Like a reasonable professional girl I promised Mom I would be, I steered clear of office romance every time I could.
Until I couldn't.
That spring most everybody not in the core team took Easter off, I cornered him after the second capacity assessment meeting, and I was almost incredulous that he was down to hang out some time. That’s when I realized I potentially had a crush on him. To hell with Mom’s cautionary tales.
Days later we walked the South End streets and ate at a food truck. He showed me his favorite art supplies store. Other times we met after that, he once made me taste his favorite beer (with a straw, eww!) and lectured on and on about Art Nouveau and the techniques of Alphons Mucha.
At his dilapidated, deserted, alumni association club many Wednesdays later, we had cognac and espresso after lunch, and I sat on his knees and reciprocated lewdly when he kissed me gingerly on the cheek. I hated he was going so slow. I made it obvious I’d thrown office romance caution to the wind, and I was almost pissed he made it feel like he wouldn’t.
When we went to his studio apartment so I could look at his watercolors (I love watercolors!), he let me sit him in my lap and kiss his backbone and shoulders. He touched me in ways I craved and expected and asked. When I dozed off by his side, he woke me up just long enough to kiss good night.
It was still mid-afternoon, though.
