“I never wanted to get married as a kid.”
“Ya didn’t, huh?”
“Nope. No marriage for me. I wanted to work for a living straight out of the gate.”
“Ya can be married and still work, sugah. Almost can’t not work, these days, no matter who ya marry.”
“I know, I know. Falling in love I didn’t mind, but not being a soccer mom. Or a domestic goddess, a la Roseanne.”
“It ain’t gotta be like that. Shoot, ya don’t hafta find Ward Cleaver and start vacuuming yer house in a twinset and pearls.”
“*snort*”
“Well, ya don’t.”
“Thank the good Lord and all of his angels. Ward Cleaver…eek.”
“Ah always kinda had high hopes. Ah just wanted ta find that one perfect man who thought Ah was his everythang.”
“You’re dreaming awfully big.”
“Baloney. Smack yer own mouth, shoog.” Anna slid her glasses to the end of her nose and cut her eyes at her best friend over the rims. It was her patented “don’t mess with me” look. Ororo was the rare friend she allowed to defy that look. Mock it, even.
“I’m not saying there isn’t a man out there who thinks you’re his ‘everythang’, woman. I’m just saying…whaddya even wanna do with him once you find him?”
“Whaddya think?”
“Anna…marriage sucks.”
“Ya don’t have enough material to write that book yet, shoog.”
“I’ve got enough for a manuscript that reads like Gone with the Wind.” She kept her attention on the road. Ororo loathed rush hour traffic on the freeway. The rental car that she and Anna Marie split the tab for had GPS, but they were edged off the ramp two exits too soon. In the meantime, they were picking at cooling McDonalds leftovers and scanning through Sirius channels for some decent adult R&B.
“Ah just get envious when Ah see people really lookin’ like they’re in love. I ain’t talkin’ about makin’ out in public, Ah mean those couples who just seem well put together. None of that insecure shit.”
“My mom and dad managed okay.”
“Your folks were nice. Ah liked hangin’ out at yer place.”
“You liked Mom’s Russian tea cakes and marshmallow cocoa.”
“That, too. But Ah mean it, when Ah get married, Ah want what yer folks had.”
“Gas?”
“Ew…no. Yer nasty, sugah!”
“I’m serious! What is it about getting older that gives people gas? Mom kept the Beano in the spice cabinet.” Ororo merged into traffic just as the stream of cars crawled to a near-halt. “It’s just…marriage should come with a disclaimer or warning.”
“Yeah. Maybe it should.”
“Customer satisfaction not guaranteed. Consumer takes responsibility for the use of this product."
“And there should be a penalty for ripping off the little tag.”
“Too bad there isn’t a fifty-year warranty that includes loss protection.”
Anna Marie warmed to the topic. “Loss of sanity? Loss of libido? Loss of memory for conveniently forgetting a weekend trip to your parents?”
“Sure. Plus damage insurance that covers neglect and abandonment.” Ororo punched the menu choice for the station she wanted. The station description onscreen promised R&B but gave them Kelly Clarkson. Good enough. Anna sang along with gusto while Ororo brooded behind the wheel.
They began to play a game Ororo came up with as a kid, reading the road signs.
“Framingham. Two a’s.”
“Two m’s. What else have ya got?”
“Give me another few miles.” It wasn’t Slug Bug, but it passed the time between pit stops.
Monet St. Croix was one of their acquaintances that insinuated her way into their lives before either of them could object. There was nothing she loved more than a captive audience for boyfriends, clothes and social climbing.
She was always “just so.” Hair just high enough, lipstick just dark enough, skirt just short enough without going overboard. She liked men with money, leading to the obvious nickname “Money” by past conquests. She didn’t have the patience to put up with a relationship that didn’t progress past several weeks of decent sex. Once the conversation ran out, so did her patience. Dates that ended with “I’ll call you” were met with indifference, or even “Actually, I’m gonna be pretty busy for a while…”
Yet she found the man she’d call back. Hell, he was the one she’d wake up to every morning for the next ten to fifty years, if she bought the extended warranty.
