Knocking Boots

by Willow Winters

  “I’m not tipsy, just these heels.” That beautiful blush rises up her chest and into her cheeks as she shakes her head. She tries to play it off, backing out of my embrace. Her lush ass hits the stool behind her, and her hands grip onto it to keep from knocking it over. I can’t help the rough chuckle from vibrating up my chest.

  “You sure you don’t need a ride?” I ask Grace. I know she only had one drink. I know she doesn’t. That doesn’t change the fact that I want to give her a ride.

  “No, I’m fine,” she says. There’s a small smile on her face I can tell she’s trying to fight.

  “I don’t know if I believe you.” I tell her just to fuck with her. I love getting under her skin. “I wouldn’t mind taking you home.”

  I give her a wink as I back away. Leaving her there, steady on her feet, I walk around the counter to get to unloading the boxes that fucking James was supposed to take care of. I look over my shoulder when she doesn’t respond and catch her staring at my ass… again. It takes her a second before she notices my eyes on her.

  Her eyes widen slightly, those beautiful baby blues looking like she knows she got caught. A violent shade of red floods her cheeks as she shakes her head, pulling her hair to one side and starts walking backward.

  “I’m sure you wouldn’t,” she says playfully. But it’s that very thought that’s keeping her away from me. A woman like her, someone put together, with her life all figured out... She doesn’t date men like me.

  “Have a good night, sweetheart,” I tell her one last time.

  She waves shyly as she leaves me with nothing more than a “you too”.

  Yeah, I’ve made some mistakes in the past. I have a reputation, and I’m sure as shit not looking for the same things she is.

  But I wouldn’t mind knocking boots with my little sweetheart.

  Grace

  It’s 3 p.m., and I have a thousand things to do at work in only two hours. It’s not going to happen. That’s the bottom line. I push myself back from my desk in my rolling chair and sigh while looking around my cubicle. It’s littered with coffee mugs with motivational phrases, like, ‘I drink coffee and I get shit done’, notepads that have to do lists on them and pens. There are pens everywhere. In coffee cups, on top of to do lists and in the top drawer. Why? Because everyone takes my pens. Just like my mugs, they have cute things on them. My most recent set: keep your hands off my pens. I bought a six pack, I’m already down to four… I think… unless one is tucked in my purse or a drawer.

  I’m in the advertising design department here at L. J. Scott & Co, which supposedly fulfills my need to create. The stack of ads, printed out on thick photography paper, at my right hand can attest to that.

  I went to Rhode Island School of Design for marketing, with a minor in graphic design not realizing how much both subjects would challenge my creativity. I freaking love it. Eventually, I settled in at this graphic design job, choosing it over the other two offers because I like the work done here. It’s as simple as that. Day in and day out I get a different task and a different market to tap into.

  All but one of the checkboxes on my list have been checked off, tick, tick, tick. Just the last one remains: find a hubby and make those babies.

  “Hey! Drinks after work?” a chipper voice calls out from behind me. The pen in my hand lands on my desk when I jolt back to reality. The cat on my screen licking his chops is nearly just as startling. Nothing says, ‘your cat wants this kibble’ like an open mouthed cat ready to devour it.

  I swivel my chair around and find Diane, leaning on the wall between our cubicles. She tilts her blonde head in a come-hither sort of way. She exudes sex appeal and often unbuttons her blouse a bit too low for client orientation which has led to more than a few rumors at the water cooler so to speak. AKA it’s how she wins a number of her jobs.

  Diane started at the company at the same time as I did, and didn’t really give me much of a choice as to whether I would be her friend.

  It was more that she assumed I wanted to go get drinks after work that first day, and I went along with it, why wouldn’t I? I soon found out why. She doesn’t really know limits and boundaries, not with men, not with alcohol and not with personal questions. She’s downright intrusive and cringe worthy when drunk, but I prefer that to sober Diane. Although in either state, she laughs a little too loud and right now I’m just not in the mood. I’m still processing everything from my doctor’s visit. Unfortunately, I have a bad habit of always saying yes. She’s not mean spirited, she’s not a bad person. She’s just… A LOT to take in. And since Ann is on leave for three months, I’ll admit I’m a tad bit lonely.

