My desk is enormous, taking up about half of my office. To be fair, the office isn’t huge. But it’s also full of boxes. There’s a walkway between the boxes and my desk and the doorway—Colton, the fire chief, insists on that, of course—but there’s not a lot of extra space.
But Ineedthose boxes in here. They are full of T-shirts, plastic tumblers, totes, caps, glossyWelcome to Rebelpamphlets, pens, and, in a couple, frisbees.
I never know when I might need one of those things.
“You don’t have storage here at City Hall?” he finally asks.
“Of course we do,” I say. “We just don’t haveenoughstorage.”
“Ah.”
“And…I need this stuff closer.”
“Uh huh.”
I know it looks like a mess. There are notebooks, books, folders, and catalogs stacked everywhere on my desk. And the lamp is…big. And…ornate.
It’s a smaller version of the Julia the otter statue from Main Street. The lamp shade is a colorful patchwork of purple, yellow, and green, and Julia is about a foot and a half tall, wearing Mardi Gras beads and a mask, and holding a plate of beignets. It also plays "Mardi Gras Mambo" by The Hawketts when I press a button on the back.
George Barbin, who fixes lamps, clocks, and small appliances, made it for me just because and I fucking love it.
There are also sticky notes everywhere, a million pens, three or four coffee mugs, and several binders.
In other words, there’s no room for me to sitonmy desk.
I can’t even sitatmy desk unless I remove those two binders from my chair.
I definitely can’tlieon my desk. Which is what I’m hoping Alex was thinking.
“You’re going to tell me that this onlylookschaotic, but everything is actually exactly where it should be, right?” he asks.
I laugh. “Right.”
He looks down at me. “Well, I suppose it’s a good thing I’m pretty talented at thinking on my feet and pivoting.”
He swings me to the ground at the front of my desk, then turns me so I’m facing it.
“Hands on the desk. Somewhere,” he says.
I smile as I push a few things to the side and flatten my palms on the surface of my desk.
Alex moves in behind me, somehow fitting between me and the box of, I think, plastic water bottles.
He puts his hot mouth against the side of my neck. “There’s a lot going on in this office, but I want you to think of me when you walk in here tomorrow.”
I have no doubt I’ll think about him far more often than just tomorrow.
I already do.
“Just tomorrow?” I tease.
“You want more than that, Wildflower? I can makequitethe impression.”
I swallow before answering a simple, “Yes.”
He makes a low groaning sound and sucks lightly on my neck. “Have I mentioned that I really fucking like you?”
I smile even as I think my whole body is melting. “Yeah, you have. But I like hearing it.”
