I laugh. I straighten my collar, brush invisible wrinkles off my shoulders, fingers lingering on my chest for just a second too long.
"Your glasses are fogged up," he laughs.
"Guess I was working hard." I finish the last button on his shirt. Let my fingers skim down his abs through the fabric. "You trying to start again?"
"Just admiring the view."
We both laugh quietly. I check the mirror. Run a hand through my hair. He stands behind me, watching me through the reflection. My throat still aches. His lips are a little too red.
"You ready?" he asks, already reaching for the door. I exhale. Grab the actual papers. "Yeah."
He glances at me one last time, slow drag of his eyes over my body. Then he opens the door. And we’re back in character.
Buttoned-up. Straight-faced. Like nothing happened.
…
My phone buzzes under the table. I glance around, everyone's focused on the numbers on the screen. I slide the phone into my lap and check the notification.
LORENZO:
-So?
-You gonna tell Daisy I'm reliable?
-Or should I just let her know I held your boyfriend's cum-stained documents while you got throatfucked behind a door?
I freeze. I can feel the color drain from my face, then rush right back in, burning hot across my cheeks.
Oh my fucking God. I type back quickly.
ME:
-Can you be normal for ONE minute?
LORENZO:
-You're welcome, btw.
-You should totally endorse me for "oral support logistics" on LinkedIn.
I press the bridge of my nose. I want to disappear. Literally melt into the floor and vanish. The guy across from me is talking about contract clauses and all I can hear is Lorenzo in my brain going "cum-stained documents."
Another buzz.
LORENZO:
-Soooo was it good?
-Like "moaning into the paperwork" good?
-Or "soul leaving your body through your dick" good?
Jesus fucking Christ.
ME:
-Lorenzo. Shut the fuck up.
