“Oh. Um. That’s Bill from Human Resources and Angelica from Legal, and, oh, Jessica All-Knowing-All-Judging,” I turn my attention to the mostly shapeless concept who I had partly supervised during their internship last year; I’m a little surprised to see them here. “I didn’t realize they hired you on permanently at the end of last summer!”
Jessica’s shapeless presence crackles with electricity-like thrums. “Yeah, I’m on the Sales team now. I’ve been meaning to send you a thank you email for reworking my resume!”
“You don’t need to thank me, it’s all your hard work that impressed them.”
“They wouldn’t have known all the skills I picked up if my resume was still in shambles. I may be ageless, but I didn’t have a lot of tangible, job-related experience when I applied online last year,” Jessica crackles, explaining for the group's benefit. “You’re so good at picking out skills people didn’t even know they had.”
“Oh, it’s just adding in a bit of office jargon,” I shrug. It’s also a lot of bullshitting, but I think most people know that.
I try to focus on catching up with Jessica instead of the gargoyle looming over my shoulder, because if I look at him or breathe in more of his scent, I might combust in need of a follow-up for last night. And that really, really can't happen right now.
There isn’t a lot of time before the instructions are given out for our next bonding exercise—reaching out and grabbing hands with anyone in the circle, letting our arms form a knot we have to untangle without letting go of each other.
I think I’ve had nightmares like this before.
When one of my hands finds Vlad's without really trying, I grit my teeth together and try not to think about it. I keep my grip somewhat loose and impersonal, but the clamminess probably gives me away.
Jessica hovers to the side, being shapeless and also armless.
“Come on, Jessica, you can take my hand,” Bill waves his skeletal digits at the void.
“I really can't. Like, physically.”
“Oh, be a team player, Jess,” Angelica scoffs, her Can-I-Speak-to-a-Manager haircut swaying as she shakes her head disapprovingly.
A wave of defensiveness rises up in me, and I have to fight my knee-jerk reaction. Instead, I interject calmly, “Maybe Jess can direct us on how to untangle—”
“Oh, nonsense, we barely have enough for the game.”
For what feels like an eternity, Bill and Angelica keep trying to get Jessica to participate, insisting that she is missing out on vital bonding experience, even though we’re probably not all going to interact this much ever again. I think this exercise would have been smarter to do by department, learning how to solve corporate retreat-esque problems calmly with the people whose existence grinds away at your sense of self every day.
I realize that I'm standing closer to Vlad than anyone else. Bill and Angelica almost detach themselves to talk to Jessica.
Heat creeps up my skin, from my neck all down my back as I hold my breath and take in just how close we are.
His shoulder brushes mine, his wings are within grazing distance.
Now that I’m closer to him, I’m a bit warm under the collar. My thoughts stay on last night but take a different turn. What could have happened if I hadn’t run from the bar, or if I had been unhinged enough to open the door and invite him back in; what it would be like to be intimately wrapped up in his wings while he rips my clothes off.
All last night I tossed and turned between dreams of what could have happened if it had gone further, and anxious nightmares of him hating me, being disgusted by me in person. I can only imagine everything I shared with him, any sense of understanding of who I am as a person, dashed out and reduced to a cliche, a siren trying to seduce someone minutes after meeting.
“I’m sorry about, um, last night,” I mumble when it’s clear our coworkers aren’t really paying attention to the exercise, though one of my hands is clasped with Vlad's. I hope I don’t have to clarify to him whether I’m apologizing for running out on him at the bar, or the drunken kiss, or masturbating in front of him.
Maybe all of it.
“No, don’t be,” he murmurs back, and for a moment I’m not sure I heard him right.
“...Are you sure?” I whisper back, and then cringe at myself. Why would I not just be ok with the fact that he doesn't hate me for last night?
Probably because it means my libido will take that as free reign to daydream about kissing him again. I don't want him to be upset, but the possibility that he enjoyed it as much as I did seems dangerous.
There's something in the way his gaze lingers on the other side of the room by the door, the slow, fanged smile that graces his jaw that makes me realize I'm staring much too intently at him. I can't stop. His eyes fall on me, and it sends a wave of goosebumps up my skin.
“Yes, I'm sure,” he nods, his brow lifting with just a hint of humor. “Let me know if you need me again.”
Holy fuck, try to be a little less obviously horny for Mr. Broad Shoulders Department. Just because he's hot and surprisingly chill with my whole situation doesn't mean he's a good idea.
When the level of heat creeping up into my cheeks feels like it's going to combust, I promptly return to watching my shoes.
