Until I got, How much coffee have you already had?
This would have been funny if it wasn’t so mortifying.
Just one, I responded miserably.
Try to cycle down cuz you’ll have another when you get to work. Later.
I decided I’d texted enough, so I let that lie.
It didn’t lie for long.
Rix showed at my desk at River Rain (which wasn’t going to be my desk at River Rain for very long, it’d be my desk at Trail Blazer since we were moving the next day, Judge’s office furniture, mine, and some unused stuff they had sitting around was all going to the new offices for temporary use because the telephones and Internet were being hooked up that day and it was time to occupy Trail Blazer).
Rix set my flat white down while I valiantly attempted not to blush, he made no attempt whatsoever to hide he totally did not miss I failed at this endeavor, smiled a smile that I wanted to think was friendly, but instead it seemed sexy, this thought being exacerbated when he muttered under his breath so I almost couldn’t hear it, “Only you could make a rambling coffee order adorable.”
I sat frozen.
Rix winked at me and said in his normal voice, “Bottoms up, Alex.”
With that, seeing as he was in his chair that day, he wheeled away.
Since there was a lot going on with packing for the move and tech hookups and such, I only had to deal with Rix in passing for the rest of Monday.
However, Tuesday morning, I was shoving stuff into my bag at home, preparing to head down the mountain to dig into the move, when my phone chimed.
OK, I have ten minutes, explain today’s coffee order.
Yes.
Another text from Rix.
A startled laugh escaped from me because he was being funny.
I then texted back, You don’t have to buy me coffee.
To which he texted, I know I don’t.
Then I sent, I’m just saying, we’re good. We had a blip last week. But now we’re great.
We’re great?
Damn.
Why did reading those two words texted by him make my breasts swell?
Good. Great. I mean, things are fine. You don’t have to butter me up with coffee.
So coffee is a way to butter you up?
Oh God.
What was that?
Was it flirty?
Or was it just being funny and friendly?
Or was it just a kind of getting-to-know-you, valued co-worker, but in a jokey fashion?
Tell him what you want and stop texting, Alex! I admonished myself.
I did not stop texting.
Well, yeah. Kinda. Like I said, I like coffee.
You did say that, so maybe you’ll tell me what kind you want this morning.
Time to get beyond this.
Iced Chai.
That’s tea.
Oh my God!
Flirty?
Or jokey?
I’m feeling tea today, I replied.
Right. And then he sent, That only took five minutes. I’d fill the other five by asking you what kind of donuts you like, but we got a lot to get accomplished today. I’m sure I’ll enjoy your dissertation on that, but I’d prefer to sort out my office so I can start doing the shit I’m getting paid to do.
He one hundred percent did not need my views on donuts then.
Therefore, I noted, Good call.
He sent a smirk emoji, which shared the impossible.
Rix could even make emojis sexy.
Right.
So totally failing on being appropriate and professional with Rix Hendrix.
Proving this fact, I spent ten minutes trying to figure out what emoji to use to counter his smirk before I gave up, sent nothing and just drove down to work.
Tuesday was about moving furniture and boxes, unpacking, setting up computers and a half an hour phone tutorial, so the day was busy and the only tortuous part of it was that Judge took the entire team out to lunch, Rix sat beside me, and his knee touched mine the whole time.
Because of that, I could barely concentrate, I had no clue how I even ordered and consumed my food. All I could think about was his knee touching mine. And it only got worse when I’d eventually glazed over, thinking about said knee, he’d elbowed me, I’d looked up at him, and the instant I did, an expression came over his face that I was relatively certain scorched off my eyebrows, it was so hot.
“What?” I’d asked quietly, mesmerized by the look on his face.
He took a second, and that second included his eyes (that, incidentally, looked from afar like they were brown, but up close, I noted they were actually caramel), dipped to my mouth before they returned to my eyes, and he asked, “You want dessert?”
I wanted to devour a vat of caramel.
I thought this, staring into his eyes.
I continued thinking it until Kevin offered, “We can get a menu so you can see what they have.”
I tore my gaze off Rix’s face, felt my own flame, and avoided looking directly at Kevin or Judge (even so, I still noted Kevin staring at me closely, and Judge’s gaze pinging back and forth between Rix and me), and I belatedly noticed the waitress standing there.
“No dessert, thank you,” I said to her, humiliatingly throatily.
“Jesus,” Rix muttered, now staring at the table and shifting in his seat, which made his knee brush against mine.
I tilted both legs to the other side, something I should have done forty-five minutes earlier, I just couldn’t concentrate enough to think of moving them.
I escaped the offices the minute I could that evening, coming home to a big box propped against my front door (which, by the by, was located at the side of the house).
My bridesmaid dress.
With trepidation, and fortified by a glass of hearty red, I opened the box to feel the only relief I felt that day.
The dress was a pretty blush silk with tulle overlay, floor-length skirt with a slit to just above the knee. It had a slender ribbon belt that tied in a bow at the front, and it was off the shoulder with to-the-elbow sheer sleeves. The entire thing was covered in rose-gold embroidery of leaves and flowers, with dimensional blooms drifting from it all over the gown, but these were very thick around the bottom of the skirt.
It was airy, romantic, would be fitted, but not tight, not at all revealing, I knew I’d be comfortable wearing that style, and it had the price tag still attached.
Which was one thousand, four hundred dollars.
The good news was, the company who made it had such skewed sizing, a size sixteen was actually more like a twelve, so it was a bit big, but a nip here, a tuck there, and it’d fit great.
The bad news (outside the price tag for a dress I would wear once) was there was so much embroidery and so many blooms tacked on, it would take a very skilled seamstress to make those nips and tucks, which would likely cost another small fortune.
But at least it wasn’t a tent on me.
After trying it on, I took a selfie and texted it to my best girls, Katie and Gal.
Katie, who worked on a ranch north of town as a ranch hand, and who, when she wasn’t in Lee jeans, musty old tees and trucker hats, was the girliest girl I’d ever met (outside my sister…and Chloe), gave her stamp of approval with, OMG! It doesn’t make me want to hurl!
Gal, who operated her own dog training and daycare center, who further had a year-round tan because she was outside more than me, and who once set fire in a barrel in her backyard to a Christmas present her mother sent her (it was a sweater dress, and that was half about her mother being a constant pain in her behind, and half about the dress, an item of apparel she hadn’t worn since she’d learned to successfully throw a tantrum in second grade), was less impressed.