Sandy got himself under control (sort of), wiping the tears from his eyes. “You’re going to cave,” he told me, still giving these wet-sounding chuckles. “You’re so going to cave.”
“I am not!” I crossed my arms, trying to look indignant, but probably looking petrified instead.
“Well, you have”—he looked down at his watch—“twenty-eight more hours before I do it for you. But it looks like you’re making some headway.”
“I don’t want to be friends anymore,” I told him seriously.
He sidled up to me, all slinky-like, bringing out some Helena in the roll of his hips. I tried to move away, but he backed me into the shelves against the wall. I was cornered. “Oh, sugar,” he purred, dropping his chin on my shoulder, watching me with those big eyes, curling his hand into my hair. His breath felt hot on my ear. “You should know by now that you’re stuck with me. For life. There’s no way, come hell or high water, that you’re ever going to escape me. I’ve got my claws in you, and I don’t plan on letting go.” He fisted my hair and gave it a little jerk.
I shivered lightly.
Then, when I knew things couldn’t get any worse, things got worse.
The supply closet door opened and Vince walked in. And, of course, I knew immediately how it looked, me pressed up against the shelves, Sandy all but wrapped around me like he was getting ready to eat me whole. If I walked in on something like that, I’d have assumed the two people were about to play a game of Dick Up The Butt.
You could tell it took him a moment to take in what he was seeing. There was a blank look, then surprise, then recognition. Then came that scowl again, just like the one he’d given me yesterday when he’d asked if Sandy was my boyfriend.
Sandy knew exactly what was happening too, and pressed himself against me just a tiny bit closer, his gaze never leaving Vince. He curled his fingers through my hair again, pulling me toward him, giving me a lingering kiss on my cheek. I felt my face grow hot, but I didn’t say a damn thing for fear of squeaking. I don’t know of anyone who thinks squeaking is cool.
After what felt like a decade, Sandy (or was it Helena?) finally uncoiled himself from me with an evil smirk and sauntered his way slowly past Vince, whose scowl had only become more pronounced. He reached up and dragged his finger along Vince’s shoulder, just a light touch, but noticeable. He moved past him and turned and glanced down at his ass, giving a low whistle.
“You weren’t kidding, Paul,” he said in that throaty Helena voice of his that almost drove me up the fucking wall. “Remember, you have until five tomorrow.” Then he moved out the door, closing it behind him.
I could feel Vince’s gaze on me, but I couldn’t look at him for some reason. “What happens at five tomorrow?” he finally said, his voice neutral.
“The end of the Mayan calendar,” I muttered.
“Isn’t that supposed to be when the world ends?”
“Yeah.”
“So the world might end tomorrow?”
Oh good Lord. “It’s always possible.” Because it could. For all I knew, right now, somewhere in space, a group of ragtag oil workers were trying to stop an asteroid from hitting and destroying the earth by drilling deep to place a nuke inside. They could fail. We could all die.
Damn you, Michael Bay!
“And he’s not your boyfriend?” Vince asked, his voice tight.
I was getting whiplash again. “No.”
“Good. Then he won’t be pissed when I do this.”
I was about to ask, Do what? But before I could, that fucker had moved quicker than I had seen anyone move before. One second he was near the door and the next he was standing right in front of me, his fingers going to the back of my head, his thumbs on my cheeks, and then his mouth was on mine. There was a bright flash and a brzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzaaaaaap! as all the electrical charges in my brain went off at once. But then he started to move his lips over mine and my eyes started to flutter closed like I was some kind of g
oddamn teenage girl. And even though my synapses had fired off all at once, I was able to think, I can’t believe this is happening and this is not even a real thing and this. Is. Awesome! Then it became even more awesome when he touched his tongue to my lips and I sighed, opening my mouth without even thinking about it. He was the cause, I was the effect. Action, reaction. And fuck if he wasn’t getting a reaction out of me. He tasted me gently, gripping me tightly, and I couldn’t move, I couldn’t breathe. I either wanted to bring my hands up to grab him or push him away, I wasn’t too sure.
And then it was over. That first kiss. That tentative moment when there’s a connection like a gold thread stretching between two people, tenuous but hopeful. And it was done. Gone. Snapped. Nothing more than a memory.
Until he leaned in and did it again. And then stopped. And then kissed my forehead. For some reason, that put a lump in my throat.
“I told you,” he whispered against my skin, “I get what I want. You better be ready, Paul.”
And then he stepped away, winked at me, and walked out of the supply closet.
I stood there for a time, muttering to myself. “That’s just… well, I never. I don’t even… who does he think he is? Tasting like coffee and… bastard… this is my work… running out of Post-its and shit. I’ll show you until five o’clock on Wednesday. I don’t need no man. Fucking Kelly Clarkson. She ruins everything. It’s not going to happen, Paul. Not going to happen.”
But.