Now I frown. "The why you're single one, obviously."
"Oh, you know. Same reason anyone is single."
"That's not exactly an answer," I point out.
"Maybe I just haven't met the right girl yet."
"The fact that you're so obviously dodging the question makes me think there's more to it than that," I reply, shaking my fork at him.
He sighs and takes another bite of his omelet. Takes his time chewing it and drinking a long sip of coffee before he answers me. "I don't trust a lot of people," he finally admits. "I haven't exactly had the best history when it comes to dating."
I snort. When he looks hurt, I spread my hands. "Sorry. I just meant... I mean, obviously I don't have the best track record either. You had to beat up my most recent stalker of a first date, for Christ's sake. I can relate."
"Yeah, he seemed like a real winner. Dating in this town..." Zayne shakes his head.
I frown at him. He's still dodging. There's something he's not telling me. But then again, how long has he known me? A couple of days? No wonder he doesn't want to go too deep into his backstory. So, fine. He can be weird about this if he wants.
"What's your weekend look like?" he asks, and I let him change the subject this time.
"Dunno. I was going to use the time to catch up on some reading for work, but..."
He grins at me. Raises an eyebrow. "But?"
"But, I could be persuaded to be naughty and slack off. If, you know... a more interesting opportunity presented itself."
He takes my plate, the omelet already mostly devoured since I couldn't help but inhale the deliciousness. Then, gently, he sets it on the end table, his own plate with it. "Is that right?"
"Yeah, I guess I'm easily influenced." I grin.
He leans toward me. Places one hand on either side of me, and stares down at me. "So, if some other plans came up that involved, say... spending most of the weekend naked and splayed across my bed..."
"I wouldn't object. No." I raise an eyebrow.
He breaks into a grin too. Then he grabs my hands and pulls me upright. Without warning, he hoists me up, tossing me back over his shoulder and slapping my ass on the way up. "Good. Because I had some plans of my own in mind. And they do not involve letting this sexy little minx get away just yet..."
I squeal and kick my legs in faux distress as he carries me back to the bedroom. Frankly, I could get used to this.
6
By Monday morning, I'm starting to wonder if you can get addicted to orgasms. I've had more than I can count on both hands in the last two days. Between Zayne tying me to his bedposts with a couple of T-shirts to eat me out, then him fucking me bent over his kitchen table, and finally against his balcony window, where half of New York could probably see if they looked up at the right moment, and where our neighbor across the street could definitely see if they opened their windows, I had no idea I could get so turned on so fast by someone.
In between fucking, we took breaks to watch a couple of movies. He's got great taste in films, preferring older film noir above all else. We watched a few I'd never seen, like Double Indemnity which involved some hot-as-hell hookup scenes that led to us getting distracted and fucking again before we switched to watching Chinatown.
Our conversation after Chinatown was almost as good as the fucking, though. He spent an hour dissecting the movie with me, savoring all the minute details, letting me rewind to gush over certain scenes. I love doing that when I watch movies—it makes me feel like they last longer, like they’re books I can slowly digest. I’d never met anyone else who was interested in doing that. Mostly my exes just humored me when I insisted on it.
But Zayne? Zayne not only enjoys it, but after that, he encouraged me to do it with every movie we watched afterwards. We spent hours on each one, and while that would normally make me feel like a total nerd, with him it just felt normal. Like comparing these movies to our lives and dissecting each one was a perfectly cool, natural thing to do.
He cooked the whole time too, and I swear, each meal tasted better than the last. He made me a veggie curry for lunch, then steaks for dinner, and leftover steak and eggs for breakfast the next morning. Who needs NYC brunch when you have your own personal chef and sexy sex master in house?
But Monday arrived, as it always does. With it came the responsibilities I'd been avoiding. A shit ton of reading that I'll need to catch up on all morning, plus all the work drama that led me to complaining to Zayne last Friday, which I still need to handle.
