Something in his voice stops me in mid-step.I glance over my shoulder and seehim,the phone receiver in one hand,his tie loosened,the top few buttons on his shirt undone.His gaze rakes down my body as if I’m a tall glass of cool water he’s eying on a hot day such as this.His full lips twist with indecision—he wants to say something more,I suspect,something special.He wants to move past this tentative stage,break through the meniscus that traps us in these roles.He wants me,I know it.I feel it.
If he asks now,I’ll say yes.
But his courage falters.The phone in his ear starts to beep and he hits the release button to silence it.That small distraction is all we need to remind us where we stand,who we are.I take another step toward my office and he clears his throat,the moment lost.“Pizza okay?”he asks.“What do you like on it?”
“Whatever you want is good with me,”I tell him.I mean that in more ways than one.