Page 46 of While I’m Still Here

“Fine. You're still irritating. Your timekeeping is appalling. You owe me fifty pence for milk, and if you leave your mug in the sink again, I'm reporting you.”

“To who? We don't have HR.”

“I'll establish a department.”

I smile despite myself, and Danny's does too. Then, because he's incapable of allowing sincerity to survive longer than thirty seconds, his eyes deliberately drop to my chest.

I notice. Of course I notice. “Are you staring at my tits?”

“Yes.”

My mouth falls open. “Danny!”

“You told me not to treat you differently.”

“I didn't mean sexually harass me for equality.”

“Mixed messages, James.” I laugh again, louder this time, and Danny looks absurdly pleased with himself. “Besides,” he adds, returning to his desk, “I've been staring at them for nearly three years. Would've been suspicious if I suddenly stopped.”

And there it is… that stupid little flip in my stomach again, except this time it's bigger because I know he's joking.

Mostly.

I also know Danny has spent nearly three years flirting with me, and I've spent nearly three years pretending that I don't notice the way his eyes linger or how close he stands when we're alone in the kitchen. Usually I can file it away under Danny Being Danny.

Today, I can't. I watch him walk back to his desk and notice the way his shirt stretches across his shoulders then I remember last night.

Colin.

I turn back to my computer.

No.

Absolutely not.

We are not doing this.

I have enough problems.

At lunchtime, Danny makes the situation worse by eating a banana.

There are certain foods men should not be permitted to eat in public. Bananas are obviously top of the list. Ice lollies are another. Corn on the cob can become problematic depending on technique. Danny sits on the corner of his desk, scrolling through his phone while eating the banana, with absolutely no idea he is currently committing an offence against workplace decency.

I look.

I shouldn't. I know this, but I look anyway.

Nothing about Danny has changed since yesterday. That's what I keep telling myself. He had the same mouth yesterday. The same hands. The same forearms. The same habit of loosening his tie at lunchtime because he claims it interferes with digestion, which is medically nonsensical but visually compelling.

The only thing that has changed is me.

Yesterday, wanting Danny was something I could put off. It was harmless because there was always another Christmas party. Another night at the pub or another stupid conversation beside the photocopier where one of us would say something filthy and the other would laugh, and we'd both go home without finding out what would happen if we stopped joking.

There was always later.

I've spent most of my life believing in later.

I'll go there later. I'll try that later. I'll tell someone how I feel later. I'll wear the thing when I've lost weight. I'll book the holiday when I've saved more money. I'll do something reckless when work calms down. I'll stop worrying about what people think when I'm older.