“You know what I mean. Where’s your costume?”
“I don’t wear costumes.”
“What? Lex, you have to wear one. Everyone’s on theme down there,” I complain.
“Being the boss means I don’t actuallyhaveto do anything. And I said I wasn’t into costumes, not that I wasn’t on theme.”
Oh, does he have Donkey Kong boxer briefs on right now? My eyes drop to his crotch, and an amused smile stretches his lips.
“Alright, let’s get downstairs then,” he suggests, turning off his computer and getting up. “How’s the party?” he asks as we walk to the stairs.
“So cool! It’s like the ’80s down there, so I love it.”
“I thought you might.”
“Did you choose the theme?”
“I know you really like the era, so—” I stop in my tracks, stunned by his attention, and it takes him a couple of seconds to notice. “Are you alright?”
Oh, I’m more than alright. I’m amazing. “God, I could kiss you,” I blurt out.
His reaction tells me I’m not the only onefeeling sex deprived. Especially since I’m wearing a mustache right now, and he still wants to kiss me. I guess Kate was right and I’m sexy-creepy.
“Soon,” he mutters, for himself as much as for me.
We don’t enter the party floor together, just to be safe, and don’t share anything more than stolen glances once all my coworkers surround us. The music is very much to my taste, and although I’m not the best dancer, I spend a good part of the evening doing just that.
Probably thanks to Lex and Kevin, the bass is cranked to the maximum, and light installations allow people to see and feel the music. In that sense, the numerous deaf and hard of hearing guests also have fun and rock the dancefloor. Tamika is an incredible dancer, and we goof around a lot. I almost manage to forget that I can’t do all that with the one person I want to, whose eyes are often on me as we exchange knowing smiles. He spends most of the party in a corner, observing the fun from afar, his arms crossed over his broad chest.
Eventually, the people, the music, and the lights become overwhelming, even though I didn’t drink much.
In need of a quiet moment, I head to the Troll’s Lair. The glass door has been covered by a graffiti panel, so it’s dark in here. And the music is still fairly loud, but it’s already much better. “I think the plumbing issue is upstairs,” a familiar voice playfully notes.
Oliver is here, too, leaning on his desk in the dark. “Needed some quiet time?” I ask before I walk toward him. The upper part of his Birdo costume is tied around his hips, exposing his white tee.
“I had a phone call to take.”
“Nothing too serious, I hope?”
“Just my sister.”
I lean on the desk next to him, and we stay silent for a moment, the muffled sound of the music and the people filling the air.
“You looked like you were having fun out there,” he says, pointing at the door.
“Yes, a lot. I haven’t danced this much since college.”
“I could tell you didn’t have much practice,” he teases. Amused as much as I am offended, I turn to him with my mouth open in a silent protest. “You dance like they do inThe Sims.”
“The first one or the last one?” I ask with squinted eyes, giving him one last chance to keep our friendship intact.
“Definitely the first one.”
I softly punch his arm with a chuckle. “Take that back.”
“Little lady, you should know only the truth hurts,” he insists, massaging the spot I just hit.
“Seriously, Oli! Say I don’t dance likea Sim, or I’ll never be able to dance again.”