  “Sure,” I answer, trying not to look at my desk, at the red blinking light on the phone that means I have messages. “That sounds good.” I close my eyes as soon as the words come out of my mouth. I didn’t even think about saying no.

  “Mac's?” she asks, as if we would go anywhere else. I’m not the only one who lusts after Charlie. Diane flirts with him big time, counting down the days till he’s in her bed.

  “Sure,” I say, breathing a small sigh of relief. At least it’s Mac’s.

  “'Kay! See you at five thirty, then.” Her eyes travel down my body. “I hope you brought a change of clothes. I’m planning on the two of us getting handsy with some hotties tonight,” her smile dims as she rolls her eyes and adds beneath her breath, “not going to a friggin' funeral.”

  Boundaries, Diane. My inner voice is snappy with a comeback but I just smile. I will wear whatever the heck I want. Diane’s embarrassment for me will just have to deal with it.

  With that, she steps back and disappears behind the wall of her cubicle.

  I blow out a breath. It wouldn’t be the first time Diane has called dibs on a guy I liked, slept with one of them. Diane’s a little competitive… in everything. Work’s like that, too; she likes to have the biggest and best clients under her purview in sales, often promising customers off-the-wall things and then dropping the whole stack of work in someone else’s lap. She did it to me when I first started… I learned quick to tell her my own workload was full.

  Wheeling my way back to my desk I send up yet another prayer for more women to be hired here or even men, so long as they’re actually social and then glance at my cell phone, which is face down on my desk to keep me from getting distracted. But right now, I need the distraction. The second I click it on I see a message from Jason on Tinder. I open the app and make a face as I scan the message.

  Hey there — you look beautiful. Are you free tonight?

  A tingle runs down my spine as I read it and look at the guy’s pictures. Oh yeah… there is definitely a reason I liked his profile. He’s blond and handsome in the photos, and his profile says he’s looking for a serious commitment.

  I hesitate for only a moment, then type a message in return.

  Thank you! And I am free, actually. What were you thinking? Double checking it to make sure there are no obvious signs that I haven’t dated in practically forever, I send it.

  Sitting a little straighter in my chair I think: maybe tonight won’t be a disaster after all. Back to work I go. Time to be as much of a super woman as I can be in the final hours.

  I have to return a dozen calls. Only one of them gets to me. Criticism is something I can take. I don’t mind it. But when a client treats me like crap, it gets to me. I wish it didn’t, but it gets to me. Sometimes this job is stressful and it’s 100% the clients who lead me down one path, tweaking a design a million ways, and then wanting to trash it. They do it again and again, while deadlines slip by and they don’t seem to have any grasp on what they actually want. I constantly interact with customers who want four more mock-ups than the three I've initially provided, as per their contract with L. J. Scott & Co. I’ll make them a dozen if they need it. If that’s what it takes to ignite a spark, I will do it all day long. But don’t have me do a dozen, choose one to tweak a million times, then another, then another and waste weeks of work not de
ciding a damn thing and wanting to start from scratch.

  Tapping my nails on the desk I take in steadying breaths and pretend like Anthony from Bike It isn’t going to take every single one of those tweaked designs and use them all. I know we’re expensive and he has commented such a number of times, but the package he chose isn’t for a limitless number of ads and that’s what I think he wants.

  Of course, Diane has promised this client the moon, she had him first before our boss moved him to me, but at half the cost of the creative hours billed so far, which are now supposedly useless.

  “Hey! Got you a coffee!” Tracey’s voice echoes in the small cubicle. Letting out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding, I swirl around and thank her. It’s impossible to be mad or sad or anything other than grateful around Tracey, the office personal assistant. Just the sound of her pushing around that cart is enough to lift my spirits.

