Page 26 of Baker

“Don’t bring him here,” she warned.

“Never crossed my mind.”

She huffed out a phony sigh. “Where?”

“Where what?”

“Where’d you guys do it?”

“In the pink,” I said with a smile of reassurance. “I won’t let a guy run it in my butt unless we’ve been doing it for a while.”

“Oh. My. God.” Her mouth fell open. “That wasn’t what I…never mind.”

“It’s true. If you let a guy poke it in your butt on the first date, you’re a skank. I’m not a skank. Not even close.”

“You weren’t on a date,” she howled. “He just strolled into your office.”

I shrugged. “If he strolled into your office, you’d be the one walking funny, not me.”

“I doubt that.” She said snidely. “I wouldn’t let him--”

I cut her short with an exaggerated scoff. “You wouldn’t be able to tell him no.”

“Oh really?” She gave me a look of disbelief. “I think I could.”

I shook my head. “One word describes him. Only one.”

“What’s that?”

I said the first thing that came to mind. “Irresistible.”

* * *

I chained my bike to the lamppost and took a quick glance at Baker’s window. As with each of the days that had passed since we met, he wasn’t there. I wondered if I was alone in my belief that the sex was awesome, or if he was simply busy doing something entrepreneurial.

Becoming attached to men wasn’t something that I let happen. My relationship with Baker, if anything, would remain sexual, and that would be the extent of it. I didn’t expect him to provide me much more than a little conversation and a lot of dick. If my expectations were met, my life would remain uncomplicated, and I wouldn’t be let down when he eventually lied to me, cheated on me, or left me.

I dismissed his repeated absence and rushed up the stairs. After unlocking the door and kicking it open, I relaxed into my magical chair. I found it difficult to believe someone was going to pay me for the time I spent at work, as there was nothing meaningful for me to do.

I looked around the room. Although my first few paychecks were allotted to reducing old debt, I daydreamed about the day I could decorate my office with pictures, vases, and other items that would personalize it.

While I was in mid-thought, there was a faint bang against the door. Then, another. And, another.

The door burst open.

Wearing skinny jeans, a tee shirt, and sneakers, a delicate man in his late twenties stood in the doorway. His product-infused bangs were situated high above his pale forehead, and pointing skyward.

When our eyes met, the corner of his mouth curled into a grin. “Oh. Wow. Are you the new manager?”

I smiled in return and straightened my posture. “I sure am.”

Donning a huge grin on his boyish face, he stepped inside and pushed the door ajar. “I’m Stephen Hinkle. I live in 2-A.”

“I’m Andy.” I looked him over, and wondered how much he weighed. Less than me, I decided. “Andy Winslow. What can I do for you?”

“There’s been some odd noises coming from upstairs.”

I felt if he continued to stand, that his bones may break from the stress. I gestured toward the empty chair in front of my desk. “What kind of noises?”