waist, no food babies in sight. The pale pink of the dress complemented her teal-colored hair, which she’d elegantly coiffed, with curled tendrils artfully slipping out and framing her face and neck. Her black stilettos accentuated her shapely ankles, the added height completely inverting her high ape index and making her legs look miles long.

  Double damn.

  After eyeing her up and down, I knew that I’d have more material for my fantasies that evening. That is, if I didn’t succeed in getting the real woman into my bed. I usually waited until at least the fifth date to seduce a woman, not the zeroth, but that dress...I shook my head.

  She saw me and gave me a once-over of her own as she walked up. “Not bad. We even match.” She traced a finger down my pink tie, stopping at least a full foot above where I wished she’d touch me.

  Before I could respond, someone said my name. Another group of Stumpstashers drew closer, ones from the New York office. We exchanged greetings and introductions, hey, this is so-and-so, how are you...though what I really wanted to say was, hey guys, go away, stop cockblocking me.

  “So is this your date?” asked Emily, one of the product managers at Stumpstash. “She honestly seems too cool for you.”

  “Thanks, Emily. No, she’s Cassie’s college roommate. We met on the flight last night.” I introduced Anna all around. By the way their eyes leisurely roved over her, the three guys, Tom, Rich, and Tony, were all cha
rmed. I cracked my knuckles while Emily and another product manager, Prisha, both welcomed her warmly.

  “So you’re also from New York?” asked Tom. Tom, who had nose hairs visibly protruding from his nostrils. He was standing too close to her, leaning down and in to talk. I didn’t like that one bit, but could do nothing about it as Rich started asking me about how my project at work was going.

  “Is the backend ready for the new UI?” he asked. Rich and I didn’t like each other. I don’t know why he tried to talk to me. Maybe he could tell that I wanted to talk to Anna and was trying to piss me off. It was working.

  “Not yet. We…” I watched from the corner of my eye as Tom and Anna chatted. She looked up at him coquettishly and slapped his arm, laughing at something he’d said. Really, Tom? I frowned, then turned away and focused on answering Rich’s question.

  “We had to deal with some security issues.” I explained the issues in excruciating detail until Rich hurriedly wished me luck and turned to talk to Prisha.

  By the time I turned around again, Tom was talking to Emily and Anna was gone. Hmph.

  After a few minutes, the shuttle arrived and we all shuffled on board, our group filling up the rows in the back. I eventually saw Anna take a seat in the front, surrounded by what I assumed were some of her college acquaintances, based on their polite chatter.

  I spent the next 30 minutes staring at the back of her head, the gorgeous slope of her neck and shoulders, only periodically turning away when one of my coworkers addressed me directly. They talked about sports, new shows, the latest restaurants and bars in New York, and occasionally, work gossip. Small talk. I didn’t have much to add to the conversation. If this was Anna’s experience of people in tech, no wonder she assumed that I was bland.

  I glanced out the window as the shuttle pulled into a paved parking area. Everyone began ooh-ing and ah-ing at the sight, and even I had to whistle. Cassie and Michael (or their parents) had spared no expense—the venue was absolutely breathtaking. The entrance to the high-ceilinged barn was decorated from top to bottom with pale blooms, succulents, and ivy. Trellises with grapevines and delicate white lace lined the path to the outdoor ceremony, then continued further on to the reception area. Golden vineyards stretched for as far as the eye could see, charming and rustic in the afternoon sun.