  “Anything good?” I ask, eyeing her coffee-with-cream skin and sleek, high ponytail. I'm weirdly jealous of Tracey’s consistent good cheer, her youth, and her easy breezy attire. I’m even jealous of the way she wears that pale pink dress probably because she’s obviously naturally skinny. She could be a model and I’ve told her that a million times.

  “Psshh,” she says, grinning as she hands me a cup. “Same thing as usual. A shot in the dark. Coffee, espresso, two creamers, and one Splenda.”

  “Thank you so much,” I say, looking at the tiny puff of steam that escapes my cup. “I seriously need this right now.”

  “I got you,” she says, winking. “You need anything else?”

  A new client? One not from hell? Maybe some new ovaries? I think. But I stay quiet and shake my head. I’ll give this guy another week and if he’s still yanking me around, I have to go to the higher ups. I hate doing that, but I know my limits. There are givers and takers in this world, the givers have to have boundaries, because the takers have none. My mind flashes with an image of Diane and I shut that down with a gulp of hot coffee.

  “Alright. Well I have tons of three-o’clock-slump-coffees to deliver,” she says, backing her cart out of my cubicle. “See you tomorrow.”

  “Have a good night,” I reply, turning back to my desk after saluting her with my cup.

  The smell of the coffee and espresso makes my lips turn upward. Holding onto it with two hands, I take a sip and sigh with fulfillment.

  Sure my job can suck when one client decides to shit on my entire day, but there’s an endless coffee supply. That’s gotta be worth something, right?

  With only an hour left of the work day, I mouse over to Adobe Photoshop, clicking through the six ads I’m working on for other clients, ones that have given me direction I can actually use and ones I don’t think are using me.

  Another message from Jason makes my phone vibrate and I actually feel a hint of excitement. The corners of my lips kick up as I read:

  Have you ever been to The Brick Store Pub in Decatur? They have great drinks, and the food’s good, too.

  I bite my lip with a nervous excitement although it’s quick to dissipate when I think of exchanging a night at Mac’s with Charlie for this new guy. But the new guy is looking for commitment. He’s not the safe ‘never-going-to-want-me-like-that Charlie’ and Decatur isn’t that far away from where I work. I could get there in under an hour, even, assuming that I stop at home first to change. Maybe Diane is right, after all.

  I type back: I haven’t been but that sounds like a plan to me. It’ll have to be around seven, though. Is that alright?

  Before I can even put my phone down, he texts back.

  Great! Let’s say… seven thirty?

  My lips curl upward. Awesome. See you there.

  There’s a nervousness that’s half excitement, half unease that stays with me for the rest of the workday. And why do I keep thinking about Charlie?

  Jason is single. He’s hot. And he wants commitment.

  I don’t look up again until Diane sticks her head over my cubicle, just before five twenty.

  “Time to go! I was thinking that you should leave your car here, and I’ll drive. I think I have something for you to wear, if it’ll fit…” I cringe at Diane, realizing I never told her. Shit. I feel like an ass.

  “Actually, I had a change of plans.” I draw out the sentence to soften the blow then smile hopefully, “I’m going on a date tonight.” My smile is wide, hoping she’ll be happy for me. After all she’s always talking about how I need to hookup and get laid.

  Happy isn’t exactly her response though. She looks a little shocked at first, and I feel awful. With the smile on my face vanished, I apologize “I should have told you when I got the message, but I was hung up on that a-hole client.”

  I always keep my plans with her and everyone else, chicks before dicks and all that, but one on one with Diane is hard to take. With Ann it’s way easier. And I really do need to find someone serious… and/or freeze my eggs. I’m on borrowed time, and suddenly finding a husband is at the top of my to-do list.

  “Fine,” she snaps. “I expect the Kleinpeters ad on my desk tomorrow, though.”

  I would flinch at her sharp demeanor, but I’m used to it. She’s also not my boss, she’s just another designer on the job. “Already done. I cc’d you in the email.”

  “You sent an ad to the client without my approval?” she asks, her fury evident.

