Coworer Complications

The March drizzle clung to their clothes as Ryan and Megan trudged back from the deli, paper bags crinkling under their arms. Ryan, all five-foot-six and 135 pounds of wiry optimism, clutched his bag like a trophy, his faded blue T-shirt damp at the shoulders. Megan, a petite five-foot, hundred-pound wisp beside him, hugged hers tighter, her oversized hoodie swallowing her perfect frame. Her blonde hair stuck to her cheeks, and she flicked it away with a huff, balancing the bag on her hip.

"Not bad for a Sunday grab," Ryan said, grinning as they neared their six-story walk-up. "Turkey sandwiches--mayo ratio's improving, right?"

Megan giggled, her voice soft but bright. "You're getting there, Ry. Needs more pickles, though." She shifted the bag, brushing crumbs from her sleeve as they crossed the street.

They'd eaten on the go, scarfing down half their sandwiches while weaving through the gray city blocks, a lazy lunch squeezed into a day of avoiding chores. Ryan checked his phone--12:47 p.m.--and sighed. "Hope Tyrone's not staking out the entrance again."

Megan wrinkled her nose, peering ahead. "Ugh, that guy. He was yelling at Mrs. Carter yesterday about her purse. She's, like, eighty."

Ryan shrugged, fishing for his keys. "Yeah, well, he's harmless. Just loud." His cheer sounded thin, but he didn't dwell on it. The alley loomed as they rounded the corner, a grimy chute where Tyrone and his crew camped out. Fifty feet in, tents and cardboard shacks slumped by the dumpster, and there he was--six feet of menace in a tattered coat, his dark eyes locking on them. His stench hit first, sour and unwashed.

"Hey, blondie!" Tyrone hollered, staggering closer, a crooked grin splitting his face. "Show me them tits, slut! Bet they're perky as hell under that baggy shit!"

Megan flinched, her cheeks flaring pink as she clutched the hoodie tighter. "Ignore him," she muttered, speeding up. Ryan's jaw clenched, but he shoved his hands in his pockets, eyes on the pavement. "Yeah, let's just get inside," he mumbled, barely audible over Tyrone's cackling.

The front door loomed, but a sign taped to the glass stopped them: ELEVATOR OUT OF ORDER - MAINTENANCE PENDING. Ryan groaned, kicking the base of the doorframe. "You've got to be kidding me. Third time this month."

Megan sighed, shoulders slumping. "Stairs it is. My legs are gonna hate me tomorrow." They pushed inside, the lobby dim and musty, and started the climb. The stairwell echoed with their steps, walls scuffed and tagged, each landing a small win against the building's decay. By the third floor, Megan was huffing, and Ryan's optimism had frayed.

Inside their studio, they dumped the deli bags on the counter and collapsed onto the couch, the faint smell of burnt toast and lemon cleaner lingering in the cramped space. Ryan tilted his head toward her, wiping sweat from his brow. "So, how's work holding up with the lawsuit? I know it's been buzzing around your place."

Megan kicked off her sneakers, tucking her legs under her. "Home Away From Home's fine, mostly. Patients don't care--they're too busy complaining about the food or grabbing at me when I'm changing sheets. A lot of them are in on it, though. Marvin, Bart, John--they're all plaintiffs. Dr. Johnson's been grumpier than usual, but that's it."

Ryan nodded, picking at a thread on his jeans. "Wish I'd gotten on that case. Carson snagged it, of course. He's probably strutting around the office like he owns it already."

She smirked, nudging him with her elbow. "You'll get your shot. Carson's just loud. You're smarter."

"Yeah, maybe," he said, his tone flat. "Work tomorrow's gonna suck either way. You too?"

"Ugh, yes," she groaned, flopping back. "Three twelve-hour shifts this week. Thursday's the night one. I'm already dreading it."

He echoed her groan, the two sinking into shared dread. The room quieted, just the fridge's hum and a distant drip Big Jake still hadn't fixed.

Later, Megan stood, stretching. "I'm gonna shower off the stair sweat. Be right back." She vanished into the bathroom, the door clicking shut. Ryan unpacked the leftover sandwiches, trying not to picture the water running. Minutes passed, and the door creaked open.

She stepped out, a white towel hugging her frame, damp hair clinging to her shoulders. The towel stopped mid-thigh, her legs bare and glistening, and Ryan's eyes snagged, his breath hitching. She bent for her lotion on the coffee table, oblivious at first, then caught his stare lingering.

"Ryan," she said, straightening, her tone playful but sharp, a little tisk tisk tisk clicking off her tongue as she wagged a finger. "You know better than that."

