5
I’m exhausted when I get home, but also exhilarated. Moments of the day keep flashing across my mind as I feed Ethan his dinner and give him his bath. Mostly Weston’s smile, and the way he looks at me. I know I’m probably imagining it all. I’m sure the twinkle in his eye is always there, certainly not reserved for me.
I’ve seen the photo of his ex-wife, and she and I are worlds apart. She’s a Ferrari and I’m a Prius. At least I’m not as high maintenance as her. She strikes me as the type who is. It was just a photo, but it conveyed so much. She was all class, exceptionally beautiful, the kind of woman who has her shit together.
Me, on the other hand, am lucky if my socks are matching. I eat cereal for lunch sometimes. I don’t wash my hair for days, and forget about a trimmed bikini line. No need for that anyway. I bet Mrs. Ex is perfectly kept in that department.
“God, now I’m picturing them having sex,” I blurt out loud.
“Sex!” Ethan parrots.
“Oh shit!”
“Shit!” he cheers, all smiles.
I slap my mouth shut.
He loves splashing his hands in the bath. For some reason I don’t quite understand, it’s very very funny when Mommy gets wet.
* * *
It’s Day Three,and I’m wearing a cute red dress and matching lace-up heeled loafers. A lot of thought went into this outfit. I debated between the red shoes and the black platform pumps. The pumps were deemed too sexy, too conspicuous. I want to look sexy, but I don’t want it to be obvious that I’m trying to be alluring. It’s a tricky line, one that must be walked carefully.
What the heck is wrong with me?
The man is my boss.
The dress is demure, but it isred. I read somewhere that when a woman wears red, she wants to get laid.
It was probably just a stupid meme.
I wonder if Mr. Hanson has seen that meme.
I don’t want anything to happen between us, and I know it won’t. I suppose I just want him to find me attractive. It’s been a while since I’ve had the attention of a man, and although I hadn’t realized it until now, I do miss it. I miss feeling like a woman, being a sexual being.
I miss sex.
I’m busy brainstorming, scribbling down ideas. I’m on a high. I’m jittery, practically bouncing off the walls. I tend to get like this when I’m excited, like I’ve just had three cups of espresso. Mr. Boss Man seems to find it funny as we repeatedly pass each other and skirt around each other. Lucky for me, he walks right by my desk every time he leaves his office, and I get to check out his spectacular behind.
He stops by my desk with a stack of papers. “Would you mind typing up these notes,” he asks. “My writing’s relatively legible. You shouldn’t have a problem.”
Despite the fact that I’m smack in the middle of concept designs, I smile and obediently accept the stack of papers.
“Thank you,” he says. “I love how much energy you have.”
I blush like the compliment-starved little tramp that I am.
“You’re like a…” He pauses for a second. “A grasshopper, hopping and bouncing around,” he teases. “It’s quite endearing.”
I consider telling him all about my mild ADHD, but think better of it. He doesn’t need to know about my psychological issues. He might think I can’t get the job done. “That’s me. Your little grasshopper. At your service.”
He smiles. “Well, keep hopping, Grasshopper.”
And then he’s gone, just like that. He swoops in, kicks my heart into overdrive, and then leaves me breathless. And he keeps doing it.
I grin like an idiot, and I’m glad there’s no one else here to see the silly expression on my face.
* * *
