LoveLines (17 page)

Erica burst out laughing. “Girl, you got it bad.”

“Tell me about it,” I mumbled.

“And that’s not a bad thing,” she continued. She placed a lid on the skillet and walked to the fridge.

“It’s too soon,” I repeated. “And I don’t know anything about him. I can’t be this gaga over someone I barely know.”

Erica walked back to the counter with a block of cheese.

“Yes, you can,” she said. “And if you’re gonna be gaga over anyone, then I want him to be
that
guy.” She jabbed her thumb behind her.

“You don’t know anything about him either!” I said.

“It’s called feminine intuition,” Erica replied. “Check it.”

“Well
, check this,” I said softly. “I don’t know if I’m ready to get all crazy over a guy. That sh— stuff that went down with Brian was really hard. I mean, what if I’m just in this ultra fragile state right now, and that’s clouding my judgment? Huh? What if it’s too soon to get involved with someone new? Shouldn’t I have given myself a year? I mean what if—”

“Okay, shut up,” Erica demanded. “You see how fast you made me grate this cheese?”

I peered into the bowl. “Wow.”

“You’re spinning, B! Take some breaths, don’t count them, and calm down,” Erica ordered.

I rolled my eyes and turned to Annie, who sat slapping the spoon as hard as she could against the floor tiles.

“And remember that you’re the one who i
nvited him here to meet me,” Erica said. “That means you really like him. And there’s nothing wrong with that. Stop wigging out.”

“I just don’t
wanna get hurt again,” I whispered. “Once he sees all the ugly, he’ll leave like all the rest of them did.”

“Honey, those guys were looking for an impossible woman,” Erica said. “You know the kind of superwoman who doesn’t exist? Perfect hair. Perfect teeth. Perfect skin and eyes and personality
and body. Perfect in bed. Perfect demeanor. Perfect clothes. Perfect laugh. Perfect—”

“I get it.”

“They will never be happy. They will always be alone. Why? Because they’re searching for something that doesn’t exist.”

“I think they just wanted
someone who was normal,” I countered.

“Really? Because I don’t know any person who’s normal.”

“Erica, you know what I mean,” I replied patiently.

“You told me
Reece knows about your OCD.”

“He does. But he doesn’t know how bad it gets at times,” I said.

“Okay then. Talk to him about it. Let him know in advance. Come up with a plan of action for when you freak out. Allow him to have a role in helping you manage your condition so that you can grow a better relationship,” Erica explained.

“Wow, sometimes I think you didn’t waste
your money on that psych degree after all.”

“You’re one sarcastic bitch. Thank God I’m into those,” Erica replied.

I giggled and gave her a side hug. Just then Reece and Little Noah walked into the kitchen.

“So what are you girls
chickchatting about?” he asked.

“I’m sorry, but did you just say ‘
chickchat’?” I replied.

He nodded.

“You mean ‘chitchat’?” Erica asked.

“No. I mean
chickchat. You know. When girls chat. Chickchat.”

Erica and I burst out laughing.

“Don’t steal that,” Reece said. “It’s going in an ad campaign.”

We nodded, still laughing.

“So?” Reece prodded.

“We were
chickchatting about you, naturally,” Erica replied.

“All good things, I hope,” Reece said.

“From the little we know? Yes,” Erica joked.

Reece chuckled.

“So how’d it go in there?” Erica asked.

“Well,
the turtles did it again,” he replied. “There’s no stopping them.”

“Thank God for that,” Erica said. “What would we do if they couldn’t save the day? I shudder—
shudder
—at the thought.”

“Flip me, Reece!” Little Noah cried.

I grinned and watched Reece pick him up and hang him upside down. He squealed and squirmed as Reece pretended like he was about to drop him.

“Erica, you don’t mind?” Reece called over Little Noah’s racket.

“Wear him out,” she said, lining all the fajita fixings on the counter.

How could this man be so comfortable with people he didn’t know? He spoke to Erica like they were old friends. He played with Little Noah like he’d done it a thousand times. He shook Noah’s hand like they were college buddies reuniting. It upped the mysterious factor, and I knew I’d have to start digging into his past—find out who he really was. Because no one was that affable. No one was that affectionate.

I tried to convince myself that it was an act he put on to charm his way further into my heart. Don’t ask me why I wanted to convince myself of this. Maybe so that it’d all make sense to me. But as we sat at the dinner table laughing and joking and sharing stories, I realized it couldn’t be an act. You see, a genuine nature is too transparent. It has nothing to hide. Only the sinister ones are sneaky. And nothing about Reece Powell was sneaky. He was genuine. Through and through.

7:56 A.M.

Okay, Bailey. You can do this. You’re relaxed. Focused on your goal. Just think of Reece. He’s already inside waiting for you. He wants to see you. He’s falling in love with you. He’s giving you a reason to let go of all this.

“I know,” I whispered.

Don’t be afraid.

