Page 19 of How to Deal

“If you don’t fuck him soon. . . I’m going to,” Zane tells me and winks at Tathan, who shakes his head with a smirk of his own and types away on his keyboard.

Zane and Tathan together, that’s an image I don’t want. An image I do want is one of Tathan’s fingers as they glide over his keyboard effortlessly. I can imagine it being my body, more importantly, my clit. Despite Zane talking to me, I watch Tathan’s fingers, wondering what those fingers can do for me, long slender and. . .shit. . . focus.

With her usual yogurt in hand, Casey approaches, examining Zane, then me, and holds out her hand for the publication on company insurance she needed to have printed for our next staff meeting.

I turn toward her, handing her the copies. “Here’s the penetration you asked for—” I realize quickly that came out wrong when I see Tathan’s shoulders shaking with laughter, and Zane’s eyes widen in amusement. “Publication. . . here’s thepublicationyou asked for!” I say to Casey, who is just as amused by my pornographic word vomit as Tathan is based on the sudden burst of laughter.

If I had enough office supplies on my desk, I would have thrown shit at all of them.

Casey rubs my back. “You really need to get laid.”

No shit.

“I can help with that.” Tathan nods like he’s eager.

Zane giggles, his cheeks flushing. “I bet you can, big guy.”

Oh boy.

Tathan laughs, again, the ringing of his phone preventing him from answering him. He picks it up, winking at Zane.

Every day. It’s like this every damn day lately.

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