I envy her romantic imagination. But I thought upthatparticular fantasy two days ago, and the daydream was so steamy I had to squeeze my thighs together until I got home. I ran out of batteries that night.
She giggles. “Look, seriously. It’s him.”
I sigh loudly and continue staring at the blank screen on my computer.
Julia sulks and gripes, and keeps pointing toward the open-windowed conference room.
I give in, indulging in her teasing. The office is crowded, but I notice right away who she’s pointing to because he’s extremely good-looking, just not as good-looking as Mr. Perfect. It’s also the intern. He waves at Julia eagerly and once again I’m still searching, destined to forever wonder the first name of my Mr. Perfect and if he wears boxers or briefs. The intern makes his way over to us.
For the last four weeks since the Kiss Cam incident, finding out who Mr. Perfect is has become a tiny bit more than a habit, sort of more like something bordering on obsessive behavior. Everywhere we go, Julia has taken it upon herself to be the head investigator in search for the love of my life.
Julia calls him the Kiss Thief. Although, honestly, he stole no kisses, I willingly gave him my lips. I would have given him a whole hell of a lot more if he stayed in that seat and asked for my number. I would have offered my address and all the first and middle names of our future children. Because that shit was completely ironed out in my head as soon as his tongue tangled with mine.
I even decorated the nurseries in the fantasy.
Julia seems to be the one more inclined to think up all the different ways of actually finding him. I, on the other hand, silently pray for some sort of divine intervention or whatever that tangible thing was that brought us to sit next to each other the day of the game. The serendipity that entwined our souls together. God, I sound like a cheeseball. But, here’s the thing,I felt it. It was real and life-altering, and I’m terrified if I don’t see Mr. Perfect again, I will never feel the way I did that day with anyone else for the rest of my life.
On the outside, I brush it off like it isn’t a big thing, but inside, I’m jonesing like an addict for another one of his kisses.
I hadn’t told Julia, but I spent the day after the game in Macy’s on Fifth Avenue sniffing all the men’s cologne trying to find what scent he was wearing the day of the game. Of course it was calledSexual. The woman behind the counter whooped and high-fived me when we found it. I now own a two-hundred-dollar bottle of freakingperfumefor a man I probably will never see again.
I sniff at it every night before bed.
“God, I wish I was at the game with you so I could have seen it. We could have run after him and tag teamed his ass.”
“Me too,” I lie. It’s not that I wouldn’t have wanted Julia there to helptag team his ass,it’s just that if she were there, I’m not sure Mr. Perfect would have given methatlook, or rather noticed me at all. Julia herself is Ms. Perfect to many a man.
Honestly. I’ve heard them say it.
We need a subject change, pronto. I don’t want any of my many insecurities creeping up on this conversation. The last article I wrote discussed the relationship between worrying over your insecurities and the premature aging of your skin.
“But,” I manage a sexy whisper without creasing my lips, “then you would have missed going out withyour new boyfriend.” She’s been spending a ton of time with the new guy at work from the art department.I hear he is quite gorgeous.
“He’s not my boyfriend.Yet. We’ve just gone out a few times.” Her face takes on a dreamy quality. “But I really, really like him.” The very first day he came to work here, she pinned him against the wall of his workstation and kissed him,tongue and all. He didn’t have a chance. And really, who would say no to Julia.
I wish I were more like her. I had the spontaneous kiss but then, when I couldn’t find him, I was too embarrassed, and I just left. Julia would have taken over the commentator’s booth in the press box and paged the Kiss Thief to meet her at the front gate for a slow-motion replay of said kissing crime.
The intern finally makes it to our cubicles. I sip at my late afternoon energy-boosting coffee as he says hello to Julia and ignores me. He doesn’t mean to, though. Julia just has a way of vacuuming all the attention out of a person. It’s not a bad thing, don’t get the wrong impression, Julia has a tendency to charm people stupid. She’s just one of those girls that make other people feel drawn to them. Besides being stunningly beautiful, she holds this sort of effortless social grace not many people have. She knows what to say and do in every social situation, no matter how awkward. She can start up a conversation with anyone, she’s always full of energy and exuberance and it’s all about the person she’s standing with.
Like right now, instead of just asking, “How are you?” to the intern, she asks specifically about an operation his grandmother had last week. “I was thinking about her this morning when I saw your post about flowers.” Her words are sincere.
She’s a Facebook friend with the intern and I don’t even know his first name. I want to say it’s Marlin or Milo, but I have no clue so I dart my eyes between the two of them talking and wonder if I have any wine left in my apartment for later.
I’ll stop on the way home just in case. Oh, wait. We’re all supposed to be going out after work; maybe I won’t have to stop after all.
Julia grabs onto the blond-haired intern’s arm, laughing about something. Mid-chuckle, Intern guy’s elbow collides with my coffee drinking arm, splattering all that remains in my cup across my white blouse and lap.
I immediately look like I was hit by a brown tsunami.
“Oh no, Richie, go get napkins,” Julia says hastily, prying the crunched-up disposable coffee cup from my fingers.
That’s the intern’s name. Richie. I got it now. Richie, the elbowing coffee klutz. I’ll be sure to remember.
“Oh, shit. I’m really sorry,” Richie says, jumping into action. I watch him bolt for the kitchen area and I try not to laugh. This happens to me at least once a week. But this time, when I stand, the warm liquid that has pooled in my crotch has reached the cotton of my panties and is now my latest sexual partner.
Richie rushes back to me with an entire roll of paper towels that unbeknownst to him has unraveled and trails out in a mess behind him.
The entire office stops and laughs. The furor is such that you would think me naked streaking through the workstations. Dex sits across from us with his feet up on his desk, legs crossed at the ankles, laughing the loudest. I curl my lip at him. He rolls his eyes in response. I flip him the finger.