  I grind my teeth slightly, wanting very much to remind her that she’s not my fucking boss. “Correct. I don’t have to get your approval. I was just doing it to be polite.”

  Her gaze narrows. “I don’t know about that.”

  “Well, I do,” I reply cheerfully, deciding I don’t need this shit. “If you have a problem with it, I think HR is a good place to start.”

  She’s practically shooting lasers out of her eyes now; it’s almost comical. Diane has a long history of complaints filed against her in HR, mostly dress code violations. HR is the last place she would go for help.

  “Have a great date,” she says through clenched teeth and an expression that’s reminiscent of sucking on a lemon.

  “See you tomorrow!” I call out, feeling vindicated, but still uneasy. She can really be a bitch. I don’t know why I put up with her as much as I do. Well other than the fact that I have no choice since I can’t fire her.

  Diane disappears, and I relax a little but that doesn’t last long. I have a to do list that keeps growing, and more importantly, a date.

  Charlie

  Stretching my arms over my head I crack my back, feeling the exhaustion from working all last night until 5 am get to me. Damn the stretch feels good though. I couldn’t sleep more than four hours with all the work that needed to be done before opening this afternoon for Mags. I need to hire someone new. Someone with experience who already knows what to do because I sure as hell don’t have the time to train someone. Needle, meet haystack.

  “Pass the gravy,” Pops tells me. He’s to my left, expecting me to pay attention when I can barely keep my eyes open.

  After stifling a yawn, I reach across the table for the white ceramic rooster that holds the gravy. I’m fairly sure it’s supposed to be for milk or creamer, but before I can take it my sister Cheryl bats my hand away.

  “I’m not done with it,” she tells me. I raise both my hands in surrender.

  “Then pour it on your damn plate,” Pops says, staring at the gravy. He’s got a full plate of carved turkey, mashed potatoes and corn, with a fork in his right hand. He’s acting like he’s going to starve this minute if he doesn’t get that gravy on, more than likely, every inch of his dinner.

  “Language!” Ma snaps at him and I chuckle. She passes him the gravy though, and makes my sister gasp. That’s what she gets for taking forever spooning out the potatoes I guess.

  It’s just the six of us tonight. Ali is at my left like usual, Ma's across from me and Pops is seated at the head of the table on my right. Ali’s fiancé Michael sits on the end next to her while Cheryl sits across from he
r.

  “I need the gravy, Ma,” Cheryl says with a pout.

  It’s hard to imagine that Cheryl is a grown ass woman with a child from the way she just whined.

  Cutting into my turkey and taking a bite, I don’t wait for the gravy that’s become such a commodity. I’m starving and I didn’t realize it until I smelled dinner. Shit, I don’t even remember the last time I ate. We were slammed today with both orders, and customers. Business is good, but I’m dog tired. Cheryl stifles a yawn as well as she looks over her shoulder at the rocker holding her sleeping baby. Rocker or swing, I don’t know. Apparently there’s a difference and Evie won’t sleep in one of the contraptions. From what my brother-in-law says, the baby doesn’t sleep at all.

  “I need to eat fast,” Cheryl says beneath her breath; maybe we were sharing the same thought. She rubs the sleep from her eyes with one hand, while spooning in corn with the other.

  Ma places her elbows on the table, folding her hands for grace.

  “Oh,” Ali chirps up. “Can I say grace?”

  I set my fork down although it clinks on the plate, drawing the attention of my entire family as I try to pretend I’m not chewing.

  Family dinner. Every Sunday. No exception.

  Except for the fact that today is Tuesday. Cheryl needed to get out of the house with Evie and Ma decided this dinner was mandatory.

  Cheryl doesn’t like being alone all day, every day, and I can’t blame her. She’s a social creature and being alone in the house with a newborn all day has got to be rough. Especially with the no sleeping part. Ma said it’s family dinner tonight, so that’s all there is to it.

  “Wait for grace,” my mother scolds me under her breath, giving Cheryl a pass which my widened eyes and darting glance points out.