New Year's Steve

Down girl. Remember New Year’s Steve?

But Harry is so nice. And hot. But mostly nice.

And he’s here, in my office, whereas Steve… is still just an idea of my perfect man.

I sigh. Isn’t this always the way it goes. Dating Land is in a severe drought and suddenly it doesn’t just rain hot men, it pours.

Just my luck.

Love happens when you least expect it, when you’re not looking. I’m pretty sure someone wise once said that to me, or maybe it was a nanna from one of the Lifetime movies they play around Christmas.

Before I can contemplate further, Harry stares at the ceiling tiles making “hmm” sounds in the back of his throat then looking down at me, blue eyes glinting with amusement. I’m not sure what he finds so fun about me freezing to death but there it is .

“I think I may have just solved your heating problem.”

This interests me and I perk up.

He points to the vent next to the wall. “See that? Looks like it’s closed. All we need to do is turn that spinning nob to open it and you’ll be nice and toasty in here.”

Did I mention Harry is not only nice, but clearly a genius as well? Where has he been all my life!? Every winter I freeze my ass off in here, and not once has anyone said a word about my damn vent being closed!

I want to face-palm myself back in time to three Sundays from Christmas.

“That’s it?” My eyes are probably bugging out. “Just that quick fix to keep my regular shaving from going to waste?”

“Huh?”

His face screws up at the mention of my No Shave November thru January joke, and I’m not about to explain that the hair on my legs adds another layer of warmth.

I wave him off with a forced laugh. “Nothing. Forget I mentioned it. The last thing you probably want is inappropriate visuals about the state of my legs.”

I prop one out, extending it and he watches my every move.

Unless I’m reading things wrong, I swear Harry’s nostrils just flared with desire. Suddenly I’m glad for the text snafu regarding Steve’s balls. Clearly there is an itch I need to scratch if I’m coming across as such a hornball these days.

“Anyway, do you have time to fix the vent before you go?”

“Just need to go grab the ladder again. It won’t take but a second.”

He turns on his heel and struts out of the office, my head tilting and following the movement of his ass before I can stop myself.

NO!

Guilt hits me once again and I grab my phone for some support, shooting off a rapid fire to the one person who can relate to Inner Office Romance — not that this is what’s happening, but it never hurts to flesh out any potential.

Me: Mayday! Mayday! Harry the Maintenance Man is super hot and I want to lick him!

Whoa. Coming out of the gate strong, Felicity. Meg is going to think you’re a lunatic.

Meg: Who?

Me: I went searching around for Skeeter, from maintenance, and found one of the other guys on his crew to help me and LORD, he’s fixing things and smelling male and distracting me and now I’m confused.

Meg: I’ve never heard of Harry. Are you sure that’s his name?

Me: Positive. Maybe he’s new. But who cares? He’s super hot and it’s making me feel guilt and how would you even know what any of the custodians’ names are? How often do you need maintaining?

Meg: Fair enough. But I guess…

Meg: … I’m not understanding the issue. Some new guy from maintenance is fixing things… and he is better to look at, and smell, than Old Man Skeeter??? I don’t see what the problem is here.

Me: The PROBLEM is that I have a FIRST date tonight with Steve. Steve! And now I feel guilty for wishing I was free tonight so I could hook up with the super-hot maintenance man.

Meg: Sooo… you’re complaining that you have two prospects?

It is raining men.

I guess she wouldn’t be able to see that as a problem since she’s no longer single and ready to mingle as I’ve been for the past year. She still wants me to play the field, and not settle down, and to wait for “The One”.

Me: (dramatic sigh) Can you just please give me some encouraging words so I can stay on task? Say something like: one man at a time, Felicity. One. Man.

Meg: Sorry. Sure.

Meg: Although… Realistically you’ve never met Steve, so he could be catfishing you and really you’re going on a date with an 85 year old man named Melvin.

Me: That is not helping. You’re supposed to be encouraging me to go out with New Year’s Steve, the man I’ve been flirting with for weeks. Not discouraging me.

Meg: Oh. Sorry. Let me try again.