“Why do you do this to me?” he asks, sticking out his bottom lip.
“You asked. You didn’t have to know. I could’ve sat here all day with my thighs stuck together and nobody would know that but me.”
A low rumble escapes his lips. “What are you doing after work?”
“I have plans. You have icing on your lip.”
He ignores the second part of that. “Cancel them.”
“And why would I do that?”
“Because I want to take you somewhere.”
“The last time I went out with a boy as friends we went to the arcade,” I sigh.
“Were you twelve?”
“Eleven. That’s not the point.”
“What is the point, Mariah?”
The atmosphere shifts in the room, the question that’s been on my mind all weekend now spoken aloud. What is the point of all this? A good time assuredly, but can I make it just a good time?
How am I going to feel next week when he’s making plans with another girl or stops coming in for cupcakes? Pretty freaking shitty and that’s after sleeping with him one time.
Sex is great. Really, really great. But I can’t break my own heart—because it would be me doing it at this point—just to get off a few times.
“Lance,” I say, “this isn’t a good idea.”
“Why not?”
Turning the tables, I look at him. “You want to know why? Fine. This is why: there’s nothing good that can come out of this.”
“I thought you came just fine.”
I roll my eyes. “We can play word games all day but it doesn’t change reality. We are co-workers.”
“We’re both incredibly good-looking.”
Although I smile, I keep going. “We have a friendship of some sort that doesn’t seem to be impeded by our activities this weekend. Let’s keep it that way.”
“But why? Clearly we can play both sides of the coin and not impact the other. You’re just as argumentative and hard-headed today as you were on Friday.”
“And you’re just as infuriating and difficult, but that’s not what I’m talking about. We want different things, Lance.”
“You don’t want to come?” he grins.
“No. I mean, yes. Ugh.” I lock my jaw and stare at him. “I hate when you do this.”
He plants his hands on my desk. “If you say no, then no. I’ll not ask again.” His eyes darken with resolve. “I’ve struggled with this all night. As long as we’re clear that we’re just having fun, like what you were looking for on that app, then why not? We’re adults. We enjoy being together. Why can’t it just be that simple?”
Because it never is.
I breathe in his cologne, knowing exactly what the scruff of his face feels like against my belly, and consider telling him no. It can’t be that simple. It’s not that simple. In a month’s time I’ll look back and be so head-over-heels for him that I won’t be able see straight. Back-to-back broken hearts isn’t on my agenda.
The thing is, even though I know it’s best for my heart, I can’t do it. Being around him makes me feel alive. Strong. Smart. Sexy. I like who I am when I’m with him.
Before I can make a decision, there’s a knock at the door. Lance gives me a quick look, one that says this isn’t over, and opens the door. Ollie walks in, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his oversized jeans.
“How are you?” I ask, getting situated behind my desk
“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” Ollie says.
Lance puts a hand on his shoulder. “Ms. Malarkey and I were just having a quick planning session.”
“About the lunch program?” he asks.
“Yup.” Lance looks at me and grins. “What can we do for you, Ollie?”
“I need some help and, um, I didn’t know who else to ask.”
The frivolity of the last few minutes is erased from Lance’s face. In its place is somberness and a compassion for this kid that reduces me to a puddle of goo.
“Sure, buddy,” Lance says. “What do you need?”
Ollie looks at the floor, shuffling his feet back and forth. “Well, I need to pass Family and Consumer Sciences. I missed a midterm test and Ms. Holden said I could do it if I could find someone to supervise me by Friday. She has a Beta thing and can’t do it and I didn’t know if maybe you could stay after school one day to help me out?”
The look on his face is downright pitiful. His hair, in desperate need of a cut, is flopped on his forehead. Eyes that could be full of joy are filled with an anxiety no high school student should know. My heart breaks for this kid.
“What’s the test?” Lance asks.
“I have to make a cake.” Ollie shrugs. “It’s that or a casserole but a cake seems easier.”
“Cakes are my thing,” I say, shoving my chair back. “Can I help?”
He looks at me like he’s just seeing me. “You want to help?”