The Sexpert
“Oh, right. Sure. You can walk with me. I just need to hurry.”
He takes my hand this time, and when I try to pull away, he holds it firm.
“Eden.” He laughs, this time nervously. “What’s wrong?”
“I told you, it’s just work. You can walk me home. You want to stroll? We can stroll. But just faster than most people stroll, if that’s not too much to ask.”
I let him keep my hand, but I start walking again. He keeps up and starts talking about the concert this weekend. Trying to make small talk and be … cool? I guess?
I nod absently, making sure I look at him every few paces and smile. And then we’re at the building, getting in the elevator.
I press the button for two as I look for my key card in my purse. And then the doors open again, and I turn to face him. “Thanks for the good time! See ya!”
“Wait,” he says.
He’s still smiling at me. Like he finds my flustered-ness… is that word? That can’t be a word. What’s the word? “Ruffled!” I say, then realize I said that out loud.
“What?” This time his laugh is suspicious. I am acting strange and there’s no way in hell he’s not noticing.
OK. Eden. You’re not very good at this covert shit. Never have been. And you warned Zoey about how stressful situations make you… ruffled… when she suggested the anonymous thing back when Sexpert started. But there are real consequences at stake here and you need to up your fucking game.
In my head I shout that last part so the awkward person inside me will take this seriously. I need to play this right. I need to get this guy off my trail. Because I am his target.
So be smooth, that inner voice says. Be cool. Play it…
“Do you wanna kiss?” I blurt out.
What?
“What?” he asks.
Oh, God. He’s going to call Pierce after this is all over and tell him how weird I am. He’s going to tell him something’s going on. And then…
“Eden,” Andrew says, holding up a finger and furrowing his brow. “I just wanna make sure I heard you right. Did you just ask me if I wanted to kiss you?”
“Did I?”
“You did.”
“Huh. Weird. Well, do you?”
He smiles. “Uh, yeah. Yeah. I wouldn’t mind that at all.” He leans in.
OK. Decision time. Give him a peck goodbye and make an escape? Or try to explain?
I choose the peck. It’s the only rational option. So I lean in, lips puckered, and plant one right on his cheek.
The elevator doors close and we start ascending, because of course we friggin’ do. I’ve been standing here for almost five seconds having an internal monologue.
“Know what?” he says. “Let me try.”
And then his hands are on both my shoulders sending tingles up my arms, and his lips are on mine and…
Hey-Sus. Save me. Because I kiss him back.
I can’t not kiss him back. He smells good, and he’s handsome, and funny, and he appreciated my impromptu lesson on the Colorado Fourteeners this afternoon, and even though I know this is a very bad idea, it’s starting to feel like a very good one—which is my first clue that I should back away now and get off this elevator pronto, then take the stairs back down to my apartment and never speak to him again…
But his tongue sweeps against my mouth and I don’t know what I’m thinking—well, I sorta do. Because this is no peck, that’s for sure. But I open my mouth and my tongue tangles with his. It’s… it’s…
“Yeah,” he says, pulling back and whispering next to my cheek. “That seems better.” Then, because this evening has been perfectly timed since it started, the elevator doors open with a ding.
He turns and we both stare at the massive double doors leading to his penthouse. Then our eyes meet and I know… I know if I don’t stop this now, it’s all over. My entire life will be over.
So I back away as he turns towards me, and then I place both hands on his chest and push him as hard as I can until he stumbles backwards, out of the elevator, a surprised and half-confused look on his face as the elevator doors close, taking all other options away from me.
Hey-Sus comes through for me tonight.
CHAPTER TEN – ANDREW
“Game, bitch!” shouts Dev as he slams down the ping-pong paddle on the table in the break room.
“Dude, I’m your boss,” I remind him.
“Sorry, Andrew. I just… I get competitive.”
Dev is my guy. My lead developer at the company. He’s young. Nineteen. A prodigy. Graduated from Stanford when he was sixteen years old. He joked when I hired him that I was only giving him a job in tech with such big responsibility because he’s Indian. I joked back that it’s because his middle initial and last name are “E. Loper.” (They’re not.)