Waiting For The Other Shoe to Drop: Part Five

                After lunch, I decided to test the waters with Richard, who said he didn’t mind being called Rich just not Richie. “So, Rich, you’re not worried that an office hook up might be a mistake, and then we’re stuck working together while hating each other and praying for a sudden transfer?”

                “Nope. I get the feeling that you’re not that kind of woman and let me go on record to say you won’t be disappointed.”

                “I’ve heard that before and I wasn’t just disappointed, I was disheartened, disheveled and disillusioned.”

                He laughed as if I was Bernie Mac from the Kings of Comedy. “If you ever decide to take this show on the road, please let me know where I can buy a ticket.”

                “You think I’m being funny, but I’m serious. Don’t get me wrong, I love men but you all are very, very special and I mean in a 90 percent of y’all rode a short bus to school way.”

                “Bitter much?”

                “Some days are better than others.”

                “He’s just one man.”

                I snorted.  “That’s what they all say, but somehow the result ends up being the same.”

                “At the risk of sounding like a cliché, you’ve never heard that from me.”

                “That was cliché. And at the risk of sounding bitter, it’s not like I haven’t heard that before either.”

                “This is going to be more work than this project.”

                “This?”

                “Getting you to drop your guard and give me a chance.”

                “You’d better think about that, Rich. I’m a hard habit to break,” I said as I pressed the button on my key to unlock the doors. He gave me a slow once over.

                “I bet you are,” he replied as he got into the car.  We rode back to work in silence, just the sound of the urban adult station’s afternoon mix.  Just as we pulled into the parking lot of the plantation – I mean the office –Marvin Gaye’s Sexual Healing came blasting through the speakers. When Marvin whispered ‘get up, get up,’ my hips shifted and the next thing I knew I had my arms wrapped around Rich’s neck.  He pressed his lips against mine and damn, they were soft. His kiss was slow and sweet; I welcomed his tongue and wantonly grabbed his hand and pulled it against my breast.  He slowly massaged my breasts until my nipples nearly popped through my tee shirt. His touch made my C-cups feel like double Ds.

                The bad angel on my left shoulder whispered, “Slip your hand in his pants.” And when I was two seconds from doing it, the good angel told me to stop! Pulling back, we locked eyes and he stroked my cheek.

                “That was better than I ever imagined,” he said.

                “Blame Marvin Gaye,” I whispered.

                “Then I’m going to play Marvin every day.”

                I sighed and closed my eyes, feeling the flames of desire and disaster. “We’d better get inside before Perry comes looking for us.”

                “Can I see you tonight?”

                Why did his brown eyes have to be so damned intriguing? And why was I considering saying anything but no. Imagine my surprise when the word yes slipped from my lips.

                “Text me your address and I’ll see you at eight,” he said then exited the car. I sat there for a minute, collecting my thoughts and wondering just what in the hell had I done?