Shut up.
Now some of your colleagues know. And those colleagues will tell other colleagues. And the other colleagues with tell Dan. And you’ll both be fired. Good job, Bailey. Smart thinking.
I shook.
“It’s okay,” Reece said quietly.
I didn’t reply. I ran to my cubicle instead. And forgot to count my steps. What the hell was going on? Suddenly my life decided to spin completely out of control.
Reece followed me. I knew I should have gone to the ladies’ instead.
“Bailey?”
“Go away! You’re making it worse!” I hissed, sinking into my desk chair.
“Who cares what they think?”
“It’s against company policy,” I said. “We could lose our jobs!”
“Nonsense. Nobody’s losing his job.”
“Why is the default masculine?” I asked. It had nothing to do with anything, but that was how my brain operated at times. Better than letting my growing anxiety consume me until I was tapping pens all over my desk.
“Fine. Nobody’s losing her job,” Reece said.
My heart sank. “What are we gonna do??”
“Nothing, Bailey. It’s fine.”
“I hugged you in front of people!”
“So what? Lots of people are affectionate with others. You’re a touchy-feely person. No big deal.”
“But I’m not a touchy-feely person at all, and those people out front know it!”
I breathed deeply. It was starting. Anxiety creeping, crawling, climbing up my stomach into my throat. No, back down and through my arms instead. Going for the hands. Not the hands. Please, God, not the hands! I grabbed my purple pen.
“Bailey, don’t do it,” Reece said.
I tapped my pen.
“Oh my God,” he muttered.
“Shut up!” I cried, and tapped it again. I took another breath. Tap tap. Breathe. And a tap. Breathe. And two more taps—
Reece yanked the pen out of my hand.
“Hey! Give it back!” I demanded.
“You need to get a grip. You freaking out is making it worse,” Reece hissed. “Act cool.”
“Act cool?”
“Yes,” he snapped.
“Give me my pen,” I said slowly.
“No.”
We stared each other down. This was the exact opposite way Dr. Gordon taught my family members to deal with Dad and me. You’re not supposed to threaten your OCD family member or friend. You’re not supposed to make her feel badly for submitting to an urge. Of course, you’re not supposed to encourage it either. But Reece shouldn’t have taken my pen. That wasn’t helping. That was being a bully, and Dr. Gordon would have a thing or two to say about that.
I picked up my green pen. It wasn’t purple—the one I really wanted to tap—but at least it was next in line, so that eased my anxiety some. I tapped it.
“Bailey . . .” he said. Like I’m some fucking kid. Like, “Bailey, I’m warning you.”
I fucking tapped that fucking pen all over my fucking desk.
He snatched it.
“What the fuck!” I yelled.
And then he scooped up all my pens and walked off.
“Motherfucker,” I spat, and went after him.
He glanced behind his shoulder and saw me coming. He quickened his pace. I marched right along, ready to catch up to him and give him an earful about the proper way to cope with my urges. He rounded the corner and disappeared into the copy room. I burst in and let fly.
“You’re not supposed to take my pens!” I shouted.
He came at me, slamming me up against the door, and kissing me hard.
“God, you’re so fucking hot,” he said into my mouth.
Well, this was confusing.
“You and your fucking pens and the tapping and . . . oh my God . . .” He sucked my neck, then bit me. I cried out. He silenced me with his mouth again, kissing me with an urgency that comes right before clothes are ripped off and very bad decisions are made.
“Give me my pens,” I said while his tongue assaulted my mouth. It was garbled, but he knew what I asked for.
“Beg me,” he replied, feeling me up like a horny teenager. He was so rough that I feared a button would pop off.
“You ass,” I replied.
He bruised my lips—biting, sucking—and I pushed against him with all my might. It was useless. Reece was strong. Too strong. I realized suddenly that he was in complete control. Control of my body as he pinned me against the door. Control of my mind as he withheld my pens. Control of my heart as he kissed me passionately, making me ache for all of him—his body between my legs, muscles holding me down, driving into me, driving me to delirium.
He pushed me all around that copy room—up against the file cabinet, on top of the copier, spreading my legs and touching me while he buried his face in my chest. And then he pulled me off the copier and bent me over.
“Don’t you dare,” I warned.
“Oh, I’m doing it! Consequences be damned!” he roared and smacked my ass.
I burst out laughing. I couldn’t get “Consequences be damned!” out of my head. My laughter evidently encouraged him because he spanked me again. And a few additional times for good measure.
And then he was gone. Just like that. I stood up and turned around carefully, dazed as he stared at me, feet away, hand outstretched, offering me my pens. I didn’t know if it was a game, so I didn’t immediately reach for them. I touched my swollen lips instead, tentatively fingering the tender flesh, wondering how his kisses could hurt so much and feel so good at the same time.
“I love you,” he said. “This couldn’t be a dumber place and time to tell you, I know. But, God, Bailey. I love you.” He paused. “I love you.”
My mouth dropped open.
“Take your pens,” he said softly. “I’m sorry I stole them. I’m sure I did everything wrong. I’m sure that’s not the way you deal with someone’s OCD.”
“It’s not,” I said. “You were supposed to talk the pen out of my hand and me off the ledge.” I smiled at him. He smiled back. “You were supposed to tell me that I’m stronger than my urges.”
He nodded.
“And that I’m in control of my destiny,” I went on.
“Man, I really fucked that up,” he replied, pushing a hand through his hair.