Not Safe for Work

by Nisha J. Tuli

These men are the Khakis—white hetero men of mediocre competence and undeserved confidence who wouldn’t know their way to a clitoris if someone strung them over a swamp rife with testicle-eating crocodiles.

“What?” he asks, and apparently, I’ve been staring. I need to stop this. In theory, anyone would be drawn to Rafe, assuming you’re into that whole “looks just like Henry Cavill if he was ten years younger” thing.

My vagina’s so dark and dusty it’s layered with cobwebs, but I think he’s into me.

EXCUSE ME

“Your virginity is growing back at this rate. You’ll be a religious miracle. Disciples will make pilgrimages to wash your feet.”

HAHAHAHA

Rafe and Andy stare at each other like this is West Side Story, and they’re about to break out into a knife fight. Or a song. But probably a knife fight.

hehehe

But it’s too late, and they’re both standing, fists balled at their sides. I rub my face with my hands and groan. Why are men?

The executive team is also here, sitting under a large white tent, black sunglasses shielding their eyes and coffee mugs clutched in their hands. I assume they’re full of vodka.

What I meant was it’s hard to believe you’re an introvert because you shine in every room you enter.”

“There’s nothing unmissable about you. That’s all I meant. That there isn’t anywhere you could go where everyone wouldn’t notice you.”

“Rafe, why did you draw me?” I whisper. The silence drags on so long that I don’t think he’ll answer, but then he says, “Because I draw things that are beautiful to me.”

Andy. I am focused on Andy. Or anyone besides Rafe. I’d have dinner with a cactus right now.

He clicks the follow button and then leans over, stretching his arm across the back of the booth, and says softly, “I’ll follow you anywhere, Tris.”