揥ell, it抯 not like he was saving orphans from a burning building,?I reply.
I skip the post-brunch activities, claiming I have work, but the thought of the empty office is just too unappealing, so I go home instead梬hich isn抰 much better.
揂re you busy??I ask Keeley when I return her call.
揧es,?she says. 揑抦 trying to decide if I want Oreos or barbeque potato chips from the vending machine.?
揂re you certain you抮e a doctor??I open my refrigerator, which is just as empty as I anticipated. I should have actually eaten at this morning抯 brunch. 揕ike, was it a real medical school, or was it a strip mall with a handwritten sign out front that just said medical school??
揊ine, Miss Judgmental. I抣l get the Sun Chips. I抦 pretty sure they抮e health food because I don抰 enjoy them. Anyway, how was sex with Ben??
I blink. 揥hat makes you think I had sex with Ben??
揂re we really doing this dance right now? You obviously did. You sound intensely invested, which always means it抯 about Ben, but you sound a little horrified, which means you either slept with him or murdered him. I can抰 help you with removing the evidence if you murdered him, by the way, because I抦 stuck at the hospital until tomorrow.?
I shut the refrigerator door. Clearly, no food is going to materialize through continued staring. 揕ike I抎 ask you to help me remove evidence. You抎 leave a trail of Hot Tamales leading right to the burial site.?
揑f you think I抎 drop Hot Tamales and not eat them straight off the ground, you don抰 know me very well,?she says. 揂nyway. The sex??
揑t wasn抰 a big deal.?
She laughs. 揝hut up.?
揑t wasn抰。？
揊ine. I don抰 believe you but I抣l play your game. So what happens now??
揘othing, obviously. It抯 not like I抎 date him.?
揑抦 no one to throw stones, but it seems to me your bar for who you sleep with should be set higher than your bar for who you抎 date.?
As loathe as I am to accept advice on this matter from a woman who once seduced a monk during a silent meditation retreat, she has a point. 揑t抯 not that he isn抰 good enough,?I admit aloud for the first time ever. 揑t抯 that he抯 not what I want.?
揂h, yes,?she says, with a quiet laugh. 揧ou still want flannel boy梩he wise, widowed but strangely youthful farmer. I mean, what would you even wear on a farm? Do you own a pair of boots??
揧es,?I begin. 揑 have the Burberry棓
揃oots that aren抰 designer, or suede or high-heeled.?
揙h,?I say with a sigh. 揝hut up.?
She laughs. 揓ust think about it, honey. Because repeatedly hooking up with a man you抳e talked about obsessively for two years straight卍oesn抰 sound like hate to me.?
I guess it doesn抰 sound like hate to me either.
On Tuesday, Ben抯 case concludes. No one in the office can shut up about it, because it抯 the highest award FMG has ever won. Even I抦 impressed, though I will never, ever, admit it.
I wake the next morning and put on a red dress before I take it off again. Red is the color of sex and I don抰 need him thinking I want a repeat of Saturday night when I don抰。
He might not even be in today, I tell myself, watching the elevator as if it抯 my job. There will be loose ends to tie up, a hotel room he抯 reserved for a few more days. We probably won抰 see him until next week.
And just because he made me come in about ten seconds flat doesn抰 make him a keeper. But I think of him looking at my face as he went down on me. Saying, 揑抦 doing exactly what I抳e wanted for two fucking years? and my thighs clench in both memory and anticipation.
It抯 late that afternoon when I hear a tiny smattering of applause, signaling his arrival, because he抯 the only person in this office anyone would clap for. He must have rushed back. I refuse to believe that means something.
I return to reviewing a promissory note, then I call my mother and convince her that the adorable pajamas I抦 sending her are from a 揷ute little shop in Ojai?as opposed to Nordstrom. I clean out my inbox and cut and paste boilerplate to craft a threatening email to the school board on Victoria抯 behalf.
But every five minutes I抦 thinking of Ben抯 weight above me and the sounds he made, and by the time evening falls my productivity has decreased to almost nothing. I want a repeat of Saturday like I want my next breath, even if it means going against every warning voice in my head.
I rise and walk to the break room, my heels clip-clip-clipping against the hardwood floor, a modern-day mating call, my way of luring Ben from his lair.
I slide open a drawer in the kitchen, surveying its contents blindly, willing him to come to me.
A door hinge creaks, followed by male steps, and I can抰 seem to regulate my breathing.