Page 14 of Good Intentions, Vol. 1

“Because I know the feeling?”

“What?”

“And I know the temptation,” she goes on like I haven’t said a word.

The temptation? In all our years I never thought I would hear Erin say a word temptation in this context. The bells start to ring in my head. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing that’s important right now.”

“Erin, tell me,” there’s definitely something going on, and my best friend is trying to keep something from me.

“Graham’s back,” she whispers.

“Oh, hell no. You’re not going down that road again. The last time it almost killed you. And besides, you have Max now.”

“Well, Max and I haven’t been in a good spot for a long time. And that question is a bitch.”

“What question?”

“The one you’re gonna be very familiar to from now on.”

“What question?” I repeat. I’m getting lost in all her cryptic answers.

She’s saying a bunch of stuff not making any sense. God damnit, but I need to go home and be there for my friend.

“What if?”

*~*~*

Typing the last of the report in, I send it to print. It was a long day. I tried calling Erin back, but she wouldn’t answer her phone, sending just a quick message that she’s in a meeting and we’ll talk later. I asked her if I needed to come home, but that one went ignored. It really was the only answer I needed. I need to get my ass home and get her butt on the right track. And that is to marry Max and leave Graham in her past where he belongs. But the more I thought about it, the more the guilt intruded. How can I go home and face all those people when just last night I proved them right? And how can I stand in front of Erin and lecture her if I don’t straighten things up here? I need to talk to Nick. No, not Nick. Mr. Thompson. And he needs to know it can’t ever happen again. The only problem is, how can I do that if I’m avoiding him.

I successfully managed to avoid Nick most of the day. The only time I saw him, was in the break room when he was getting his mid-morning coffee. At the first glimpse of him, I started shaking uncontrollably, I didn’t know what the hell was going on with me. It must have been the unknown etiquette of our new behavior. Whatever I expected him to do, didn’t happen.

He just calmly said, “Good morning, Heather,” not even hinting that anything happened last night. That we had sex in his office. That I had his dick in my mouth.

God!

And before he left, he gave a warning, “Don’t forget about the report. I expect it on my desk, today.”

And that was it. All day I tried to stop thinking about him, about last night. But the images kept coming, dancing in my mind, horrifying me. Turning me on. It came to the point where I couldn’t stop fidgeting in my chair. By afternoon, I had to go to the bathroom to check there wasn’t a wet spot on my skirt, and to get a fresh pair of panties on, I was that wet. Walking down the hallway, I try to get control of the butterflies in my belly, but to no avail. They’re all over the place, not just in my stomach, making my hands shake, and my legs to threaten they’ll give up at any second. The whole office may be dark, and there may not be anyone in sight, but I just know he’s in there, sitting at his desk.

Waiting.

I don’t know how I know. I just do. I know something will happen tonight. Something along the lines of last night. And even if I fight it with everything that’s in me, I know I won’t be strong enough. By the time I get to his door, I’m ready to fall on my knees. Not only from want and lust coursing through me, curling in my belly, but my knees are actually trying to get to the floor. Opening the door, I stop at the threshold.

“Yeah, buddy,” the gentleness in his voice is the complete opposite from yesterday. But it has even more powerful punch. He looks up and waves me in.

“See you in two days. Have fun and be good. Love you, buddy,” he ends the conversation and looks at me.

He doesn’t say a word. Just keeps running his eyes up and down the length of me. With every sweep of his eyes, I feel the phantom of his hands running on my skin.

Touching me.

Caressing me.

Arousing me.

Oh God, I can’t live through this. Getting my shit together and trying to appear as he’s not affecting me in any way, I walk over to the desk. “Good evening,” I purposely don’t call him Sir or even Nick. Either one name starred in my dreams and I just don’t have enough strength to hold him at bay. “I have your report here,” putting it down in front of him, it takes all I have not to look at his face. I need to get out of here. And I need to do it fast. “Have a nice evening.” I all but run from the room. Or at least try.