And Everett was a sweetie. Anna Marie pretended to wipe away drool after Monet introduced him to her girlfriends. They made a pretty couple, both maple syrup colored and dark-eyed, athletically built and tall. They’d make pretty babies, and the bride would make just as big a fuss over her baby shower as she would over her bachelorette.
They took the exit they wanted and merged badly into traffic that wanted to be rush hour. All the streets looked the same, but Ororo took the left turn at the strip mall intersection and then turned right into a picturesque subdivision.
“Not bad. Girl musta paid through the nose for a yard this big.”
“She lives on a corner. Her yard is one of the biggest.”
“Cow.”
“There it is.” Anna Marie let her glasses slide down to the end of her nose, and her mouth hung open in shock.
“Hello, McMansion.”
Of course it was perfect. Even the snow piled thickly over her lawn was well-groomed, no muddy slush or dog pee in sight. She’d already taken down her Christmas lights, but there was a tiny sign over the door wishing guests a Happy New Year. Ororo parked the rental car, fiddling with the sticky safety brake. There were two other cars parked out front.
“Brrrrr. Too damned cold fer this southern gal.”
“Wuss.”
“Kiss mah fat one, sugah.” They hurried up the front walk, well-shoveled and salted, and Anna punched the doorbell. “C’mon and let us in,” she said, stomping her feet and rubbing her hands.
They heard a commotion behind the door and a break in conversation inside. Monet’s voice proclaimed “yay, they’re here!” before the door was jerked open.
“C’mon in before you let out the heat!” Anna Marie chuckled.
“How was your trip?” Ali corrected from over her shoulder. Monet already had Ororo wrapped in a brisk hug, air-kissing her cheek. The hallway felt toasty-warm, thawing the chill from her flesh.
“Uneventful.”
“Good. Let’s see if we can bat a thousand.”
“Traffic already kinda sucks.”
“We’re going to car pool as best as we can. More than likely, we’re going to pack ourselves like sardines into my car.” Monet never even tried to sell her Suburban, despite the gas crunch. It was simply too comfortable, and of course, it was the only car that her huge house didn’t dwarf from the street.
“Beats mah old ride,” Anna mused. “That was like watching a whole mess of clowns showing up under the big top.” Ororo laughed. She was right. Even though Anna’s tiny Beetle was in great shape, it was comical seeing how many of their friends they could pile into it on their way to the clubs on Thursday nights. Ali was the shortest, and frequently ended up giving any lucky soul sitting in the back seat a lap dance.
“First things first: Where is your bathroom?”
“Down yonder,” Ali told them. “Down the hall to the left. Just follow the smell of potpourri.”
Ororo clucked approvingly as she looked around the living room, taking in the furnishings. “That’s new,” she said, nodding to an art print.
“Everett’s mom gave me that. I paid to have it framed myself.”
“She has good taste.”
“I know. I’m jealous of her place.”
“You shouldn’t be. Look at how nice this is!”
“Thanks. We do all right.”
“Just wait til ya have some rugrats. You’ll hafta move that stuff up sky-high,” Stevie warned her. Monet had a varied assortment of knick-knacks on side tables, window sills and shelves. Monet grinned and rolled her eyes. Her hand reflexively covered her stomach.
“Whoa, hold on, girlfriend, lemme get a look at that!” Ororo tsked and shook her head. The theatrics had begun.
They all clucked like hens, taking a turn patting her tummy, which was barely rounded, definitely not enough to raise suspicion at first glance. But she was radiant.
“How’s Everett doing with all this?”
“He’s got cold feet about going to the altar, but he’s all over himself about this baby.”
“So give him some socks,” Ali snapped. “Or tell him you have a half a dozen girlfriends training shotguns on his butt if he takes too long saying ‘I do.’”
“For some guys that isn’t a threat. Sure wasn’t for my last ex,” Jubilee complained sourly.
“No shit,” Paige agreed, holding up her hand for a high five. Jubilee met her there with a sharp smack. “See Dick run. Run, Dick, run.”
“Gads,” Ali sighed.
Four more trips to the bathroom later, they all bundled themselves into thick coats, then into Monet’s black SUV.
The clerk at the bridal shop was already smiling expectantly as they filed inside.