I waited for OCD voice to barge in and list all the reasons why I neede
d to keep my feet firmly planted for two more minutes.

I waited.

And waited some more.

But she never showed. Reece did, though. He walked into the front lobby and leaned against Marjorie’s desk. He grinned and waved at me. I waved back. He looked up at the clock that hung inside the office over the door
, then held up his finger signaling one minute remaining.

But I didn’t want to wait one more minute to walk through the door. I didn’t want one more minute separating me from this man I was falling in love with. I didn’t want one
more minute dictating my life, so I threw open the door and marched in without a second thought.

His face lit up
. “No, you didn’t!”

I looked at my phone: 7:57 A.M.

“Oh, yes I did!” I cried and jumped into his arms. Without thinking. In the office. With other people around.

What. The. Fuck.

I gasped and pulled away quickly, turning my head to glimpse my colleagues’ reactions. Marjorie’s mouth hung open. Christopher raised his eyebrow at Reece. Patricia suppressed a grin.

Oh my God. Oh my God oh my God oh my God. What have I done?

You’ve just ruined everything, Bailey. That’s what you’ve done.

Shut
up
, I thought.

All you had to do was wait one lousy minute, and none of this would have happened.

Shut up.

Now some of your colleagues know. And those colleagues will tell other colleagues. And the other colleagues with tell Dan. And you’ll both be fired.
Good job, Bailey. Smart thinking.

I shook.

“It’s okay,” Reece said quietly.

I didn’t reply. I ran to my cubicle instead.
And
forgot to count my steps. What the hell was going on? Suddenly my life decided to spin completely out of control.

Reece followed me. I knew I should have gone to the ladies’ instead.

“Bailey?”

“Go away! Yo
u’re making it worse!” I hissed, sinking into my desk chair.

“Who cares what they think?”

“It’s against company policy,” I said. “We could lose our jobs!”

“Nonsense. Nobody’s losing his job.”

“Why is the default masculine?” I asked. It had nothing to do with anything, but that was how my brain operated at times. Better than letting my growing anxiety consume me until I was tapping pens all over my desk.

“Fine. Nobody’s losing
her
job,” Reece said.

My heart sank. “What are we
gonna do??”

“Nothing, Bailey. It’s fine.”

“I hugged you in front of people!”

“So what? Lots of people are affectionate with others. You’re a touchy-feely person. No big deal.”

“But I’m
not
a touchy-feely person at all, and those people out front know it!”

I breathed deeply. It was starting. Anxiety creeping, crawling
, climbing up my stomach into my throat. No, back down and through my arms instead. Going for the hands. Not the hands. Please, God, not the hands! I grabbed my purple pen.

“Bailey, don’t do it,” Reece said.

I tapped my pen.

“Oh my God,” he muttered.

“Shut up!” I cried, and tapped it again. I took another breath. Tap tap. Breathe. And a tap. Breathe. And two more taps—

Reece yanked the pen out of my hand.

“Hey! Give it back!” I demanded.

“You need to get a grip. You freaking out is making it worse,” Reece hissed. “Act cool.”

“Act cool?”

“Yes,” he snapped.

“Give me my pen,” I said slowly.

“No.”

We stared each other down. This was the exact opposite way Dr. Gordon taught my family members to deal with Dad and me. You’re not supposed to threaten your OCD family member or friend. You’re not supposed to make her feel badly for submitting to an urge. Of course, you’re not supposed to encourage it either. But Reece shouldn’t have taken my pen. That wasn’t helping. That was being a bully, and Dr. Gordon would have a thing or two to say about that.

I picked up my green pen. It wasn’t purple—the one I really wanted to tap—but at least it was next in line, so that eased my anxiety some. I tapped it.

“Bailey . . .” he said. Like I’m some fucking kid. Like, “Bailey, I’m warning you.”

I fucking tapped that fucking pen all over my fucking desk.

He snatched it.

“What the fuck!” I yelled.

And then he scooped up all my pens and walked off.

“Motherfucker,” I spat, and went after him.

He glanced behind his shoulder and saw me coming. He quickened his pace. I marched right along, ready to catch up to him and give him an earful about the proper way to cope with my urges. He rounded the corner and disappeared into the copy room. I burst in and let fly.

“You’re not supposed to take my pens!” I shouted.

He came at me, slamming me up against the door, and kissing me hard.

“
God, you’re so fucking hot,” he said into my mouth.

Well, this was confusing.

“You and your fucking pens and the tapping and . . . oh my God . . .” He sucked my neck, then bit me. I cried out. He silenced me with his mouth again, kissing me with an urgency that comes right before clothes are ripped off and very bad decisions are made.

“Give me my pens,” I said while his tongue assaulted my mouth. It was garbled, but he knew what I asked for.

“Beg me,” he replied, feeling me up like a horny teenager. He was so rough that I feared a button would pop off.

“You ass,” I replied.

