Chapter 3
Ilove Buffy the Vampire Slayer. As an unmonitored eight-year-old, I watched it religiously and was convinced I would be called upon to be a slayer. I asked my mother for heeled boots and held long pieces of bark like a stake. I used to dedicate time every morning to practice my vampire slayer moves.
Buffy’s influence even followed me to adulthood. It’s why I have three pierced holes in my right ear and two in my left. It’s why I wear gray polish too much and I’ve always been open to a large age gap with a partner.
It’s why I’m snarky.
Now this man I detest holds the same affection for the best paranormal TV show ever made. Excuse me, best show ever made, period.
“I’m shocked,” I say.
“Yeah, well,” Smith says, standing up and folding his arms. His triceps pop against his white shirt, and I swallow…hard. “That program was revolutionary, and the comedy writing is some of the best of its time.”
He’s pacing now, like I paced earlier. Is it nerves?
“It’s not weird,” he says, nervous of my reaction.
“I have an important question,” I say. He turns, his face pale. “Angel or Spike?”
His shoulders relax. “Angel, without a doubt,” Smith says. “I also watched his show. When I say I’m a fan of that whole world, I meant I may or may not have been to a Comic-Con wearing a long trench coat.”
Smith, my cool and collected former boss, went to Comic-Con. He cosplayed at Comic-Con.
“Did you have fangs?” I ask. He turns to me with an icy stare.
Oh, he totally has that shit.
“That’s so…nerdy,” I say.
Smith’s pale cheeks collect red. His eyes do not look at mine as he says, “That show kept me company when I went away to college. I used to tape it on VHS in my dorm room and watch them when I got lonely. Fandoms give people more than you know. It gives people a sense of connection and community.”
Smith’s fists clench while his resolve crumbles. This man, who I thought had no feelings, whatsoever, is a sensitive dork underneath it all.
A dork who owns fangs and a trench coat.
That…is so hot.
I’ve never been into roleplaying, but I totally could get into some Angel and Buffy scenarios.
I’ve also never been into biting, but damn, I could get into that, too.
Smith sits down again in a huff, his arms draped across his knees. I scoot closer to him so our backs are pressed against the same wall.
I knock his shoulder with mine, a split decision I instantly regret. The touch sends tingles down my arms, more than any ASMR video could.
“Confession time,” I say. “I used to watch it, too.”
“Oh yeah?” he says and he pauses. “Do I want to know how old you were when it was airing?”
I laugh. “I remember getting into it in first grade.”
“Jesus,” he says. “How old are you?”
“Thirty,” I say. “You?” I already know, but he doesn’t need to know that.
He chuckles, looking away. “Much older than that.”
“I just thought the gray hair was from being an attorney.”
“I wish,” he says. “My dad went white at forty-eight. I’m not quite there yet, but it’s going to happen.”
“I think aging hair is great.”
“Ouch,” he says, a smile breaking his fa?ade.
“No, this is a true story. I’m being dead honest when I say this,” I offer. “I figured since you offered up Buffy, I could give you one of my most embarrassing nuggets.”
His eyes dance with amusement. “Go on.”
“I thought I was in love with Alex Trebek but it was just a teen crush.”
“Seriously?”
I nod. “I used to watch Jeopardy! every night, and my mom had no idea why. I never cared about trivia, and I was an average student. It was that salt-and-pepper hair, man.”
Oh my God, I just called my former boss hot in a roundabout way. A man I hated like a half hour ago. I’m losing my edge.
“So, I’m just the hair to you. I see.”
“You’re more than the hair. It’s your sparkling personality.”
He laughs out loud, from deep in the recesses of his throat. His laugh makes me giggle, one of those laughs that you can’t help join in on.
“Rapid fire questions. You game?”
“Go for it. What else are we going to do?”
How about you take this dress off with your teeth—
“Favorite weekend activity?” I fire off.
“Brunch.”
“Me too,” I say, smacking him on the shoulder. “Bloody Mary or Mimosa?”
“Mimosa. Just leave the bottle,” he says.
My cheeks warm. I love bottomless mimosas.
“Funniest thing to happen in the office since I’ve left?”
Smith looks to the ceiling for a thought. “Nessa messed up my birthday cake.”
“You got a birthday cake? You’ve never wanted one before.”
