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Maybe we can arrange a company game of dodgeball, and I can chuck something at his face.
Our bodies are already flush, but I still squeeze her tighter. Because for the first time in fifteen years, Hannah Utley spoke my name.
I kiss Hannah Utley with all the rage and passion and need that’s been poisoning me since she waltzed back into my life. I kiss her like I never stopped thinking about her. And she kisses me back.
It’s the least you owe me. I remember the way I felt hollow as soon as he said that. I remember how the stickiness between my thighs suddenly felt dirty. I remember feeling cold.
“I’m here. Just busy wondering how you’ve already managed to sleep with this woman without, it seems, actually talking to her.”
“Something had to have happened. I need to go talk to her.” “Let me put the phone down so I can do a slow clap for you.”
We both made assumptions, and they were all wrong. And because of that, we lost so much time.
With a swift yank, I snap the belt free from my pants. “Catch up.”
women in the workplace are so easily labeled as difficult to work with. We’re chastised for being too sensitive when a man says something grossly offensive and inappropriate to us. We’re meant to laugh with them when they make derogatory comments about other women in front of us. We’re supposed to put up with so much motherfucking shit from men and not do anything about it for fear of losing our jobs.
“I love you, Hannah Utley. And I don’t believe in curses.” I grip his arms tighter. “But I’d still do it. I’d still love you, even if it kills me because I don’t know any other way to live.”
