It’s finally Christmas Eve eve, and I’m counting down the minutes until six, when I’ll be free from work for the next week and a half.
It’s been two full weeks since the holiday party, and I’ve had to stare at Daniel’s face on my computer screen every weekday morning. Other than our little discussion before the call with Sally, we haven’t spoken about our night together again. And I hope we never will.
As the days go by, it feels more and more like our hookup was some sort of fever dream. Like maybe I imagined that night and his dirty words the following Monday. At this point, now that all the bruises have faded and I can sit on my bike seat again, I really don’t think it happened.
I can’t decide whether I’d prefer that, though. Either way, there’s nothing to talk about. Clearly it was a one-and-done situation, a heat-of-the-moment thing.
Yeah. That’s all. And that’s all it’ll ever be.
I’m trying to keep myself from watching Daniel on the screen in our morning meeting, but I’m only half listening to Jim prattle on about organizing a team lunch in the office once we’re back from the December holidays.
“Selene, Marianne, you’re both more than welcome to come into the city and join,” he says, his tone wheedling. “What do you say?”
I stare directly at Daniel’s little box when I answer. “I’d love to come.”