“Reservation for St. Croix?”
“Fitting?”
“Not yet. I’m still choosing the dress. I have it narrowed down to these.” Monet handed her a small folio. There were six pages inside showing the gowns she was considering, along with swatches of fabric for possible bridesmaids gowns.
“Get ready to play dress up, girl,” Anna told her.
“I hate changing room mirrors.”
“Let us be yer mirrors.”
She made her way into the changing suite while the others got comfortable, shucking coats and gloves in the warm shop. The clerk offered them coffee and mints.
“I know this will never be me,” Ali sighed, “but I love these stores. I wouldn’t mind working in one. Look at all this stuff.” She fingered a green taffeta sheath hanging on a nearby rack.
“I know. It’s just like hanging out in your grandmother’s attic, trying on old clothes in her trunks.”
“Not my grandma.” Jubilee looked doubtful. “Her attic was a mess. Nothing but dime store romances with Fabio on the cover, her needlepoint junk, and some old baby clothes. She had a little sailor suit for my dad. I’m just grateful I didn’t have to wear it as a kid.”
“Bet it was cute,” Paige prodded.
They heard a rustling of raw silk approaching them, followed by Monet’s voice. It sounded unconfident, completely unlike her.
“Okay…what do you think? Be honest.”
“Oh.”
“My.”
“God.”
“Hubba HUBBA.”
The only person in the room whose mouth wasn’t hanging open was the clerk’s. “Okay, then. Size eight in that for you, sweetie?”
“Wrap it up,” Monet agreed. They didn’t need to see the others; it didn’t hurt that she felt too bloated to want to try on another gown.
“Poor Everett,” Paige muttered. “Boy’ll never know what hit him.” The clerk fetched a sample veil to try on with it and a pair of gloves to complete the image.
Ororo moved away from her friends and lost herself in her own thoughts. She thumbed through the thick catalogs on the counter without really looking at the clothes and jewels inside.
She just wasn’t there anymore. It just wasn’t her anymore. Her happy glow was beginning to fade.
Suddenly she wanted out. Even the freezing chill outdoors was a welcome change from the discussion of hotel reservations and place settings.
But this is what she came here for. These were her sisters from different misters. It was just so hard. Ororo’s own experience walking this road soured her. She wouldn’t let her mood infect the excitement wrapped around everyone in that room.
Jubilee sidled up to her, leaning her cheek against Ororo’s sleeve like a needy puppy. The tiny girl was a study in contrasts next to her tall friend, only standing five-one in her bare feet. Her pretty complexion was creamy and fair and she had her glossy black hair razor-cut in a spiky little boy cut that made the most of her delicate features.
“Whatcha doin’?” she implored.
“Nothing. Looking at the pretty things.”
“Oooooh. Pretty thiiinnngs…” Jubilee purred, flipping a page of the book Ororo was reading. “Why so down?”
“I’m fine.”
“Okay. I believe you.” Jubilee gave her a one-armed hug that said otherwise. “Talk later?”
“Later.”
“Okay.”
The bridesmaids gowns were another matter altogether. The clerk had her job cut out for her as she brought out the samples. Some were rejected before she even took them off the rack.
“Please tell me those aren’t sequins.”
“Anything but fuchsia.”
“Geez…the shoulder pads are straight out of an eighties movie.”
Each woman took their turn on the hot seat, narrowing their selections down to three.
“This maid of honor dress matches mine,” Monet reasoned. “All we need is a color.”
“The plum!” Ali insisted, waving the dress on its hanger.
“I second that,” Paige added.
“Me, three,” Ororo said, resigned. She didn’t want to express a preference for the teal. It wasn’t her day, and Monet was looking relieved.
“I looked cute in the gold,” Jubilee complained.
“You looked adorable, chica, but we need one color that I can plan a color theme around. Plum it is.”
“No scary bolero jackets,” Jubilee cut in. “No one will wear them again.”
“They make me look like Frankenstein,” Ororo said. She shuddered.
They met Monica for lunch later and chatted and cackled about old times over the pasta special at Olive Garden. Ororo once again felt comfortable and happy.
