I know that ache. That loneliness. To realize you don’t even really have friends. I want to reach across the table to hold his hand, to tell him I’d be more than happy to have him as a real friend.
I start to make that movement but end up reaching for my napkin instead. I don’t know that I’m capable of being one. Not under my layers upon layers of hiding.
“I’m sorry about the kiss,” I blurt out. “It was unprofessional of me—”
“Gwen,” he cuts me off, and I fall silent, my outpouring of worry stemmed by the look in his eyes. “You don’t have to be sorry.”
My teeth weld together against the onslaught of questions that creates. I want to ask him, “Why not? Doesn’t it matter that a kiss can never just be seen as a kiss from a siren?”
But with those questions are more dangerous ones, growing out of an unearned, wildly misplaced hope and despair. I might as well demand to know, “Do you like me? Do you think I’m pretty? Or do you think I’m annoying and you’re trying to politely brush me off? But just maybe, and hear me out, it sounds like you might kind of like me and my libido is all too ready to jump on that.”
I need to stash my desperate need to be liked away. Holding Vlad’s amber eyes, I nod, and bite down on my tongue to hold all those at bay.
He’s right. It’s nice to have someone here. And I’ve also really missed being able to just have a friend. I’m going to try to be that for him, and maybe it’ll feel real.
Another glass of wine later, somehow we’ve gotten to a point where I’m rambling about a podcast I like and its anti-capitalist approaches to Monster Resources. “So, like, if you listen to a few episodes you might think the three hosts are, like, brothers, especially because of the name of the podcast. But if you've ever been to one of their live shows, you'd realize they're actually three heads of one hydra. Anyway, Justin's my favorite host-head because he has such great commentary on, like, consumerism being marketed to the public as how we should build our identities. You should really just give it a listen. You'll love it, I promise.”
It doesn't really matter that I have yet to get anyone to listen to it with this tipsy pitch I've definitely given more than once before, I am just going to keep giving it.
“Anyway, one of their recent episodes gave me this idea to research unlimited PTO policies, and now I'm at the point where I kind of want to get Soven to implement one? Like, studies show people often end up taking about the same amount they normally do, though some people will take even less. That’s something I need to read more on to see how to actually get people to feel like they’re socially allowed to take time off. But the ability to choose improves morale regardless and ends up really useful for all of life’s little accidents,” I ramble, and I’m a little amazed I haven’t lost him in this yet.
Vlad considers me thoughtfully, thumbing his chin like he personally carved that little divot in it. “And if they abuse it?”
“We can’t continue to operate by expecting the worst of people. Assuming it’ll be taken advantage of by a few people just makes us treat everyone worse. Taking care of everyone, including the slackers, is better for everyone overall,” I say, though I probably fall into the latter category. Pantsless conference calls and playing Gourd Squash 2 during work and all.
“I can’t wait for your presentation.”
The enthusiasm I had for talking about my favorite podcasts and ideas dies out a little, and I try to keep myself from visibly wilting.
I don’t have a presentation. Not that I couldn’t whip one up and give a twenty-minute regurgitation of my favorite TEDtalks (Treachery, Excruciation, and Destruction), but there’s no real place for it at this retreat. It’s essentially the High-Fiving-About-Yearly-Statistics meeting, not the How-Can-We-Actually-Improve-Things meeting.
I also think that Vlad may also be overestimating my personal importance at the company.
The moment stretches, my silence aided by my repeated gnashing of ice cubes from my drink, whatever my dentist said about the health of my enamels be damned.
I try to shrug off the dip in my enthusiasm with a show of confidence I don’t feel. “You should just give me my gold sticker now.”
“You think you deserve a gold sticker,” he says, clearly amused at my boldness.
“Yeah, I did my homework and everything.”
He leans back and the motion makes me want to crawl across the table to straddle his lap. “I think I need to see a little more from you.”
I bite my teeth on “I can show you my tits.” That’s not what he’s asking for.
All the feelings I still have yet to neatly sort out in therapy roil in my stomach, sending heat up my spine. We just got back to a place of friendship, and now my body is ready to drive me into ruining it again. I have to remind myself that we haven’t broken any rules yet, and we shouldn’t.
After today’s corporate shenanigans, his attention on me hits a nerve that feels like it's directly connected to my clit. I need it like I need my vibrator right now. What’s worse, I think he knows the idea of the sticker strokes an itch in my psyche that hasn’t been scratched in a long, long time.
“My impromptu song and dance doesn’t do it for you?”
I recognize the look he has, it’s the same as right before I kissed him in the bar. His amber eyes flicker in the candlelight, and darken as he takes me in.
The breath stalls in my chest as my heartbeat stutters. His eyes linger over me, in a way I'm not prepared for. “I’d like you to show me how far the need for a little, shiny sticker goes.”
11
I’ve decided that I’m going to seduce Vlad.
