He came over and put both hands on the sides of my shoulders, rubbing them lightly. He kissed my forehead.
“Sorry about your shirt,” he said. “We can’t have you leaving the office like that now, can we? Wait here.”
He turned and went into his office, returning a moment later with a blue button down shirt of his own.
“It’s clean,” he said. “And it’ll be big on you, but at least it’ll get you home without having to flash any passersby.”
“Thanks,” I said, taking the shirt from him. I left my own shirt on and buttoned his on over it, giving me a sort of odd, misshapen look. We both stood there, not saying anything. Finally, I bent down and grabbed my purse. “Well, I better get going. I’ll see you later.”
He walked me out, and I didn’t know what to say, so I felt awkward, but he seemed completely content, a happy hal
f-smile on his face. At my car, he again put his hands on my shoulders, pulling me to him, then wrapped me up in his arms in a long embrace, his face nuzzled next to my neck.
“You be good,” he said when we pulled apart. “I’ll see you later.”
I got in the car and got out of the parking spot as quickly as I could, breathing a sigh of relief when I turned the corner and he was no longer in sight.
What the hell had just happened?
Yes, it had been so good, but I also felt disappointed with myself. Was I really one of those girls who was incapable of resisting a good-looking guy? Shouldn’t I have just yanked my purse back up and stomped out when that whole thing had started? Didn’t I have any self-respect, any dignity? Just because something felt good didn’t mean that it was the right thing to do.
I drove for a while, not really thinking about anything. My inner thighs were aching as a reminder of what we’d just done, and at that moment, I found myself wishing more than anything for a time machine to go back and not have done it at all. Now that the good feelings were done and over with, I wished that it hadn’t happened.
I met up with Caroline the next evening after work, glad that Ian had a late meeting with a client so he wouldn’t be there to try to tempt me into having sex again. It had been so good that last time. Well, every time that we’d had sex had been good, but the other night had been mind-blowing.
Caroline waved me over when I got there. “Hey,” I said. “How’s it going?”
She held her beer up to me. “I’ve been working like a dog,” she said. “And I totally deserve this beer. Probably at least three or four more after this, too. How’s everything with you?”
“Oh it’s great,” I said sarcastically. “I’ve still got a stalker, my boss that I slept with—lost my virginity to—is acting like he’s only got eyes for me, which I know is a big act, but I can’t find another job, and I’ve got an appointment with some shrink to go talk about a quarter-life crisis.” I decided not to mention the part about our office encounter the other day. At least not right now. I knew she wouldn’t approve and would probably give me some sort of lecture about being a strong woman, about not giving in to a guy just because he was hot and wanted to have sex.”
“Quarter-life crisis?”
“Yeah. Don’t ask. It’s something my mother set up.”
Caroline laughed. “Oh boy,” she said. “This ought to be good.”
“Apparently, he’s writing a book about people going through quarter-life crises, and he wants to interview people and probably include their sob stories in his book, and my mother said that I’d be the perfect candidate for it. Under other circumstances, I might have disagreed, but I’m starting to wonder if she’s right. I mean, what the hell am I doing with my life? Aren’t I supposed to feel a little more adult by this point? I still feel like I’m seventeen. Like I’m waiting for my life to start, like I have no clue what I’m supposed to do but that’s okay because I’m still young and I’ve got time.”
“You are still young.”
“I know, but look at you. You’ve got a career. You know what you’re doing.”
“That’s not true, but thanks for saying it.”
“Anyway, the point is you’re not working some menial job, sleeping with your boss. You went to college, got a degree, and got a job in that field. I am totally floundering, am completely adrift, have no idea what I’m doing, and am just making some really bad choices, it seems. So, I’m going to go talk to this guy, and maybe he’ll be able to shed some light or something. At the very least tell me I’m not alone, which I guess will make me feel a little better.”
Caroline patted my arm. “You’re being too hard on yourself,” she said. “The whole thing with Ian—he’s hot, and it sounds like he was great in bed, so who cares if you slept with him? You’ve realized that he’s a dick, and now you’ll have a better idea about it when the next guy comes along. And we all need to pay the bills, right? And sometimes that means taking work that doesn’t perfectly align with what it is we went to school for or got our degree in. But that doesn’t mean you can’t still be working toward something. Have you written anything lately? Have you been working on that at all?”
“No, I’ve been too stressed with this job stuff and Noah and every time I sit down at my computer, the sight of the blank screen just staring back at me makes me want to scream.”
“You know, I feel that way too sometimes. I think it’s just part of the process. You just have to let yourself feel it, and it’s uncomfortable, sure, but eventually it passes and you’ll get an idea, or inspiration will strike, and then you’ll be off and running.”
“You make it sound so simple.”
“It is, though. You’re just letting all this other stuff get in the way of it. Which I understand; I’m not trying to say that all the shit you’re currently dealing with isn’t super stressful. Girl, you have a lot on your plate right now! But I think if you were writing, then it might help.”
“Maybe,” I said.