But somehow, after this weekend of retreating into the Zayne bubble, I feel more ready to face it than ever. I feel energized, recharged, ready to tackle the whole world if I need to. What could possibly go wrong? I’ve finally found a decent guy who's in my corner– and in my bed, for that matter.
When I leave that morning, Zayne walks me downstairs. “Back on the clock?” I ask him in the elevator. I already know this was one of his rare weekends off.
He nods. “Going to have to work a double today to make up for skiving on Sunday.”
My cheeks flush. He skipped because I asked him to. Not that he complained too much. But as I realize now what it’s going to cost him, it makes me feel guilty. Schedules here are crazy. I can’t believe how little time off he gets, either. Someone should really complain to the management company about that, I think as we step into the elevator. I make a mental note to do that later.
“Sorry again that you’ll have to make up time.”
“Please.” He scoffs, and stops me before we reach the main lobby, and any other prying eyes. “Clove. I cannot explain to you in words how worth it it was to skip that day.” His eyes bore into mine, and I let myself sink into them. I close my eyes as he leans in to kiss me softly. “I would skip Sunday again and again. I’d work every double from now until Christmas if it meant I could spend more time with you in between.”
My cheeks flush, a not unpleasant sensation. I lean up to kiss him again, and savor the way our lips meld together, so naturally. “Well. Next time I’ll make sure to work around your schedule instead, how’s that?”
“Deal.” He laughs softly before kissing me once more. Then we lock hands, and head for the main lobby.
We pass Paul downstairs, already in uniform. He eyes Zayne, clearly wondering why Zayne isn't dressed for work yet or ready to take over the desk when he should be starting in just ten minutes.
"Be back down in a jiff, Paul," Zayne calls as we step outside our building.
Then, on the corner of the street, still in full sight of Paul and anyone else we live with who might be passing by, he kisses me full on the lips. I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him back hard, savoring it. Savoring the way he makes me feel.
When I climb onto the subway train toward work, it does not feel like a Monday. There's no slog in my steps, no despair about going back to work again. I'm just... happy.
It's a strange feeling.
I reach the office with plenty of time to spare before my first meeting. I wave cheerily to Sara at the front desk as I stride past her to the coffee room.
She frowns and watches me fr
om the corner of her eye. But I get it. It's still Monday for most people. For anyone who hasn't discovered a secret hottie living undercover in uniform in their own building, whose cock is huge and thick enough to make them see sparks when they come...
I shake my head to clear out the cobwebs, and pour myself a cup of coffee. Beth and John are leaning against the water cooler chatting, but they fall silent the moment I step into the room.
"Hey guys." I smile at them, and after a beat, they smile back. But it's strained, forced.
What's with everyone this morning?
Ignoring the strange stares, I fill my coffee mug and head back to my desk. This time, though, the whole office feels like it's tracking me. I catch Becky from accounting making eye contact and spinning around almost immediately, a faint snicker escaping her. Carl from IT winks at me and pats his chest appreciatively. I scowl back at him. Gross. And also, what the hell has gotten into everyone?
I spot that new girl again, Hannah. She has her arms crossed and her chin lifted. She’s glaring at me too, judgmental, just like all of them. What the hell?
Even my boss is frowning when I walk past her, eyes darting to me and away again quickly as though they were rocks skipping across the surface of a particularly distasteful pond. I swallow hard. What now?
I thought I was catching up on all of the deadlines we talked about on Friday. And I know that we had a pretty rough day, but it's not like we haven't had those before...
I shake my head as I return to my seat. I'm probably just imagining things. Blowing this out of proportion.
I take a seat at my desk, and almost immediately, a new chat window pops up. "Girl" is all the message says. It's from Andy Slate, my best gay at work.
Clove: What?
Andy: How did this happen?? Did your phone get stolen by bikers or something? Tell me it's Photoshop.
I steal a peek over the top of my monitor at Andy's side of the office. He sits on the far side, at least fifteen desks away from mine. But I'm still close enough to make out his signature WTF face which he's wearing at full tilt right now, directed straight at me.