She feels like an extension of me. Kind of is. We’re around each other every single day almost for most of the day. Naturally… things…
…
… My brain can’t right now.
"Tell you what, I have a great idea," she pipes up suddenly. "Follow me."
I blink.
"No excuses. Follow me. You wanna stay awake, right? And not get a heart attack by ingesting another bathtub of coffee?" she asks.
I’m actually curious now. "What do you have in mind?"
She smiles at me mischievously.
"A little bit of physical activity."
Immediately, the deep part of my mind, the tired, unfiltered part, goes somewhere dirty. God, I hope that's not what she means, because there's no way in hell that's happening between us. When people sayphysical activitywith the look she just gave, it usually means sex.
And yeah… I miss having sex. If I have sex with my wife, I barely remember it lately because I'm always in a constant state of over exhaustion. Most of what I give is toward my work, and eventhenI'm running on empty.
Sarah is an attractive woman, and anybody who wanted to have sex with her would probably have a good time.
But not me. I’m married.
Something I keep reminding myself of over and over again in this moment. Maybe it's because I'm tired and my lizard brain has taken over. Maybe it's because I’m staring at Sarah’s beautiful body in her red blouse and dress pants and red high heels. She always dresses so well. Always put-together. Always… intentional.
Sarah makes eye contact with me, and that’s when I realize I’ve been staring.
"I'm sorry. What?" I ask, snapping out of whatever daze I’d fallen into.
"Are you checking me out?" Sarah questions, one eyebrow lifted.
"No. Why would I—no. I'm not—" I start to stutter, heat creeping up my neck.
"It's okay if you are. I know I'm pretty," she replies lightly.
"Sarah, don't," I laugh, trying to brush it off.
Yeah, I was checking her out… but notlike that.It was more absentminded than anything. And honestly, is it really wrong if a married man checks out another woman? Gabby knows I like pretty women, but it doesn’t mean anything past that. It doesn’t go anywhere past that.
"Why do you think I dress like this?" Sarah teases. "Ilikeguys looking at me."
"Sarah," I warn, flustered.
"I'm just joking with you. But truthfully, if you wanna look at me, I don't mind. Your wife is very beautiful. I've seen her picture. And I'm sure men stare at her too andthey'remarried."
"Oh my god. Pleasestop," I groan, feeling my face get red.
She always does this; the constant flirting. She does it with other people too, but with me she seems to take a sort of sick satisfaction in making me uncomfortable. Normally I’d shut it down harder, but I’m too tired right now. So I let out a tired laugh, recognizing that it’s just Sarah’s way of doing things. At least… Ithinkit is. She does it with everybody. Even some of the girls.
She pushes open the back door that leads to the walkway outside, and before I know it, we’re heading toward the smallpark near the building; the one employees sometimes use to decompress.
"This is where I used to run," Sarah explains as we move through the trees. "But there’s a little section people don’t really know about. There’s a hidden fountain. A lot of people go to it."
We reach a bush-covered alcove, and she pulls the branches apart. Sure enough, there’s a tiny circular pool in the middle, water trickling down from a stone spout. Little fish dart around near the bottom, flashes of gold and silver.
Before I can process it, Sarah starts peeling off her blouse.