“This past year has been rough, okay?” He smiles wistfully, and I turn to a puddle. “She actually picked up the wrong one at the bakery. The cake was a huge eggplant emoji with a fondant Band-aid on it. It said, ‘Congratulations on your vasectomy, Hank.’”
I cover my mouth at the image of this stoic, serious man receiving a penis cake.
“Did you eat it?”
“I did. I can’t turn down cake. It was delicious.”
I’m dying now, flopping over in laughter.
“The floor is disgusting, Cassie.” I turn onto my back, convulsing in laughter. We catch eyes, and my giggles halt. His gaze shows that more than his stomach is hungry.
I sit up immediately, getting off my back. The less I remind either of us of sex, the better.
Now that Smith might not be that bad.
“Most embarrassing story?” Smith asks.
“I have many, but the most recent was when I fell off a Brew Bike,” I answer with a laugh, remembering the fun Saturday activity I did with my friends. Until I broke skin.
He props his elbow on his knee and rests his chin on his hand. “Do tell.”
“I’m a lightweight,” I preface. “So, by the third brewery, I was hammered. My friends were peddling for me. I was wearing wedges, and my foot slipped and I stumbled off. I would’ve stayed on my feet, but my ankle twisted and I fell in a bush.”
Smith is laughing now, a chortle deep and throaty.
Makes me want to get on my back again.
Smith’s next question ups the ante.
“Are you dating anyone?”
Giddiness joined my nerves.
“Um…no, I’m not,” I say.
“Why?” he asks.
He’s not ready for this conversation. How men have disappointed me, one after another, and how I pledged to live alone forever. How celibacy is my new version of power and control.
How no one can live up to that shy and beautiful man Alex Trebek, may he rest in peace.
“I’m a lone wolf,” I say. Then, I howl to make a point, but I feel like the biggest idiot. “I don’t date.”
“Interesting,” he says. I let myself look at his face, turned away from me. I can’t read his expression. Is he making small talk? Is he actually interested if I’m single or not?
I pause before I ask. “Why do you ask?”
“No reason,” he says, his jaw tensing again.
“Okay,” I say, looking down at my hands. “Do you know what time it is?”
Smith lifts his arm and readjusts his watch. “It’s eight o’clock. We have over an hour to go.” His stomach rumbles again, and he looks down. “Wow, I’m sorry.”
I have a granola bar in my purse, a snack I keep for emergencies. I fainted once when lunch was delayed so I always keep food on me. Hunger hasn’t found me yet, since I ate a late lunch when I got wrapped up with editing a video this morning.
A granola bar is the least I can do for this man who is redeeming himself by the minute.
The wrapper rustles as I pull it out of my purse. “Here.”
He looks down at it and then back up at me.
“Thank you,” he says, holding out his hand. His hands are large and smooth so I pretend like it’s a game of Operation and I do not brush my fingertips against him.
He rips open the green wrapper and breaks off a crumbling piece, dropping it in his mouth.
Smith breaks off piece after piece, offering me some in between his bites. I shake my head, and he happily continues.
“I haven’t had one of these since college,” he says.
“They’re the best,” I say. “Although they get everywhere.”
“I think that’s part of their charm,” he says. He groans in satisfaction, and I bite my lip involuntarily. He rests his head back, his eyelids heavy with bliss.
My mind wanders to whether he looks like this after taking a woman to bed, after making love to Daniela, a woman so beautiful that he had to be stupid to let her go. How did it get so bad that someone cheated? What if it was him? That makes me stop whatever crush spiral I’m currently riding on.
“Thank you,” he says, patting my knee. My breath catches. It’s not sexual or inappropriate, but it tightens my chest and I exhale. There are those tingles again, my body responding to his touch.
“You’re welcome,” I say.
“Did you have a boyfriend when you worked for me?”
“Why do you assume it’s a boyfriend?”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to assume…”
“It’s okay. I’m unfortunately and dismally one hundred percent heterosexual,” I say. “Creates a lot of problems for me.”
“Why?” he asks. When he turns his head, our eyes catch, and there’s my body being a thirsty hoe again. I honestly thought celibacy was making me stronger, but maybe I wasn’t testing it properly.
Smith is not an option at all, even if I wasn’t celibate.
“I did have a boyfriend. We broke up. Dating has been nothing but misery and I’m done chasing men. Three years ago, I tried singlehood on and haven’t looked back. I’ve never been happier,” I say, although I’m not sure it’s true. I press my lips together and then offer, “Although, sometimes it gets lonely.”