Until Monica opened her mouth.
“So whatever happened with that guy?”
“Huh?”
“The one you met on your vacation. He ever catch up to you?”
“Oooooooo,” Jubilee hooted, agog. “What’s up with that? This is the first I heard about any man on any vacation!”
“I never gave him my number,” Ororo offered to put them off. But she was blushing ten shades of red.
“So why ya actin’ guilty, shoog? Spill!” All eyes were on her now; even Monet sat there with her arms folded across her chest. She looked smug.
“I want to hear all about this. What’s his name?”
“It doesn’t matter-“
“Like heck it doesn’t.”
“Oh…whatever. His name’s Logan.” Then she recanted. “James, actually.”
“Wait, which is it?”
“James. But he likes Logan.”
“Mmmmmm. I like both. But Logan…that sounds mysterious. Like someone you sneak away from a party with to go make out in the car.” Jubilee stirred her soda with a dreamy expression.
“Damn, girl…last time I invite you to a party!” Paige teased. The other patrons stared at the gaggle of women laughing and cheering.
“Just when I thought it couldn’t get worse…” Ororo muttered under her breath.
“Did you give him your digits?” Ali asked.
“No. Just…no. Nothing else happened.”
“But something DID happen, right?”
“Maybe…”
“You. Crazy. Bitch. You didn’t.”
“Didn’t what?”
“You DID!”
“It was a mistake. Granted, a fun mistake-“ Jubilee cut her off.
“Mistake, nothing. Bring it on. That’s the end of a dry spell.”
“No. Still pretty dry.”
“So no digits?”
“Uh-uh. Not even.”
“He didn’t offer to stay in touch?”
“I didn’t give him the chance.”
“Hold up. Dine and dash?” Stevie was aghast.
“It sounds nasty when you put it that way,” Ororo tsked.
“Nothing wrong with nasty,” Ali pointed out. There was a momentary hush as their server brought their dishes of mousse and tiramisu.
“So that’s it?” Jubilee said before taking a bite of her dessert.
“That’s it.”
Ororo was bursting.
It was insane. The burden of her encounter “ her reunion “ with him in the bathroom was trying to claw its way out. Monica watched her knowingly, stabbing her fork into the tiramisu.
“Nothing to tell,” she finally lied. “Vacation’s over.”
*
Training Day.
Too bad it didn’t involve Denzel in a black leather jacket smoking cigars and smacking people around, Ororo grumbled to herself. Management training sucked.
The big guy in the Stacy Adams shoes sounded slick as a used car salesman. Ororo didn’t recognize him, but Selene’s smile was unnecessarily bright when she found herself and Ororo a seat in the back of the conference room. She felt like she was trapped in ninth grade geometry again and like her boss was gonna ask her for gum and pass notes.
Ororo got up and fetched each of them an information packet and work folder. While she was drilling two pencils in the automatic sharpener Selene’s admin thoughtfully remembered, she watched the room begin to fill. No one else looked any more enthusiastic than she did, except for Scott. She was pleased to see him arrive so early. He caught her eye and hurried over with a broad grin.
“Now it’s a party!”
“Good morning.”
“Good morning to you,” he said, saluting her.
Dang. Just like a walking Colgate ad. But she liked him. It was nice to have someone on the account who knew how to laugh.
“Glad you’re here with bells on.”
“Too late in the season. Last month I would’ve worn a pair of antlers my ex gave me last Christmas, though.”
“Those aren’t business casual,” she pointed out.
“Did they bring any hand puppets?” he muttered, leaning in conspiratorially as they both watched their trainer assemble his laptop. Instead of the standard “Hello, My Name is…” tag stuck to him, he wore an employee badge from OptforWellth’s sister branch, WellthyLiving, that announced him as Sebastian S.
“They’d have to figure out which cost center to charge the hand puppets to.”
“Not if they hire them as contractors.”
“We don’t outsource much.”
“Hey, that’s an expense report you don’t have to submit from your own desk.”
“Thank the good Lord.”
