Page 34 of Falling for Roxanne

“Sounds like he was great in bed,” I said, and then regretted it.

“I wouldn’t know,” she said, “we only went out twice, like I said.”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have made that kind of reference. It won’t happen again,” I said.

“You’re fine. Why are you so jumpy? I thought Pansy was the nervous one in the depo, but maybe it was you,” she said lightly, nudging me with her elbow. “Do you think I’m gonna sue you or say you did something? I’m not. I reluctantly agreed with your decision that it was a mistake to get involved on a personal level. That doesn’t mean I’m devising a way to sue you or something.”

“I didn’t think that you were going to sue me or make allegations. I just want to be clear that I’m not trying to be improper or suggest that I expect any kind of—”

“Hamilton,” she said, exasperated. “I do not think you ever harassed me or that you ever would. I’ve been sexually harassed—pretty much every woman has. And I know the difference. So give me some credit here and calm down. We work together. We’re having sushi. In public. Do you need a chaperone? Maybe you’re afraid I’m going to rip your clothes off or try to mount you over a spicy tuna roll,” she said.

I laughed. “They do have good tuna rolls. Their wasabi is extra spicy.”

We grabbed a booth at the restaurant, and each accepted a tiny glass of sake. “To Pansy,” I said, and she nodded. “To Pansy.” We drank it down and ordered our meals. I got a shrimp tempura appetizer and offered her a bite.

“You have to try this. It’s so good,” I said.

She leaned in and took a bite right from my hand. I ignored the shiver that ran up my arm at the intimacy. She nodded appreciatively. “That is fantastic,” she said.

When our food came, she told me about the true crime documentary she and Cathy had watched the night before and how her roommate had bought Phish Food instead of Cherry Garcia and she would never forgive her.

“Does cherry go better with murder shows?” I asked. “I wouldn’t know because I personally only get to watch Disney and Pixar cartoons. If you’re curious, I have a ranking system for the Toy Story movies. The third one is the most boring, the first one is the weirdest, and the fourth one is the best.”

“What about the second one? It’s got Jessie the cowgirl in it?” Roxanne said. “I will defend Jessie the cowgirl to the death, although if I were her that would have been my villain origin story, being abandoned by the child she loved.”

“So you’d turn into the Joker?”

“Or Batman. I once got extra credit in high school debate for proving that Batman was really a villain. I mean, rich vigilante with deadly tech and no consequences…forget the poor tormented hero trope. The dude’s scary.”

“I thought women loved that kind of thing. The sad, tortured hero with a broken heart,” I quipped.

“Not really. I know too many people who try to use their sob story to get away with whatever. So I don’t think Bruce Wayne could convince me that a fat bank account and a designer tux set him above the law, or that he wouldn’t be better off spending his bat cave budget on some serious therapy. Or give it to charity because good grief,” she said, taking a drink of her soda. “That wasabi is so freakin’ hot. My eyes are watering!” she said with a cough. “I may have burned my entire throat with that. You weren’t kidding about it being super hot.”

I offered her my water, and she drank some. When I took it back, I put my lips where hers had been and took a drink.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” she said with another slight cough. “I’m just not tough enough for their sauce. It’s pretty but dangerous.”

I wanted to say, ‘just like you are,’ but I felt like I’d already said enough. Just because I wasn’t walking on eggshells didn’t mean I was taking liberties either. Her pretty mouth was pink and lush from the spicy sauce and I wanted to taste it, to coax her lips apart and lick her. I turned away and took another drink of water.

Everything she said or did made me want to kiss her. I was a hopeless case, but I wasn’t going to do anything to harm her career or my own. I could wait this out, like Kyle had said. This would have been the perfect time to ask if she saw a future with me, if she wanted to wait until graduation and see me again, go out for a nice dinner and give it a try. But I was happy, sitting beside her elbow to elbow at the counter in a crowded sushi place. I didn’t want to spoil it.

“I’m going to have to come here more often. Now that I know it’s close to the office, I’ll be a regular. I might even be nice and bring you a tuna roll sometime,” she said with a mischievous gleam in her eye.

“You’re going to tell them to give me extra wasabi, aren’t you,” I said flatly.

“Damn, you guessed it!” she crowed.

I paid the check and we walked back to the office. She was so beautiful, and the wind was crisp, the air cool. I almost regretted that she’d worn a jacket, that I had no excuse to offer her mine, to keep her warm. I ran a hand through my hair.

“Oh, you should do that more often,” she said suddenly, “you look all tousled. Makes you look more relatable.”

“What?”

“You’re always so perfect looking, not a hair out of place. But out in the wind, and running your fingers through your hair, you look wicked. Women would be beating down your door if that was on your dating profile,” she said.

I was flattered, and I shook my head. “I don’t have a profile. I’m not on any apps.”

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