I make it out the front door as she throws her car in reverse. I move to her open driver’s side window and put both hands on top of the car’s roof as if I can physically prevent her from leaving. I bend down and lean on her open window. Tears shimmer in her eyes. She cries when she’s angry. Not my favorite look on her, by far.
“You’re an ass!” she shouts. “How could you let me say all that?”
“You were on a roll,” I explain, backing up an inch when she taps the gas and almost runs over my foot. I move to the window again and shout, “It was on mute!”
She blinks at the steering wheel, then at me. “What?”
“The meeting. It was on mute. No one heard anything you said. By the time I turned back to tell them I had to go, they couldn’t hear me because I was still muted. I was going to tell you good morning and ask you to give me a few minutes, but you started talking before I could.”
She blinks back the mist of tears beginning to form. Embarrassment takes over and her cheeks go ruddy. Then her eyebrows slam down. Her expression shifts back to anger so fast, I step away from the car just in case. “And you let me think they heard everything? You are an ass!”
I let out a light chuckle—carefully, as she’s not yet put the car in park. “Like I said, you didn’t give me a chance to interrupt. They didn’t hear anything. I, on the other hand, heard every word of what you said. By the way, I have a few follow-up questions.”
She licks her lips, and I feel a twitch in my pants again as I remember how she tasted Saturday night. How she kissed me back. She just propositioned me in my office. I’m not sure I can successfully go back to spreadsheets and email after her offer. I’m not sure any straight man could.
“Can we talk about it?” I approach her open window while she studies me warily.
“I don’t know…”
“I’ll make you coffee.”
“I have coffee.”
“I’ll make you better coffee.”
She sighs. I can tell a yes is forthcoming. She shakes her head and gives it to me. “Fine.”
“Fine” isn’t a “yes,” but it’s the best I can hope for. No way am I letting her leave my house before we have exhausted the topic at hand. Which, unless I hallucinated the last five minutes, was Cris asking me to give her an orgasm—possibly more than one—before she bequeaths her virginity to some other dude.
And that, my friends, requires a lengthy discussion. With as many details as I can wring out of her.
* * *
Cris
He’s taking this well.
Not that I tried to guess how he’d react. I decided on a fresh tactic while standing outside his office, which gave me about .02 seconds to react to the news myself.
Did I really proposition my best friend and boss?
“One oat milk cappuccino,” he announces, sliding a foamed-to-perfection mug over to me.
“It’s hard to believe you don’t cook. You can be so fancy when it comes to drinks.” We’re not exactly in a comfort zone, but this feels normal. Sitting at Benji’s bar in the kitchen and joking about his rad drink-making skills isn’t new territory. Unlike the other territory we’re tiptoeing around like un-sprung bear traps.
“You said a lot of things while I was on that call.” He sits, resting his expensive shoes on the stool’s rungs. “I was trying to tune out Josie and pay attention to you, then you said something that grabbed every last ounce of my attention.”
I gulp. I know what that “something” was.
“You’re a—a virgin?” His entire face screws into an expression I’ve never seen on him. It’s one part confusion, two parts disbelief, and one part excitement. I’m not sure what to do about the excited part.
“It’s not a big deal. Or it wasn’t. Until recently.” Quite recently, I think as I sip my cappuccino. Perfection. Of course. Like any orgasms Benji would gift me. If he accepts my offer I’ll be doomed to wander the earth alone, scarred forever after having the perfect guy’s hands on my body and never again finding his equal.
Or maybe I’m being dramatic.
“Where I come from, being a virgin is a big deal,” he says.
“Virginity is a big deal in Idaho?”