he problem is it’s p.m., and we are still talking. We aren’t dating, but it doesn’t feel like friendship. I don’t know how to explain why I need a long time, he just wasn’t on my radar. Then we were both going to the same free music show. He asked about me without letting his eyes fall away as he waited for a reply. I would no longer be a woman in the office, but a woman who was sexualized. Who would take me seriously if they could imagine me in someone’s bed? But I wouldn’t sleep with him or try to make plans. But they didn’t sit with the fear of dozens of eyes imagining me naked on another’s bed.
Or maybe it’s that I’m willing to blow off others just to get coffee with him. Instead of being conventionally polite, he just looked at me, waiting for my answer.“Trouble,” my gut said. I did what I always do: I smiled and pretended to be fine. Worse, I couldn’t explain the thrill of every time he reached out, still needing me.
“I’m trying to be professional here.”To continue our collaboration, I took off my dress. It would be easy if I could pin it down, but I’m only half of the story.
It’s practically impossible to trust someone these days.The heat rose higher and higher until I was in his room, wondering if he’d ever kiss me. I can still feel myself giggling against his beard. He was dedicated, almost worried, about my pleasure. He told me he “couldn’t date right now.”He liked spending time with me. He asked me to coffee just to get out of the office. I didn’t have to hide my tears.ooking back, we kept having and avoiding the same conversation. Slack messages ran from moments to day-long text conversations. don’t want to think about that night or the next morning. Between every line about us he kept asking, “Why me?