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I’m not panicking. Just wondering if YOU are real.

Why wouldn’t I be?

Because I’ve never met anyone like you.

I type and delete three different texts, all something like Don’t make me out to be the hero, but then her next message arrives.

Even though you don’t trust me enough yet to tell me your secrets, I know whatever it is has made you think you need to pretend to be this guy. This asshole guy, but that’s not you. If it were, you never would’ve hired me. You never would’ve taken time to get to know Noah or my mom or me.

So anyway

I woke up this morning and researched power dynamics in romantic relationships.

Not that I’m calling what we have a relationship!

I’m only trying to be prepared.

I wipe away my growing smile as another text hits.

Most of the articles were from a corporate viewpoint and violation of company policy. But seeing as you don’t have one of those, and I don’t have to worry about conflicts of interest or favoritism, there is nothing to consider except for consent.

You promised me when you first started that you would leave if you wanted to. That you would tell me no.

I know. I was thinking more on your end. You have to stop feeling bad for me. Stop giving me things just because. I’m your assistant, and you’re paying me to go grocery shopping and to pick up your dry cleaning and to sort your Skittles. You don’t need to give me anything beyond what you already do, monetary bonuses or sexual ones.

You really think I feel bad for you?

Yes.

I don’t feel bad for you. I’m in love with you is what I don’t text, and instead, I hunch over, thumbs stumbling over the letters so much that I keep needing to delete my mistakes.

I want to help you because I like you. I like your kid, your mom. I want to give you everything you need or want because I like you.

And I want you.

I want you so bad it should be an ethical violation.

But you don’t owe me anything. If you quit today and I never saw you again, I’d be satisfied that my last memories of you were in my bed and that I know you have a working car and enough money in the bank to get you started on whatever career path you want. You can take care of your mom without having to worry about how you’re going to pay for any of it. I just want you to be happy.

It takes so long for her to reply that I feel a little nauseated and push my plate of bacon and eggs away. I’ve never put any of my feelings into the written word like that. Not for anyone. Not my parents or Kira or even baseball.

But with Millie, I have to do it. It’s the same feeling as when I’m on the mound, and the count is 3-2, bases loaded with two outs. I have to throw the ball. There is no other way to get through it. I either finish the game with a loss, or I win it all.

I have to see it through to the end, good or bad.

But in this case, it’s so fucking good.

You make me happy.

You’re a generous boss but an even better man. Even if you didn’t tell me to close my eyes and just enjoy it while you went down on me for the second time, I’d still really like you. I like that you have boundaries and keep them but that you have allowed me into your space. You make me feel really special.

Because you are special.

And again, I delete the text that says Please don’t leave and instead send a different one.

Now about that photo

“Que lo que?” A chair suddenly pulls out next to me, and Yadi plops down into it, grinning. “You look happy this morning.”