The Little Black Dress (Love in Las Vegas)

Me: No. Of course, not. Ugh. This is so hard.

Ava: That’s what he said.

Zoey: *laughing emoji* You beat me to it.

Me: I hate you guys.

Ava: We love you, too. Woman up and decide what you want, then go for it.

Zoey: Love you bunches!

Me: Love you bitches.

I manage to make it through the rest of the afternoon without speaking to Jared. He’s still in his office when it’s time for me to go home, and after a short internal debate, I decide to just leave. I tell myself it’s because there’s no reason to interrupt him. He’s a busy man.

But inside, I know it’s the coward’s way out. I’m so tied up in knots and confused, I’m scared I’m going to do something stupid, like attack him. Or even stupider, act like nothing’s changed between us.

When I get home, I strip out of my work clothes and take a long, hot shower, scrubbing myself from top to bottom like the soap will strip away my confusion and doubt. It doesn’t, and by the time I’m dressed in my comfy pajamas and parked on the couch in front of the television, I’m too wired up to relax.

That scene in Jared’s office plays over and over in my mind, and I come up with a dozen different ways I could’ve reacted rather than clamming up and remaining silent for the rest of the meal. I could’ve asked for clarification. I could’ve told him how his words made me feel.

I could’ve swept the food from his desk and stretched out like his own personal feast.

But no, I just sat there like a red-faced idiot and let him think he’d embarrassed me, or something. There’s no telling what he thinks now. And if he was interested in something more than a professional relationship, my reaction probably dashed his hopes.

A touch of self-loathing unfurls inside me. I’ve always been one to go after what I want. I’ve never been reluctant to put myself out there if I’m attracted to someone, and if I get turned down, it’s no big deal. Their loss.

But it’s different with Jared. I don’t know why, but this thing between us––whatever it is––feels significant. Like it could be more than a casual fling.

Do I even want that? Our employer-employee status makes the whole thing messy as hell, but something tells me he would be worth it. We would be worth it. So, I guess, yeah. I do want it.

My thoughts get interrupted by a text alert, and I pick up my phone from where I’d dropped it on the coffee table. My heart stutters when I see Jared’s name on the screen, and I quickly swipe a finger across it to open the message.

Jared: You left without saying goodbye.

My chest heaves with each breath as I try to decipher his tone. Is it just an observation? Or is he hurt I didn’t speak to him before I left for the day?

My fingers shake as I tap out a response.

Me: Sorry. I didn’t want to interrupt you if you were busy.

Jared: I’m never too busy for you.

I’m full-on panting now, and I can’t take another minute of unclarity.

Me: What do you want, Jared?

My pulse is racing, the blood zipping through my veins as I wait for him to answer the question.

Jared: You.

The breath whooshes out of my lungs, leaving me gasping for air. Before I can respond, another message comes through.

Jared: I’m in the parking lot.