Catarina
I expected Barrett to be in the office the next day toiling away at his laptop, but he wasn’t. The day after that was a skip day for him, too. I managed to tuck away my irritation long enough to ask Mia if she’d heard from him.
“He’s working from home. Why?”
No reason. Just wanted to ask him why he kissed me and then ran out.
My boss was suspicious, so I made up something about the column.
So here we are. Friday morning and Barrett isn’t here again. Not that I expected him. If I was going to skip work—
Wait. Do I spy a tall, ginger-haired, grouchy ex-NFL player? Why, yes. Yes, I do. It’s eight minutes after ten, so he’s not exactly late, but it feels late to me.
He’s smiling his easy, carefree smile and carrying a short cup of coffee. I straighten expectantly in my seat. When he spots me his smile drops. His gaze is as piercing as a dagger’s tip when he drinks from the cup.
I guess that particular Starbucks wasn’t for me. I look to his other hand. Empty.
He’s dressed in jeans and a navy T-shirt tight enough that I make out the outline of firm pecs and rounded biceps. I shift in my seat as I remember how close we came to making out. That would’ve been a better ending to the last evening we spent together.
“Casual Friday,” I quip, and then realize that wasn’t much of a quip. More of a bland observation. He takes inventory of my pink button-down top and white skirt.
“Not for some of us, apparently.” In his cubicle, he unpacks his laptop bag. I pretend to read my own screen while surreptitiously checking out his ass. He is wearing those jeans.
Once his laptop is open, he slaps a notebook and pen onto the otherwise barren desk and begins his work.
I try to ignore him. It works for about a half hour, and then I can’t take it any longer. I grab my gone-cold office coffee. I don’t want another drop, but I need an excuse to walk by him en route to the break room.
“How’s it going?” I ask, my second annoying comment of the day. I might as well finish out the trifecta with Are we having fun yet? or Any plans this weekend?.
Except I know that he has plans this weekend because they’re with me. We forewent the Art in the Park idea in favor of a beer tasting at the museum. That seemed more apropos.
“Fine.” He takes his eyes off his work to peg me with a blue stare that makes my knees tremble. My attention trails down to his mouth where I notice a tiny freckle at the edge of his upper lip. Either that or it’s chocolate. What I wouldn’t give to taste it and find out. “Need something?”
I frown at his gruffness. You’d think he’d be at least friendly since I let him kiss me.
“I need coffee,” I lie. “And we need to discuss our plans for tomorrow.”
“Noon at Columbus Institute of Art, or CIA as the horrible acronym goes.”
“Are we driving separately?” I ask my coffee mug, scuffing one of my ballerina flats into the nubby carpet.
“Yeah.”
“Are you sure? Maybe we should take a cab in case we have too many beer samples and—Hey!” I bark, startled because Barrett has shot out of his chair. His hand wraps firmly around my upper arm before I finish my thought.
“What are you doing?” I whisper harshly as he leads me across the office. Cold coffee sloshes onto my shoe. He stops, takes the mug and places it on my desk calendar where it leaves a big, wet, coffee-colored stain, and then finishes marching me into Marge’s old office.
He shuts the door behind us and releases me, swiveling around to burn me with a dark look.
“What the hell are you doing?” I point at my shoes. “You owe me a new pair of flats.”
He takes in the splatter on my shoe. “No way. Those are hideous.”
“I don’t know what your problem is, Fox, but you can’t expect to come in here and act like this after what happened Tuesday night.”
“I can’t, can I?” He advances a step and I back up two. “What about you? How are you doing after Tuesday night?”
I match his next forward step with a retreating one of my own. “I—I don’t know. I thought we could talk about it.”
“So. Talk.” His jaw saws back and forth in irritation.
I back up another step and bump against a bookshelf. It’s lined with dusty magazines and three-ring binders and a fat dictionary I can’t imagine anyone in this day and age using for anything other than killing spiders.
“You kissed me on Tuesday,” I remind him, my voice less firm than I’d like. “I thought—”
“So?”
“So?” I repeat.
“Yeah. So? You were the one swearing we’d never kiss. I always knew it would happen.”
“You initiated it!”
“Again: So?”
“So...so...why are you acting like you hate me? Why did you avoid me this week?”
“I wasn’t avoiding you, Kitty Cat,” he says with a mocking smile that suggests I’m overreacting. “I had shit to do. I have a life that involves more than your silly column and a forgettable kiss at your apartment.”
Embarrassment warms my neck. Not because he downplayed the kiss we shared or that he was genuinely attracted to me in that moment. I was there. That wasn’t a forgettable kiss. But it’s the “silly column” part that cuts deep.
I work hard. I spend my life hunched over a laptop, my wrists aching and fingers stiff from typing for hours upon hours. I don’t do it because it’s “silly.” I may have categorized this assignment as a puff piece early on, but I’m committed to an outcome that is nothing short of amazing.
“My column isn’t silly.” I hear my own hurt feelings in every syllable. Evidently, so does Barrett. His eyebrows soften in sympathy.
“I shouldn’t have said that.” He glances at the ceiling, then back at me. “I worked more on the column. Took your advice.”
“Mia said it was really good.”
“It’s okay.”
“It’s better than okay—it has to be. It was better than okay when I read it. I may have been too harsh. I should’ve—”
“Did you sleep with North?”
“What?” I scrunch my face, legitimately confused.
“You heard me.”
“We dated for six months. Of course I slept—”
“On Tuesday night,” Barrett interrupts, impatient. “Did you sleep with him on Tuesday night? I didn’t see him leave.”
“You waited for him to leave?”
“For a while.” He won’t look at me.
“Why?” Confusion is my only ally.
“Because. Because.” His eyebrows meet over his nose.
Oh, hell no. He’s not allowed to clam up. He dragged me in here, he can damn well confess what’s rankling him.
“Tell me why you waited for North to leave.” I grab his forearms and force him to meet my eyes. Fox licks his lips. His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat. Finally, he speaks.
“When he walked out of there with his third-generation nose in the air, I planned on telling him to leave you alone or he’d have to deal with me,” Barrett says, his teeth bared.