His face burned, and he ducked his head. "Sorry, Megs. Got distracted." The reprimand yanked him back--to a memory that defined every boundary they held.

---

It was a sticky spring evening their junior year, the air thick with pollen and teenage defiance. Ryan and Megan had parked her beat-up Corolla behind the church lot, windows fogged from their breath, the radio humming some forgotten pop song. They'd been at it for twenty minutes--kissing hard, lips wet, hands roaming over clothes with clumsy urgency. Ryan's fingers had slipped under her tank top, grazing the soft skin of her stomach, while Megan's tugged at his shirt collar, pulling him closer. Her shirt rode up in the tussle, the edge of her bra peeking out, a pastel pink strap stark against her flushed skin. Hormones buzzed like static, drowning out the world--until headlights sliced through the dark, and the passenger door yanked open.

Lee and Linda stood there, Megan's parents, faces carved from disappointment and panic. "Out. Now," Lee barked, his Church of Christ baritone cutting through the haze. Ryan scrambled back, heart hammering, as Megan fumbled her shirt down, her cheeks blazing. The drive home was silent, but the next day, the reckoning came.

Both sets of parents convened in the living room--Lee and Linda on one couch, Ken and Mandy on the other, Ryan and Megan perched on folding chairs like defendants. The air smelled of coffee and judgment, the beige carpet worn thin under years of sermons lived out loud. Linda started, her voice tight, hands clasped in her lap.

"So, we all have noticed that things are heating up a bit," she said, eyes flicking between them. "The car, the kissing, whatever else was going on... You're sixteen, and those hormones--they could send you down a dangerous path. You're soulmates, clear as day, but that's not enough to keep people together in today's world, if you let those hormones run rampant then you will ruin everything before you build anything."

Ken nodded, his Mormon sternness softening just enough to sound earnest. "You're at that age--kissing like that, grabbing at each other--it's a slippery slope. One day it's a car, the next it's a bedroom. Life throws enough at you already for you to have to worry about the repercussions of what may come next, not to mention devaluing what's sacred."

"We're not saying you're bad kids," Mandy chimed in, her tone gentler, "but commitment matters. No sex before marriage--I know you both know that, but it doesn't stop there. You can't put yourselves in situations of lust like that, it isn't just sex where sinful temptations enter the mind, it starts in a car with kissing. You have to commit to eachother to avoid the temptation so you don't devalue the most invaluable thing you will experience, which is the night of your wedding, where two souls build a new family's foundation for the generations to come."

Lee leaned forward, his gaze heavy. "Kids nowadays, and sure, even back when Linda and I were young, they try all sorts of dishonorable things to satisfy their desires--they may get it momentarily, but it fades and they are left with emptiness. It is not just sex, it includes anything that takes away from the special beauty of your first night together, even touching, and seeing each other in ways reserved for your husband-wife. Last night, Megan, your shirt was up over your bra--half your chest out for anyone to gawk at. You are saving that too, or you won't have anything to give in the future."

"But what if I've already messed up? I didn't mean to!" Megan said, her eyes widening as her voice tumbled out in a frantic rush.

"What do you mean? What have you done?!" Linda asked, looking worried as she glanced nervously between Ryan and Megan.

"Well, there've been these... accidents--or tricks, really!" Megan said, gesturing wildly as her words spilled out. "Like last spring break, my friend swore there was a bug in my bikini top, and I panicked--ripped it off right there on the beach! A bunch of people saw me topless, and I just stood there, frozen, with everyone staring--boys included! And then--and then--the cheerleaders! They told me our shower was down, so we had to use the boys' shower. They even promised they'd watch the door! But then the whole football team walked in while I was naked! They laughed, and I couldn't leave 'til I rinsed off and dried, 'cause soap on the tiles would've been a hazard!" She started crying, her voice breaking.

"Megan, honey, you don't have to--" Linda said softly, reaching out to stop her daughter's naive and humiliating confession, her tone desperate.

"And this one time, a guy at school said a snake bit his... his penis, and I had to suck out the poison to save his life!" Megan continued, ignoring her mother. "I had to--he said he was going to die! It took forever!"

The room froze, the parents exchanging looks--shock from Ken and Mandy, exasperation from Lee and Linda. Linda pinched the bridge of her nose, a sigh escaping. "Lord help me, Megan, you're too gullible for your own good. Stop--breathe. Ok, so think of it like this, those boys aren't who you're marrying. It doesn't take away from You and Ryan. What matters is you two--your commitment to each other."