Scott joined his own department toward the front of the room. Ororo contemplated following him, but remained close to Selene for appearances’ sake. She almost regretted it; they were shortly joined by Cassandra, a director of sales from their Florida branch; Madelyne, an account manager with a tendency to sell nothing but flex plans before consulting the regulatory team; and Tessa, Cassandra’s assistant. The next three hours promised to be tedious.
Sebastian’s voice boomed, waking everyone in the room.
“I’m going to get this moving along. You’ve all received your information packets for this seminar; if you’re sitting here, your HR managers enrolled you for Project Management Measurement Goals.” He gave them a serpentine smile. “Not basketweaving.” Nervous chuckles answered him. Ororo groaned and sipped her coffee. Scott caught her eye and winked.
“So, let’s make a few introductions.” Ororo almost thought he was going to have them play show-and-tell, making them stand up and name themselves and their roles.
“This,” he said, gesturing, “is a laptop. This is your best friend.”
Okay, so she was wrong.
“It’s a helpful tool. Why? Because it stores information. What else?” They all stared at him a moment. “Anyone?”
Tessa nervously raised her hand. “Um…it has a …calendar?”
“Yes!” he emphasized. “That’s what I like to hear! Anyone else? Who here knows how to use Outlook?” Everyone assembled stared at each other and began to raise their hands. “All right. PowerPoint?” More hands stayed in the air. “Microsoft Project?”
Fewer hands. “Okay. Not too many.” He logged on at the prompt and they watched him wave the cursor around the screen, clearly enjoying himself. “Programs like that are useful because they provide a schedule. A set of deliverables to meet in a certain timeframe, if you will…”
And so it went. Boredom gnawed at Ororo. It wasn’t the fault of the presenter, even though Sebastian Shaw’s voice began to drone at times. He had an extensive career background in business training and recruiting prior to founding his own corporation, Shaw Industries. It cost OptforWellth a lot of money to get him to step down from the mountain, board a plane, and play with his laptop for their benefit.
“Take a look at the needs of the customer. Do you have the time to meet their deliverable? Do you have the data gathered and analyzed in a timely manner to set an action plan? Have you kept those deliverables consistent with each client?”
Blah blah blah. Blah blah blah. Blahblahblahblahbluhbluh-blah.
Ororo’s toes began to cramp inside her good brown pumps. The conference room was comfortably warm when they first arrived, but it was starting to feel stuffy.
“So what are our goals? Okay, let me toss a few of them up here…” He began writing furiously on his large whiteboard with a bright red marker in large, slashing script. “First, we measure performance. Then, we analyze opportunity, namely a chance to build ourselves up with the customer and show them, hey…what ELSE can we do? What ELSE can we sell them? It’s important to use your past successes to put the hook in ‘em. Then, show them how you’ll improve performance, and eventually, control performance…”
Ororo’s stomach began growling. She was ready to gnaw off her own foot. Selene was beside her, furiously taking notes on her Blackberry. She nudged Ororo impatiently. “Write this down! It’s useful.”
Ororo was about to argue the point with her but missed the opportunity. The door behind them creaked slightly as someone swung it open and rushed inside. The faint rush of fresh air woke Ororo up, and the familiar, masculine voice sent a shiver down her spine.
“Is, uh, this is the conference for the Project Management class?” She turned furtively to watch him.
He wasn’t rumpled. She was impressed. His suit was crisply pressed and his hair was neat. His shoes weren’t damp with mud or slush, telling her he’d probably commuted in winter boots and changed when he came inside, like she had.
He was too orderly. She longed to yank his tie askew, muss his hair, anything to do away with the “safe” look he wore.
His eyes were the dead giveaway. They were full of rich, decadent trouble. And his mouth. He smiled slightly, but it wasn’t an “aw, shucks” look of contrition. He wasn’t sorry he interrupted; he just wanted to know if he had the correct room.
“Project Management Measurement Goals.” Sebastian’s smile was full of curdled butter. “On that sign. Behind you.”
“All these rooms look alike. Ya seen one group of folks with name tags, ya’ve seen ‘em all.” Ororo smothered a laugh right in the middle of her gulp of coffee; she felt the caffeine back its way up into her sinus. She wasn’t the only one; several uncomfortable titters greeted his announcement. Nonplussed, James Howlett scanned the room, slowly descending the arena-style steps and looking for an empty seat.
