Still, I’m reluctant at first as I push things to the side—a stapler, I think, and then a notebook. It’s not until he starts sucking at the spot where my neck meets my shoulder that I throw caution to the wind and start shoving. Papers, pens, a pair of headphones. I can feel the heels of my shoes digging into his back, but if it’s bothering him, he’s sure as hell not saying anything.
I’ve had the occasional office fantasy, but god, the reality is even better. He’s solid heat, lips dipping lower, dropping kisses along my collarbone and down my neck. His hands are at my waist, fingertips skimming along my ribcage, and I can sense he’s uncertain about going higher.
If I can’t do everything I want to with an arm in a sling, the least I can do is help him.
So I drape my hand along his, inching it upward, until his thumb is stroking one breast through the fabric of my sweater.
“This is okay?” he asks, and it’s absurd, how okay it is. He’s not even touching my skin, and my nipples are already aching.
“God. Yes.” My mouth falls open against his, and he swallows my moan, tongue swirling as I move my hand from his to clutch at the back of his neck.
He bunches up my skirt and pulls me to the edge of the desk until we’re lined up in the most torturous way, the rough friction of his jeans driving me wild. My struggle to put on these tights this morning was thoroughly not worth it. I’d have risked being cold all day if it meant I could feel him exactly where I want to right now, hard against my center while he groans into my ear. I roll my hips against his, turning that groan feral and drawing out a gasp of my own. I want to unbuckle him, unzip him, have him lay me bare in his office so he remembers this every morning when he gets to work.
When something falls off his desk with the loudest thump so far, Russell breaks our kiss, panting. I stifle a laugh as he walks around to check what it was, coming back with a baseball player Funko Pop still in its plastic box.
“Cute,” I say.
“King Félix Hernández is not cute. He’s a collector’s edition.” He places it back on his desk, then seems to think better of it and stows it in a drawer.
Still, it seems to shock us back to reality, which is maybe a good thing. I’m not sure how far we might have gone. I have to squeeze my legs together, bite down on the inside of my cheek. I’ve always struggled to let go with new people, and I’ve never had an orgasm with someone on a first encounter. But I’m so keyed up that a few more minutes and I might have fallen apart, and I would have made certain I dragged him down with me.
“This was . . .” he says as he plays with a wavy strand of my hair. “。 . . not how I imagined the night would turn out.”
“I’ve imagined this two or three times.” Heart still racing, I hop off his desk, doing my best to tidy it up. “Only there’s usually a blizzard, and we’re trapped here for days with nothing but each other’s bodies for warmth.”
“I’m sorry I was jealous.” He cages me in, interrupting my tidying to press a kiss to the shell of my ear. “I just hadn’t figured out how to be brave with you yet.”
“You’ve always seemed brave to me,” I say. “Even before this.”
His whole face shifts, eyes crinkling at the corners in that way I like so much. It’s incredible, watching this confidence change him. “Have I told you,” he says, “that you look absolutely stunning in that sling, Ari Abrams?”
I bite my lip to keep from grinning. “Yeah?”
“Oh yeah.” His hand comes up to my face, his thumb skimming my cheekbone. “Really brings out your eyes.”
17
FORECAST:
A hazy few days of uncomfortable truths
MY THERAPIST’S OFFICE has a view of Lake Union and a couch that contours to my body so perfectly I’m scared to ask her where she got it, because I know it’ll be out of my price range. I’ve been in a handful of therapists’ offices, and none of them have made me quite as calm as Joanna’s.
Today’s a therapy doubleheader. I’m still a little sore from physical therapy after a woman named Ingrid stretched and bent my elbow, wrist, and fingers for thirty minutes, and now this. I’ve been seeing Joanna for almost three years, since I moved back to Seattle and my former therapist retired and recommended her to me. Seeing someone new is daunting—starting from the beginning, unpacking all your baggage for a stranger, knowing they won’t think less of you for your irrationalities but being terrified nonetheless—but it was worth it to find her. I go every few weeks, sometimes less frequently if I feel like I’m managing okay.
“How’s work been?” Joanna asks, taking a sip of tea from her mug with a watercolor Seattle skyline on it. She drinks it every time I’m here, and the soothing lemon scent must have a way of untangling my messy brain as well as her questions. With her long dark hair and straight-across bangs that always make me consider cutting mine, I’ve never been able to guess how old she is. She looks like she could pass for twenty-five, but she carries herself with the wisdom of someone who has helped a lot of people wage war against their demons.
“Not too bad.” Almost ten years I’ve been in therapy, and every time I’m here, I’m all brief answers at first. How are you? Okay. What have you been up to since last time? Not much. I have to ease into it, a duckling learning to swim again and again. Joanna must be used to it because she lets her questions breathe. Therapy and journalism have that in common. “A little challenging with my arm, but I’m getting used to it.”
“I’m so sorry that happened to you,” she says in her ever-warm way. “Has Torrance been understanding?”
“She’s been much better than usual, actually.” And this is where I debate how much of the plan I want to share with her.
Logically, I know it’s the job of a therapist not to judge you. While I know Joanna wouldn’t outright express disappointment, I’m still reluctant to tell her I’ve kind-of sort-of been manipulating my bosses to fall back in love with each other.
I opt for a half-truth. “She and her ex-husband seem to be getting along, which is good for the rest of us.”
“Her ex-husband, the news director? Seth?” Joanna’s memory astounds me. I’m not sure if she just takes meticulous notes or what, but she’s able to recall names even of people I’ve mentioned offhand.
“No passive-aggressive signs, no blowups in the newsroom for the past couple weeks. I’d forgotten what that kind of harmony felt like.”
“Ari, that’s great.” A kind smile, another sip of her tea. “You’ve been wanting more attention from her for a while. Is that something that feels a little more attainable now?”
“It might be. With her in a good mood, though . . .” I’ve been biding my time, waiting for Torrance to take an interest in my career. “Maybe I could even bring it up to her directly. Not anytime soon, but at some point.”
“We can definitely talk about strategies for that when you’re ready,” Joanna says. “Is there anything else you wanted to discuss today?”
“I’ve been spending a lot of time with, um, one of the sports reporters,” I say, figuring I’ve got nothing to lose by telling Joanna about Russell. “In a romantic way?”