Lee softened, fishing a silver promise ring from his pocket. "This is your promise--to Ryan, to us, to God. No sex, no seeing each other like that, no touching--not 'til the wedding night. Keep it pure, and that night, to be the best night of your life, awaits you two in your future. Your mom and I followed the same rules, and now we wouldn't give up our marriage for all the money in the world."

Mandy smiled faintly. "Ours too. Built everything off that."

Ryan shifted, his sixteen-year-old brain still reeling from the car, the bra, the shame. The heartfelt words from the parents stirring a great sense of motivation and commitment within. Megan clutched his hands, nodding fast. "Okay. I promise," she whispered. Ryan echoed her, "Me too. I swear it. I will honor your daughter". Lee slid the promise ring onto her finger, cool and final, sealing the pact--no sex, no nudity, no slipping, not with each other. Only with each other did it matter. The memory of the parents' proud faces faded as Ryan returned to the moment...

----

Megan closed the door behind her with a gentle thud, leaning against it for a moment as a quiet sigh escaped her lips. "He's been so sweet today," she murmured to herself, thinking of the way Ryan had looked at her earlier, his eyes bright with that familiar warmth. She was thankful for it, that little spark of attention that reminded her he still thought of her like that. But she didn't want to come down too hard on him--she'd noticed how the sharper her words got, the more his gaze skip over her entirely.

"I don't make him lose his desire for me before he even gets to use it" she thought aloud, her voice barely a whisper as she crossed the room to her dresser. The thought settled heavy in her chest, cold and nagging. They'd promised each other years of waiting, a commitment to something sacred, and what if she pushed him far enough away that he didn't even want her like that anymore? She pulled a soft sweater from the drawer, holding it against herself as she glanced in the mirror.

"I've got to keep him committed, but also interested" she said, her tone firming with resolve. She wanted him to see her as beautiful, maybe even a touch alluring--just enough to hold his gaze, to keep that spark alive. After admiring her own body, she tugged the sweater on, smoothing it over her frame, and tilted her head to check how it hugged her curves. "I just need him to keep wanting me," she said softly, brushing her hair back with a careful hand. "Not to stumble because of me, but not to forget about the reward of our committment." She nodded at herself, a small determined smile breaking through. "I'll find the balance."

Tomorrow loomed--Melvin Marvin Maxwell & Associates for him, Home Away From Home for her. Another day of playing by the rules.

----

Monday.

The fluorescent hum of Melvin Marvin Maxwell & Associates buzzed overhead as Ryan slumped at his desk, a small but tidy office with a window that framed a sliver of gray NYC skyline. His small frame hunched over a stack of briefs he was supposed to review but all he could do was glance at the picture on his desk. Megan was constantly on his mind, in ways he would never admit. He could not make it long without thinking of her perfect body for once bare for him. The clock on his computer blinked 9:47 a.m., and already the day dragged, Monday's weight pressing down like damp concrete. Next door, Carson's voice boomed through the thin wall, all brash confidence and clipped syllables, dissecting the Home Away From Home lawsuit with some paralegal on speakerphone.

"Yeah, we've got Johnson dead to rights," Carson was saying, his six-foot-two bulk probably leaning back in his chair, feet up like he owned the place. "Medical malpractice out the ass, those old geezers are cash cows. Just need to lock in the depositions and Home Away From Home will be writing us a big check " A laugh, sharp and smug, followed.

Ryan's pen tapped the desk, his mind drifting from the legalese in front of him to Megan. She'd left for her shift at Home Away From Home before dawn, her petite figure slipping out in those pale blue scrubs that hugged her tighter than they used to. He'd caught a glimpse, in secret, that morning, her perfect C-cup breasts and tiny waist outlined as she bent to tie her sneakers. His pulse had quickened, a guilty ache blooming low in his gut. He'd wanted to peel back the fabric, see the side of her that he has only dreamed about for years, but the rules loomed like a brick wall. Instead, he'd turned away, mumbling about coffee.

Her workplace had swapped out her old uniform a few weeks back, claiming the smaller, snugger fit was "patient-preferred." Only a few other nurses, had gotten the same treatment, the only thing in common among them were their looks. The likely motivation behind the change gnawed at Ryan. Creepy as hell, he thought, picturing the leering old men she tended to, their gnarled hands probably itching for a grab. Marvin, Bart, John, all plaintiffs in Carson's case, their names rattled in his head. A sly grin tugged at his lips. Maybe he could pitch it to Carson, add it to the suit: sexual harassment while fostering a hostile environment. He could swoop in, take the reins, outshine that smug bastard for once and save the princess.