Right on the aisle.
Right next to Ororo.
She had already turned back to her notes, or what passed as notes. She’d scrawled a few bits and pieces of info from the PowerPoint slides on her pad. She felt firm footsteps echo and stop beside her and someone setting down a briefcase with a light thud.
Cologne. Crisp, cool and heady, mingled with the scent of wool and leather.
The empty space next to her was replaced by a brush of a sleeve against hers that made her pulse jump.
Warm. Solid. He seemed to take up all the space around them. “Hope you ladies don’t mind,” he rumbled in that voice, low and guarded. Sebastian had already lost interest in him and was back to his presentation, highlighting action words on the slides with each click of his pointer.
“Not at all,” Selene promised with a tight little smile, before she, too, ignored him. Madelyne and Tessa merely looked annoyed.
What about me? What if I mind??? Ororo’s stomach was doing little flip-flops.
It was killing him.
He should have just heeded Scott’s suggestion to continue on to the seminar without his laptop, but he didn’t want to sit there shuffling paper handouts in that cramped little room. So he ran late “ again “ and ended up being held up at the visitor’s desk to get a temporary badge and sign in. So there Scooter was, hanging out down front with a couple of other guys from Accounting, cool as a clam, while Logan was faced with a quandary.
Stand around scanning the room for any other seat next to a stranger, or hunker down next to the best one night stand he’d ever had, who, oh, by the way, hated him.
She was patently ignoring him at first glance. Her eyes darted over him briefly as he sat down, then flicked back to the front of the room. She hadn’t diverted herself from the presentation since he’d sat down.
The thought occurred to him that she was a good actress. The slides and the speaker were boring him to tears.
She was ignoring him, all right. Bitch.
Restlessness set in. Without realizing it, she began tapping her pencil lightly against the edge of her desk.
Logan sighed. “Quit it.”
“Pfft…” She barely even looked over her shoulder at him. Her eyes were haughty.
Her makeup was too stern, eye shadow that women’s magazines called “natural” and blush that she didn’t even need. And her hair…it was an injustice.
A French roll. She pinned up that mass of gorgeous thick hair in a style meant to neuter rather than flatter. He couldn’t even benefit from seeing the line of her throat in the turtleneck sweater she wore. She had on reading glasses that he didn’t even know she needed up until then.
In her navy blue pants suit, she was almost sterile. Brittle. He hated it.
She resented him. She didn’t care if she was annoying him at that point. Finesse the client without her go-ahead on the rates, would he? She paused, then tapped some more. The sound kept her awake…
He’d had it. His finger and thumb deftly flicked the pencil from her grip.
Oops… Okay, so it got away from him.
She stared directly into his face. Too bad it was to glare at him. She looked like a pissed-off librarian.
“Sorry.”
“Bullshit,” she hissed under her breath.
“Sssshhh…” Selene made impatient waving gestures for them to zip lip. Ororo felt like a child sent to the naughty corner.
But he started it…
She fumed silently, occasionally stealing snatches of looks at him from the corner of her eye.
On the one hand, he had nerve.
On the other hand…she could feign the excuse that now she didn’t have to take stupid notes about the stupid training presentation.
Then again…
“Pick it up,” she hissed under her breath.
“Make me.”
“You threw it down there. You go get it.”
“Uh-uh.”
She jerked her head around to face him, and her glasses slipped past her nose slightly. Her eyes were blue ice. He took childish joy in seeing her riled up.
“Do you always just rob people of their writing tools during important meetings?”
“One, Sunshine, it ain’t a meeting. Two, I didn’t rob ya. Three, I flicked the pencil. I didn’t throw it. And yer tappin’ was driving me nuts.” They were murmuring at a low buzz.
“Ssshhh!”
“Er, is there a problem up there? Can I continue down here? There were a few more areas I wanted to cover before we break for lunch?” Sebastian’s thick, dark brow arched their way. Selene’s head swiveled around, snakelike, and she pinned them with a cold stare.
