"Well, the papers appear to be in order Mr. ..." she said, searching the application for my last name.
"Just call me Jake," I said, distracted by the button that had accidentally popped open atop her blouse. She blushed, "OK ... Jake."
I had been coming into the bank for years. Partially because it's a block from my house, but mainly because it has always had the hottest female employees.
I'd been eyeing the manager for a few months, catching glimpses of her through her open office door and occasionally seeing her behind the counter, in her tight-fitting skirt suits that always seemed to show enough leg to make me want more. She had a way of swaying when she walked that made my mind go numb.
Who even goes in a bank anymore? I do everything online. Yet, here I was, every couple of days, finding dumb reason after dumb reason just to get in line, in hopes of getting a look or eye contact or a sign.
There had been flirting. She was covering a shift one day, and we talked for a good two minutes. Mainly about my trouble accessing my checking account online (a total lie) but also, partially, about the weather.
It was a meaningless convo, but I felt real subtext and sexual tension. Another day, I stopped her on the way to a meeting to ask her for directions to the nearest grocery store. I made a lame joke about something stupid, and she laughed and slightly grazed my arm in that way you do when you are trying to make not-so-obvious contact.
Tired of the three-month plan, I made an appointment to talk to her about a car loan. I don't need a new car. In fact, I barely drive the one that I do own. But I liked the opportunity to be in an office alone with her.
She sat behind her desk, still looking at my application. She was wearing a blue pinstriped suit with a skirt that came to right above her knee and a white blouse, with the aforementioned unbuttoned button. When she twisted to grab a pin, I caught a hint of a white bra strap. I also noticed the top of her white thigh-high stockings when she earlier leaned in to shut her office door. Her hair was back, out of her face, and she had a habit of biting her lip when she studied my paperwork. I wanted to bite her lip.
"I don't think this will be a problem," she said, not looking at me. "But, I think we can offer some better options to get you where you want to go."
"I always like options," I said, smiling. She glanced up, caught my smile, giggled a bit.
Her office was small but private. The door was closed and her blinds were drawn just enough so that no one could see in.
"Well, we offer a better loan option, let me grab the brochure," she started to get up.
"You know, I don't even need a car."
"Pardon?"
"I don't even drive that much. I mainly take the bus or ride my bike."
"Oh, well that certainly is something you should consider before signing the paperwork."
"Actually, I didn't even come here for a loan," I said.
"I'm confused," she said, looking at me. "Then what did you come here for?"
"You," I said.
She stared at me, kind of angry -- mainly angry -- but the pause was enough to let me know she was intrigued, too.
"Mr ..."
"Jake."
