Page 2 of Erotic Temptations 1

Halfway down the hall I caught my reflection in a window and considered just turning around and going home. Dark brown hair: mostly tamed, but with a chunk in the back that looked like I’d been electrocuted. Collared shirt: coffee-stained. Skin: offensively pale. Eyes: tired, but still blue and functional, which was about as much as anyone could ask for on a day like this.

I slipped quietly into the sea of cubicles. Beige, beige, and more beige, interrupted occasionally by the aggressively cheerful green of fake potted plants. Phones ringing. The low drone of people gossiping, emailing, and pretending to work.

I sat and tried to pretend I’d been there the whole time.

No such luck.

Janet appeared immediately. She had a sixth sense for moments when someone was vulnerable. She wore her hair in a terrifyingly perfect helmet and wielded a travel mug that looked like it could double as a murder weapon if you crossed her.

“David, darling,” she called, in a voice that carried over the cubicle walls and probably into the next county. “Are we on California time today?”

I leaned back and swiveled in my chair. “No, just doing a live demonstration of the new teleportation app. I see it still needs some work.”

Janet cackled. “Teleportation or waking up on time?”

Held up my coffee. “Neither, but at least one of them stains my shirt. Isn’t that impressive?”

She gestured at the Rorschach blot on my chest. “Mm, I’d say that’s more of a seagull than a butterfly. Maybe a flying poodle.”

I glanced down. “Good eye. I was going for ‘modern art,’ but flying poodle is good, too.”

Janet circled my cubicle wall like a polite but relentless shark. Other heads began to pop up on cue. Carla, who wore only cardigans and a permanent grimace. Marnie, eating a bagel with enough cream cheese to fossilize a mammoth.

“I have to ask,” Janet said, dropping her voice to “confidential” levels, which meant everybody within fifty feet could hear. “Are you coming to the Christmas party? It’s Friday. Free food, open bar, ugly sweaters. Everyone’s expected.”

I choked a little on my lukewarm coffee. The company Christmas party. Nothing like forced merriment and an open bar to remind a man he was spectacularly single again. “I’m still waiting for my invitation. Last I checked, I hadn’t made your exclusive guest list.”

She rolled her eyes. “It’s not exclusive. Just RSVP. Wear something that doesn’t look like it’s been attacked by caffeine. Come on, it’ll be fun. You know Laura in HR has a red sequined suit for the contest this year?”

“Does it come with a matching cape?” I deadpanned.

She grinned. “You’d have to ask her. So, are you coming? I’ll put your name down for two, just in case.” Her voice paused meaningfully, the implication dangling between us like a Christmas stocking full of disappointment.

I gave her the patented “maybe” face. Raised brows, slight shrug, a tiny shake of the head. The universal sign for “please stop reminding me I’m single at Christmas.”

“Depends,” I said. “Is there a prize for Most Awkwardly Single Guy at the Party?”

Marnie piped up, not missing a beat. “There’s a trophy. It’s a tiny plastic reindeer.”

I snorted. “Perfect. I’ll start practicing my sad, lonely shuffle.”

Carla stared at me over her glasses. “You could always bring a date.”

I pictured the last time I’d brought someone to a work function. It had ended with a spilled mojito, a horrible rendition of “I Want It That Way,” and a breakup in the Uber ride home. I’d told myself never again. I was nothing if not a man of principle.

“My last date is still in therapy,” I said. “Also, I don’t think the reindeer trophy is ready for that kind of competition.”

Janet laughed. “Well, if you change your mind, let me know. And please, for the love of God, change your shirt before the meeting. You look like the victim of a Starbucks mugging.”

She sailed off, still cackling, leaving behind a cloud of perfume and gossip. The other women followed, already whispering about who’d be the drunkest this year or whether the CEO was actually going to show up. I sat and tried to look busy, a skill I’d finely honed over the last two years at Megalith Data.

I glanced at my calendar. Seven meetings, three “urgent” emails, and one poorly spelled request from IT to restart my computer, presumably with a hammer.

Picking up my cell phone, I stared at my reflection in the glass. Not my finest hour. I could lie and tell myself this was “charmingly disheveled,” but if this had been a meet-cute, I was clearly the before photo in aQueer Eyeepisode.

Admittedly, there was something peaceful about being the single guy in a cubicle jungle full of drama. I had my own little island. No one tried to drag me into their divorce stories or office politics. I could just sip shitty coffee, do my work, and be left alone.

Except for Janet.