“Do you mind?” she whispered. She was embarrassed, her posture shouting “My associates won’t embarrass me in front of Mr. High and Mighty Corporate Trainer.”
“Are we fine?” Shaw asked.
Ororo nodded and smiled, cheeks burning, and she slid her glasses back up. Logan ducked his head and hid his smile.
Ororo smelled mint moments later and heard the slow tear of paper. Logan unrolled two spearmint Life Savers and popped them into his mouth. Like Selene, he opted to use his Blackberry to take some notes, or so Ororo assumed. He could have even been checking Reuters for the Knicks’ game score, for all she knew.
“What’s one of the biggest mistakes companies make that costs them returning business from a customer?”
“A delay in delivery of the product?” someone called from up front.
“Errors in the finished product?” Ororo countered.
“The finished product or service didn’t live up to the sales proposal executed on the contract,” a smug voice announced beside her. To her annoyance, Sebastian smiled. “It could be a specific service, when and how it was delivered, or that the value of the services didn’t live up to the price they paid. We’ve got to give the customer what they paid for.”
“Spoken like a broker.”
“Guilty.”
“Give the man a gold star.”
Even if he was late.
The Q&A portion of the seminar continued in earnest.
Ororo was lulled slightly by the buzz of conversation. All of it began to run together after a while.
Her mind drifted to sunny beaches and sand pushing through her bare toes. Drat him.
He felt the change in her. Her face, in profile, softened and relaxed, and she looked more appealing to him. He liked seeing her look pensive instead of pissed off. Not that he liked her, or anything. Not really. Sitting next to him they were roughly the same height, even though she towered over him when they stood up.
The traitorous thought nagged him that he wanted her horizontal again. And again. And again….
His hand drifted over the edge of his desk. His knuckles barely grazed her elbow with the peace offering.
“Mint?” Her head whipped around in surprise.
“I’m fine,” she said.
“Sure?”
“I’m fine,” she repeated. Her stomach picked that moment to argue with her. It growled audibly.
Lunch wasn’t for another half hour.
“Going once. Going twice.” Her hand reached out tentatively, paused, then darted out and plucked the mint from the wrapper. “That’ll be five bucks,” he deadpanned.
“You wish.” She popped it into her mouth and crunched it savagely between her teeth.
His nostrils flared. You can still make a wish.
“Nah. You wish.” She paused in chewing and stared back at him fully, his intent sinking in. The air between them was charged with unsettling energy. She felt itchy, tightness crawling over her nape. His eyes dilated and he licked dry lips.
A loud, strange “blip” sounded from the front of the hall. The screen blacked out.
“What on earth? Hunh. That didn’t sound good. Can we call tech support?” Scott was already on his cell, speed-dialing the number and pausing by Sebastian’s podium to fiddle with the laptop.
Ororo took that moment to stretch her legs, welcoming the reprieve. “Excuse me.” She stepped around him into the aisle, her legs buffeting his knees. The contact made her tingle.
He wanted to protest until she bent down and retrieve the pencil in question, offering a perfect view of the supple, generous curves of her ass in her dark slacks. His stomach clenched and he felt a tightening between his legs. Geez.
She was turning him on, even dressed as a scary librarian.
“All right, folks, let’s go ahead and break for lunch early. I’ve called the catering desk, and they’re already setting everything up.”
“Yahoo,” Madelyne muttered. “I’m starving.
“No shit,” Tessa agreed easily.
“I have to grab my protein shake from my car. I’m counting carbs,” Cassandra Nova bragged. She already looked like she could do a hula hoop through a Froot Loop, in Ororo’s humble opinion. Cassandra was one of those micro-managing, uptight women that made horrible managers. She could have used a donut to kill that bug up her butt.
Ororo didn’t need any more prompting. Not caring about the lack of propriety, she asked Selene, “Hand me my purse?” Selene complied.
“What’s your rush?”
“I want to make sure they don’t run out of fruit salad. Beat the rush.” She leaned over Logan and met her halfway.
He caught another whiff of her light perfume. Vanilla. Her breasts were almost close enough to “
Damn it. She was off and running.
She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing that her pulse raced with every step.
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