Page 16 of Due South

Fourteen hours later, I’m still not finished with the analysis for the bond project. It makes me feel good India has so much faith in me, but sometimes it wouldn’t hurt for her to have a smidge less. My brain can do the mental gymnastics required for all of this, but it’s slow and klutzy, not Olympic levels like hers. I pack up my stuff in the now-silent office. Everyone’s gone home, even India. Cris must still be in town. It’s not that she’s not working—oh no. It’s that she works from home more when he’s here. I still get emails at all hours.

I’m about to leave when I notice a light on down at the end of the hall. It’s a light I look for. Lucy’s. I should go home. It’s ten o’clock and I haven’t been outside this concrete-and-glass box since I walked in the door at eight this morning. I barely took a break to call my mom and tell her I couldn’t come for dinner. I’d used up my lunch break eating an extra carton of yogurt I’d found in the fridge and listening to my mom’s latest litany of everything my brother needs and what her days are like.

I know it’s hard and that she’s overwhelmed and I do my best to be sympathetic. I’ve suggested she look into housing programs, maybe some therapy that’s more comprehensive and offered through the VA so it won’t cost a fortune, but she won’t. I’ve even tried suggesting that her coddling and hovering isn’t doing Darren any good, which sends her into another tizzy about trying to be a good parent. The martyrdom is strong in this one. And never ever does she think about what any of this costs me.

The other single guys who work here drive nice cars, live in sick apartments, and when they’re not working their asses off, they go out and have a good time. The stories I hear around the water cooler are so scandalous they make me blush. Which is probably why they don’t talk to me about their…dates. Yeah, sometimes they ask me if I’ve gotten laid lately, but it’s more to hear me stammer an awkward answer than that they actually want to know. And I would never, ever tell them about Lucy.

I know what they say about her. But they don’t know her, not like I do. They see the pretty reddish-brown hair she twists up off her neck most days. They see the old-fashioned clothes she wears a lot. Because those vintage dresses and those pencil skirts, they show off her body in a way things women wear now wouldn’t. And of course, they see her breasts. Because honestly, they’re hard to miss.

It’s embarrassing because I’m not exactly some adolescent virgin, but her tits… Holy hell are they magnificent.

When I round the corner to her cube, there she is, bent over some spreadsheets that look awfully familiar. We’ve both been slaving away over this bond project, and it’s not going to let up until after this is over and done with. I hope it pays off.

“Hey, Lucy.”

She looks up, pushing some of that rusty hair off her forehead as her brown eyes come into focus. I’ve tried not to think about how pretty she is, because I don’t want to be that fucking creeper dude and I’m sure she gets a lot of that, but she is. She really is. And knowing how she looks, what she sounds like when she’s turned on, when shecomes, is making the blood creep into my neck and face like wildfire.

Her eyes bug slightly when she sees me, and I have to look down to make sure I haven’t left my fly open or anything because that would be incredibly embarrassing. Not to mention, like, harassment. But not on purpose. Jeez. Would she think I was trying to wave my dick at her? Oh, god. But no, my pants are zipped and my belt’s done.

She flushes and looks away. “Hey, Evans.”

We stand there for a minute, and it’s probably a good thing I don’t come talk to her more often because I’ve got nothing to say. I should have something to say. Even about the weather. But we live in San Diego. It’s always warm and sunny. Couldn’t we live someplace that could actually give us something to talk about? Sports, I guess? Does she like the Chargers or the Padres? I’d take her to a game. If she wanted to go. With me. Would she want to go on a date? If we were allowed to? Or did she just like the sex? Which would be totally cool. Because I liked the sex. A lot. But I definitely can’t say that.

“How’s it—how’s your project? How’s it going?”

She looks up at me with the most forlorn expression I’ve ever seen, and I want to kiss it off her face at the same time I know exactly how she feels. Because it’s how I feel too. I like a lot of the policy work, even the reports, and I’m happy to let India do all the high-level presentations and trainings, but this section of the bond proposal is boring as heck. I can’t wait to move on to something more engaging.

“Me too.”

She offers me a tight nervous smile and then looks back down at her work. She’s taken out a ruler and is checking the spreadsheets line by line and probably has been for hours. Maybe she should take a break before she goes cross-eyed.

“Hey, you, uh, never did show me how to work that coffee maker.”

Her head snaps back up, and there’s a slight frown pulling down the corners of her mouth. “Is that some kind of euphemism?”

“What? No. I…I thought you were tired and maybe you’d like to get out from behind your desk for a few minutes. I didn’t mean…”

Sex.I didn’t mean sex. Although now that she’s brought it up, I can’t get the images of last night out of my head. Lucy with her skirt stretched tight over her thighs while we crouched on the floor. The way her eyes were glossy and laser-focused and she bit her lower lip while we watched India and Cris fuck. How she’d looked after I’d exposed her when I went to grab the condoms out of my desk and how she’d still looked that way when I got back. She’d listened to me and she’d liked it. And once I got inside of her… I’d never felt anything so incredible.

I’m trying to will the growing arousal in my pants to go away.Don’t be a creepy jerk who thinks he’s entitled to have sex with a girl just because he’s had sex with her before.Try as I might, though, my dick is still getting hard and I need to get out of here before she notices and my head explodes from humiliation.

There’s a reason for the expression “died of embarrassment,” right? It’s because it’s actually happened? If it hasn’t, I’ll surely set the precedent.

“I’m sorry, Lucy. Good luck and don’t forget to go home soon, okay? And take a cab if you’re too tired to drive. BCG will reimburse you for it, I’ll make sure of it.”

I turn to go before I say anything else like “Let me take you home,” because I don’t want her thinking I want to go home with her. I mean, I would, because I bet Lucy’s apartment is like her. Kind of vintage-y cool and I bet it smells awesome and her bed’s probably covered with all those pillows girls seem to like.

“So you don’t want to have sex with me?”

Her words stop me in my tracks because they sound like a challenge. I turn around and she’s got the luckiest pencil in the history of the world between her teeth. I would do just about anything to replace that pencil with a very specific part of my anatomy.

“I…” I shut my eyes tight and shake my head before I scrub a hand over my face. “I’m not exactly sure what to say, Luce. Because the whole sexual harassment thing and the, you know, fraternization policy, and we’re friends and I don’t want to not be friends, but I—”

“Answer the question, Evans. On my honor, I’m not going to sue you or report you to anyone. This is between you and me. You know, two people who’ve already had sex. Like the best sex ever. So I’m asking you if you want to do it again.”

Oh.

“Yes.” I cringe because that sounded too eager beaver, but heck yes I want to have sex with her again. Now isn’t the time to be a fumbling awkward moron. I don’t want to be that guy. I want to be that other guy. The guy who was a bit bossy. Turns out India’s not the only woman who responds to boldness.

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