He bruised my lips—biting, sucking—and I pushed against him with all my might. It was useless. Reece was strong. Too strong. I realized suddenly that he was in complete control. Control of my body as he pinned me against the door. Control of my mind as he withheld my pens. Control of my heart as he kissed me passionately, making me ache for all of him—his body between my legs, muscles holding me down, driving into me, driving me to delirium.

He pushed me all around that copy room—up against the file cabinet, on top of the copier, spreading my legs and touching me while he buried his face in my chest. And then he pulled me off the copier and bent me over.

“Don’t you dare,” I warned.

“Oh, I’m doing it!
Consequences be damned!” he roared and smacked my ass.

I burst out laughing. I couldn’t get “Consequences be damned!” out of my head. My laughter evidently encouraged him because he spanked me again. And a few additional times for good measure.

And then he was gone. Just like that. I stood up and turned around carefully, dazed as he stared at me, feet away, hand outstretched, offering me my pens. I didn’t know if it was a game, so I didn’t immediately reach for them. I touched my swollen lips instead, tentatively fingering the tender flesh, wondering how his kisses could hurt so much and feel so good at the same time.

“I love you,” he said. “This couldn’t be a dumber place and time to tell you, I know. But, God, Bailey. I love you.” He paused. “I love you.”

My mouth dropped open.

“Take your pens,” he said softly. “I’m sorry I stole them. I’m sure I did everything wrong. I’m sure that’s not the way you deal with someone’s OCD.”

“It’s not,” I said. “You were supposed to talk the pen out of my hand and me off the ledge.” I smiled at him. He smiled back. “You were supposed to tell me that I’m stronger than my urges.”

He nodded.

“And that I’m in control of my destiny,” I went on.

“Man, I
really fucked that up,” he replied, pushing a hand through his hair.

I giggled. “Yeah, you did.”

We were silent for a moment, shuffling our feet like we did that day in the hallway when he ran into me and accidentally knocked me down.

“Reece?”

He looked up. “Hmm?”

“I love you, too.”

His eyes went wide, and then he narrowed them suspiciously.

“You’re just saying that because you think you have to.”

“Not true,” I countered. “I do love you. I knew when I stood outside the office door looking at you. I knew when the urge to be next to you overrode my 7:58 A.M. ritual. That’s why I didn’t wait. I couldn’t see your face and not be in the same room as you.”

“Wow.”

“Too much?”

He shook his head. “No. It’s . . . it’s just that no one’s ever wanted me
.” He caught himself. “That much! I meant that no one’s ever wanted me that much.”

“Too much?” I asked again.

“It’s not too much at all. I love it,” he replied.

I relaxed. “I’m sorry for yelling at you.”

“I’m sorry for biting your neck,” he replied.

“Why?”

“Wasn’t it too much?” he asked.

I shook my head.

A smile crept along his face.

“
However
,” I continued, “we probably shouldn’t make out at the office anymore.”

“Good idea,” Reece said.

We checked each other over—I wiped lipstick off the corner of Reece’s mouth, and he helped me smooth my hair—and then we exited the copy room.

We carefully avoided each other for the remainder of the day. I fielded questions from Marjorie while Reece endured an intense interrogation from Christopher. We relayed our individual conversations that evening over dinner.

“Well, it’s official,” I said. “The entire office will know by Wednesday.”

“Chris won’t say anything,” Reece said.

“No, but Marjorie and Patricia will.” I scowled. “Patricia’s worse than Marjorie.”

“
Look, I think people will discuss it for about two seconds and then move on,” Reece replied. He dumped a large helping of pasta on my plate.

“Reece, I can’t eat all of this,” I said.

“You know I’ll finish what you don’t.”

We sat at my table—only my table so far—and I decided to bring it up.

“Reece?”

“Hmm?”

“We’ve been dating for weeks now,” I began, “and we’ve even exchanged the coveted ‘I love you.’”

“Uh huh.” He took a sip of wine.

“So why haven’t you invited me to your place?” I asked.

He paused. I waited.

“Well, I guess I didn’t think about it because there’s not much there,” he said. “Just a bed and a couch. Your place is so much more inviting.”

“That’s really the reason?”

“Truly. My place isn’t anything special. I mean, you can come over whenever you want, but I don’t think you’ll like it.”

I thought that was peculiar.

“Why wouldn’t I like it?”

He thought for a moment. “It’s lonely.”

I bit into my garlic bread and chewed thoughtfully. I could tell he felt the need to explain further.

“I’m just there by myself. I was
gonna move in with my friend, Camden, but then I decided that’s stupid—rooming together at thirty-two.”

I nodded. “When did you meet Camden?”

“Oh, he’s a childhood friend. He moved here about three years ago, convinced me to move down when he heard about an opening at our firm. He kind of knows Chris. By association, I guess.”

“Where did you guys grow up?”

“Baltimore,” Reece replied.

“So that accounts for the slight accent,” I said, sipping my wine.