Somehow our faces are closer than when the conversation began, so close that the most natural, easy thing in the world would be to grab him and press my mouth to his, climbing onto his lap and grinding against his cock as he devours my lips and pulls my hair. My imagination is like a runaway freight train of office sex fantasies and subconsciously I move a little closer, unable to control myself, wondering when sense is going to return to my magnetized body.
Owen puts his hand on my wrist, opens that perfect mouth and says, “Maybe we should—”
“Listen up everyone!” Agnes screams across the office, snapping the bond between me and Owen like a bucket of cold water, causing us to lurch back into our seats as we turn to face the call. “Don’t forget! We’re having an office lunch at Sushi Gen today. If you haven’t arranged a ride yet, there’s plenty of cars so let’s save the planet and carpool as much as possible! Reservation’s at one-thirty, and remember: it’s not technically mandatory, but if you don’t turn up, me, Tori, Mike, Sasha, and everyone else who arranged it will personally hold a grudge against you until the day you die.”
There are laughs all over the office and then things quiet down as everyone returns to what they were doing. Owen and I look at each other and raise our eyebrows.
“You’re going, right?” Owen asks.
I shrug. “Sure. I’m not going to piss off Agnes.”
“I’ll give you a ride,” Owen says nonchalantly, only his eyes revealing that there’s more he wants to give me.
Tom rushes past our desk, stops, then turns back to look at us. “Can I ride with one of you guys? Brad’s Mini Cooper is full.”
I look at Owen, who’s looking at Tom like the guy just shattered all his hopes and dreams. “Um…yeah, of course,” Owen says, with all the false positivity of someone opening a present they don’t like.
“Awesome,” Tom says, giving him the thumbs up as he continues to rush through the office. “I’ll meet you at your car in fifteen.”
I shoot Owen a confused glance, and he shrugs regretfully. “No way would we get there on time without a chaperone. You can’t deny it.”
He’s right. But I’m not sure how much longer I can wait to get Owen alone again.
The drive over is fun, Tom, Owen, and I chatting about the dates last night. We shouldn’t—we’re supposed to save it for the cameras—but it’s hard to resist. Owen puts in an almost scarily good performance, weaving some elaborate story of how he bailed on the date because he’d been with girls like that before and they always end up more trouble than they’re worth. If I wasn’t feeling so good myself, I’d almost start worrying about how good Owen is at obscuring the truth.
My good vibes continue on into the sushi place, as about fifteen of us sit around the chef’s preparation area, the other dozen or so employees taking up most of the tables dotted around the restaurant.
Whether it’s eating and drinking on the company account, the mouth-watering smells of soy sauce and teriyaki that fills the air, or the fact that we’re all getting to relax and see each outside of the office walls for once, there’s an aura of laid-back joy among the TrendBlend team. Tossing around good-natured jokes like schoolchildren playing catch, smiles and drinks free-flowing as we take the edge off our hunger with jokes and stories.
Even Brad, at the opposite end of the chef’s area, laughs along with everyone else. We only stop when Melissa gathers all of our attention to give us a positive message and encouragement for the good work we’re all doing, keeping it brief and light, but no less meaningful and sincere for it, before she shoots off back to the office despite a few protestations.
Then the food starts coming out, and I think I might be experiencing the happiest work day I’ve ever had. I’m sitting next to Owen, a light buzz going, amid good food and good colleagues. I watch with growing desire as he gets the others around the table laughing, listening, and attentive in the palm of his hand, his natural charisma shining in this environment. I haven’t seen him this magnetic and yet carefree since our college days.
In this moment, I forget about New York. I forget about those ropes of ambition that constantly pull at me. I forget about the person I’ve been trying to become for years now. It’s hard to want anything else when you see it all laid out like this, the great coworkers, the sense of community between us, the super hot, super wonderful guy beside me, his knee against mine, his hand ‘accidentally’ flickering over my thigh every time he shifts in his seat.
“This is absolutely amazing,” Owen tells me through a half-full mouth, picking up another California roll with his chopsticks and holding it toward me. “Try it.”
I almost lean forward and let him feed me, it feels so natural, but then I remember where I am, who else I’m here with, and look around in a flash of panic. I see Brad quickly avert his eyes.
“Owen,” I hiss in a low whisper. “You can’t do stuff like that…not now, not here.”
Owen laughs and pulls his hand back. “It’s no big deal. Nobody cares,” he says nonchalantly, gesturing around us at the coworkers all focused on their food and each other. “We’re longtime friends, people know how we act around each other. I’m not ashamed.”
“Neither am I,” I say, playing with my pickled ginger a little. “But I just want to play it safe.”
Owen’s smile fades a little as he puts the roll down and wipes his hand, considering what I’ve said as he looks at his plate. “You’re right,” he says, then looks up at me, the devious grin back on his face. “Good food always gets me riled up though.”
I feel his hand before I see it, wrapping itself high on the inside of my thigh, squeezing the soft flesh there before moving up a little, closer to the spot he knows so well.
Heat rises, tingling outward through my body, uncomfortably satisfying. I look around anxiously and brush hair behind my ear. I put a hand over his, planning to move it away, hoping to stop him before he goes too far, but something in me can’t go through with it, not when I feel the hard strength of his hand. Instead I hold him to me firmer, press his hand against the damp spot soaking through my panties, and gasp suddenly as he slides a finger into my pussy, right there under the tablecloth while we’re surrounded by our colleagues.
“Shit,” I whisper. I clench involuntarily against his finger and he slips it deeper, pumping back and forth slowly, stroking me without breaking eye contact. I look down at my plate and hope nobody sees the flush rising to my cheeks. “Your car. Two minutes.”
It takes Owen only a split-second to understand. He glances around at the table, then back at me, and nods only slightly.
I slip off my chair and move outside as quickly and as inconspicuously as I possibly can. The second I reach the parking lot, I begin to feel like I’m acting stupid, that there’s no way we’re not gonna get caught. I consider turning back, but my feet carry me to his car instead. I lean against it with folded arms, debating whether or not to tell him we should just forget it and hurry back inside.
After what feels like an eternity I see Owen escape the restaurant, look around, and head in my direction—and in an instant I forget I was ever going to call this thing off. He swaggers toward me purposefully and I struggle to remember why I ever wanted to say no.