Expressing this is almost safe, to a man I will never see again.
Maybe this elevator is the only place I can be honest.
“I’m feeling the same way right now,” he says, folding the wrapper between his fingers. “Daniela and I got divorced.”
“Oh no!” I exclaim, pretending this was news to me and giving the best performance of my life. And I had my college boyfriend going for a full year that he was giving me orgasms from missionary.
“You knew, didn’t you?” he asks.
“Nessa and Arlene told me,” I admit.
Smith rubs his lips together again, his tongue slightly wetting them. For a brief moment, I thought what it would be like to touch my lips to his, but no. He sees me as a really good former employee. Nothing more.
“What else did they tell you?”
I tilt my head. “That someone cheated.”
He nods again, his eyes anywhere but locked with mine. “Our divorce was finalized the week you quit.”
That makes sense. How on edge he was, how his mind was probably somewhere else. I don’t know why, but I scoot closer to him. Smith runs his fingers through his hair, and it’s so sexy, I have to look away.
“I wanted it to be her so badly. The one. I wanted to be happy and have a family and live in Marin. Now, I don’t know if that will happen.”
Oh, Marin County. That beautiful and expensive suburb. I would love to live there too.
“I love San Francisco, but I don’t see myself living here much longer. It’s really noisy for ASMR purposes. You should see my apartment and the set-up I have. You would think a vampire lives there.”
He smirks and I continue. “I really want space. Maybe some goats. I want to have children. I’ll probably have to do it alone.”
“Why alone?” When I turn to look at him, he stares at me, like I’m a mystery he’s trying to solve.
He will find too much truth if he keeps searching so I turn away.
“I’m not sure I want to,” I say. “Love doesn’t last.”
He says nothing, looking at his hands. I notice the stripe of white on his ring finger where his ring used to be.
“I have a hard time believing in love too,” he says. “Especially lately.”
“What happened? Between you and Daniela?” I ask.
He looks at his hands again. His silence tells me he has no desire to talk about it, the way he swallows hard, his jaw clenches. My question won’t be answered.
Am I feeling sympathy for him? Was I wrong?
“I have an easier question for you.”
“Shoot.”
“Do you still eat a Greek chicken salad every day?”
His face breaks into a grin. “Yes. Every day. I have to go get it myself now, though.”
I used to get him one every day from the Mediterranean place around the corner from our office building. It became so consistent the owner had my order ready when I arrived. Smith barely looked up at me when I placed his lunch on his desk.
To get his attention, I started putting it onto the table in dramatic fashions. I once got a bunch of balloons to deliver it and…nothing. He never reacted; he just took the fork and opened the plastic bag without a word, without a thank you. When I first started, I wished him a happy lunch, but I stopped once I realized he treated me like I was invisible.
It doesn’t matter that Smith is being nice to me now. He’s only talking to me because he’s stuck with me in an elevator and it’s super boring.
This attraction I feel is because I haven’t had sex in a really, really long time.
Smith fiddles with his cufflink.
The million-dollar question lingers between us, the bedazzled elephant in the room. He ignored me, he dismissed me. Now, he’s acting like he likes me and his gaze is confusing the hell out of me.
I’ll kick myself forever if I don’t ask.
“Smith.”
“Cassie.” His gray-blue eyes grab mine, and I swallow.
Be brave.
“Why did you always ignore me? You never talked to me in the office.”
Silence fills the elevator. Smith is struggling, looking everywhere but at me.
“It’s complicated,” he says.
“How so? I was always friendly toward you. I worked so hard for you. A ‘thank you,’ a ‘good job’ goes a long way with me. I messed up once. In five years. That was it.”
“You didn’t mess up,” he says. “I have a hard time admitting I’m wrong. Just ask my ex-wife.”
He looks at me with an impenetrable gaze. Is there hunger there? Does he want to kiss me?
Do I want him to?
“I wanted to talk to you tonight to say I’m sorry,” Smith says. “I take full responsibility for the mistake with that case.”
I didn’t know I needed to hear that until the words left his lips. Those perfect lips.
His swallow is audible as he looks down and then back up.
I don’t think about the consequences. All I want is for him to touch me.
He rubs his palms together. “I’ve missed you every day since you quit.”
What?I laugh nervously. “Because I did such a good job?”
He pauses, and my body goes rigid. I brace for the impact of his words, but when they come, they still jolt me.
“More than that.”