The thought fizzled as fast as it came. Carson would laugh him out of the room, and Ryan's optimism wasn't dumb enough to push it. He sighed, flipping a page he hadn't read, the sound drowned by Carson's next barked order next door.

Lunch rolled around at 1:00 p.m., and Ryan shuffled to the break room, a stale sandwich from the deli in hand. The place smelled of burnt coffee and microwave burritos, a fluorescent-lit cave where junior associates traded barbs and pretended they weren't sizing each other up. He spotted Carson, JP, and Cory clustered at a table in the corner, their heads bent over a phone, snickering like frat boys at a kegger. Carson's broad shoulders shook, JP's lean frame hunched beside him, and Cory's 340-pound bulk wheezed with every chuckle, his gut spilling over his belt.

Ryan wandered over, curiosity tugging him despite the knot in his stomach. "What's so funny?" he asked, voice light, trying to sound like one of the guys.

Carson looked up, his gray eyes glinting with something sharp. "Oh, man, check this out," he said, holding up JP's phone. "JP forgot he even had it, almost sent it to a client by mistake. Fucking gold."

Ryan leaned in, and the screen flickered to life. Grainy iPhone footage jolted into focus: a dark alley behind The Lounge, the bar two blocks from the firm. Kendall's platinum blonde hair bobbed as she knelt, her double-D fakes straining her top, and there was Ryan, drunk and swaying, pants around his knees. Her lips worked him over, his four-inch dick disappearing in her mouth, a sloppy, shameful blur from six months back when he and Megan had hit a rough patch. A breakup that lasted no more than three days before they both made peace.

His face went hot, blood rushing to his ears. "Jesus, guys, delete that," he stammered, reaching for the phone. "That's not cool."

JP yanked it back, grinning wide, his teeth flashing against his dark skin. "Chill, man, it's just us. No big deal."

"Yeah, relax," Cory added, his voice greasy, a crumb of something stuck in his patchy beard. "What's a little BJ between friends?"

Carson clapped Ryan on the shoulder, too hard. "Seriously, dude, don't be a buzzkill. Go take your call or whatever." He waved him off, already turning back to the screen.

Ryan's desk phone rang across the room, a shrill lifeline. He bolted for it, heart pounding, the snickers fading behind him. "Melvin Marvin Maxwell, Ryan speaking," he mumbled into the receiver, barely hearing the client drone about a contract dispute. His mind spun. That video, if Megan saw it, even from their break, it'd torch everything. She'd never buy it didn't reflect on him, on them. The rules were ironclad, and he'd already slipped once.

The day crawled after that, a haze of paperwork and dread. By 6:30 p.m., he was out, the five-block walk to the apartment heavy with March chill. He rounded the corner just as Megan reached the entrance, her scrubs clinging from a long shift, her blonde hair loose and frazzled. Tyrone lurked near the alley, his tattered coat flapping as he staggered forward. Before Ryan could blink, Tyrone's hand shot out, smacking Megan's ass with a loud crack. She yelped, spinning around, but Tyrone was already shambling off, muttering something Ryan couldn't hear from fifty feet back.

Anger flared in his chest, hot and useless. Tyrone was twice his size, a slab of muscle and stench, and Ryan's twiggy arms wouldn't do shit. Worse yet, a man like that has nothing to lose. He clenched his fists anyway, then unclenched them, grateful he'd been too far to have to play hero. Megan wouldn't expect it, not really. She'd just call him sweet for trying and let it go.

He jogged up as Tyrone vanished around the corner, the vagrant's cackle echoing off the bricks. "You okay?" he asked, voice tight, eyes darting to her flushed face.

"Yeah, fine," she said, brushing it off, but her shoulders hunched, sheepish. "He's such a creep."

They pushed inside, and there it was again: ELEVATOR OUT OF ORDER. Ryan groaned, louder this time. "Big Jake's gonna hear about this." He glanced at the stairwell fire exit as they climbed, its metal door dented inward, a jagged buckle at the base. "That's new. Hope they fix it before Tyrone's crew starts sneaking in."

Megan huffed behind him, her sneakers scuffing the steps. "Yeah, 'cause that's what we need--more weirdos in here."

Upstairs, the apartment greeted them with its usual stale warmth. Ryan dropped his bag, still jittery from the video, the what-ifs clawing at him. Megan kicked off her shoes, plopping onto the couch. "God, today sucked," she said, rubbing her neck. "Kevin's on one again. Always sticks me with the pervy old guys--Marvin, Bart, John. Bath time's the worst. They make me scrub their junk, like, all of it."