I have stared at this clock many times. I've watched it tick away the hours until my work day is complete. I've watched it and waited for you to come into my office with my coffee each morning, wondering if you'd be on time today, or a bit early, as you often were. I watched the clock and wondered if now were the time I should say something to you. But, I'm your boss. I couldn't possibly be forward with you.
But, now... You are here... and I am two hours early... I glance at my clock to make sure I've not come later than I thought. You tell me you've come in early to complete the final touches of our presentation. I tell you I have too, but you've already completed them, and it takes very little time for me to check over and approve of the last additions.
We collect our things and head into the board room to set up. You ask if I'd like some coffee and I tell you I will get it. When I come back to the meeting room, I noticed you've divested yourself of your tie. Your top three buttons are undone, and your white undershirt peeks through the top of your crisp blue shirt. I wonder if you buy your own clothes. I know you don't have a girlfriend, from the gossipy women of the office, but maybe you have a special lady friend? Why should I care... It's not like I'll ever say anything... I glance up at the giant clock that can be seen throughout the office. It's only been twenty minutes...
I glance back at you, then lower my gaze. I pretend to scroll on my phone as we make small talk, all the while stealthily taking in your form. Your hair is cut short, your face, clean-shaven, but for the neatly trimmed hint of beard. Your lips are wide and full and I wonder how they would feel against mine. I blush a bit, looking at my phone once again. You ask about my weekend and I babble about my boring movie night with my puppy, Chavez. I ask about yours and watch you once again. Your eyes are dark, and hot; your gaze never leaving mine. You tell me about the dance class you teach on weekend. I tell you how much I love to dance and would love to be taught professionally. You laugh a bit and tell me you're no professional, but it helps you stay in shape. I run my eyes over your wiry, muscularly thin frame. I look back up to see that you've caught me staring. I look away, embarrassed.
You tell me, once again, that you're no professional, but you'd love to teach me what you know.
I detect a hint of teasing flirtation in your tone and my gaze snaps back to yours. You have a lovely voice. You're well-spoken, but have the lilt of an urban-raised boy, ever so slight accent. Somewhere in New Jersey, I'm guessing. I ask, and you confirm my suspicion. I smile a bit and tell you I was raised in West Orange. You say, Ah, suburban black girl with a wry smile. I laugh a bit, Yes. We start talking about the familiar memories of our home state, the awkwardness when people make jersey jokes, the slight shame when they mention Jersey Shore.
We're laughing and talking and again, I glance at the clock. still an hour and 13 minutes before people start coming into the office. No one is ever early in our office. Never eager to arrive. That's why I enjoy coming early. I can start my day in silence and reflect on my past work day and what I can do to get more done. You catch me looking at the clock and ask if I'd like a minute to myself. I say no a little too quickly, and shyly ask you to stay. You chuckle and tell me I'm confusing. I ask why, as you've now piqued my curiosity. You tell me how you've seen me watching you, and I am a bit embarrassed. You tell me how you've gotten mixed signals, and I didn't realize I'd given any. You mention the signals you've given, and I smile a bit and tell you I haven't noticed any.
