I sat up straighter in the leather chair. “Well, I don’t really work with him every day. At all. He just happens to work at the same company as me. We haven’t worked together a single time since he’s been with the company, as a matter of fact.”
“Okay…” Dr. Marsh tapped his fingers on the arm of his chair and smiled.
“What?”
“You’re being awfully pedantic.”
Defensively, I replied, “Your concern is that I’m fantasizing about someone I work with every day. But I don’t. He doesn’t even know I exist.” I decided not to tell him about the awkward introduction. “He works with Leslie most of the time.”
“How does that make you feel?”
I wrinkled my nose at him and snorted. “I don’t care! He’s just another one of the people who mills around the office all day.”
“Do you imagine romantic relationships with any of the other ‘people who mill around the office all day’?”
I blushed and crossed my arms over my chest. “No! Ick! No one else is good-looking.” Or has an English accent. Or eyes the color of Lake Michigan in winter.
“Oh. So this is purely superficial, based solely on the guy’s looks?”
“When you say that, it makes me sound so shallow.”
He laughed. “Sorry. Just trying to understand your ultimate goal when it comes to this guy.”
“Goal? I don’t have any goals.” He should know me better than that by now, I thought. “This is just another one of my fantasies. Period. And you’re kind of ruining it for me, by the way.”
He held up a hand. “I apologize. The reason I’m pressing you so hard about this is that I don’t want you to start confusing fantasy with reality. And to warn you that you may be disappointed if you have a real romantic interest in him. He might not live up to the fantasy. That’s all.”
It was my turn to laugh. “Are you kidding me? We’d have to talk to each other to become romantically involved. So you don’t have to worry about that.”
I focused on a picture on one of his bookshelves. It’s a photo I often stare at during our sessions. He’s wearing a cap and gown (judging by his age in the picture, it’s his college graduation), and he’s standing next to an older, shorter version of himself (I’ve always assumed it’s his father). The picture’s so familiar to me after so many sessions that I don’t even really see it anymore. But my eyes always go there.
“He’s kind of a hermit, anyway,” I continued, talking about Real Jude, staring at the photo. “He works late a lot. At least, I think he does. He’s always still there when I leave for the day, no matter how late it is. Not that I stay late often. Or notice his comings and goings.” I tore my eyes from the photo and impatiently said, “Can we get back to Fantasy Jude now? He’s so much more interesting.”
“Hey, it’s your dime,” he conceded. “Dream away.”
3
“Your shoulders are so tight,” I say, standing behind him and rubbing them.
“I’m really wound up at work. All I seem to do is sit hunched over that drafting table all day.”
“I’ve noticed that. But let’s not talk about work. I know! Let’s go to a spa together this weekend and get massages!”
“That sounds wonderful. You always have the best ideas, Libby.”
“I have another idea.” I lean down as he looks up at me, and we kiss. He swivels in his chair so he’s facing me. Then I slide my skirt up around my hips, straddle him, and—
“Yello! Libby!”
I use every ounce of equilibrium to stay in my chair as Lisa laughs at the struggle.
“What the heck?” she asks, when I finally come to a stop with both feet on the floor. She follows my earlier line of sight straight through Jude’s office window. He’s standing at his drafting table with his back to us, his arms spread and his head hanging, his weight on one foot more than the other. Then he runs one hand through his hair and rubs his neck.
“Oh.” After taking a minute to watch for a while, she says, “Yeah. I get it.” Then she drops a stapled sheaf of papers in my lap. “Can you pretty up this proposal by the end of the day?”
“Sure,” I answer, moving my chair closer to my computer. I blink my eyes hard a few times and roll my head on my neck.
As I get to work, she goes back to looking at Jude. “He has a terrific ass. Makes me wish I wasn’t married to one of the sweetest guys in the world. You know, I always thought it was nice that we worked in an office with no eye candy. No distractions. But I’m getting really used to taking in the scenery over there.”
Clicking and typing, I say, “Yeah, Leslie’s enjoying it, too.”
“So are you and every other person in this place who doesn’t prefer women.”
“No, I mean, Leslie’s doing more than just looking.”
“What a whore,” Lisa mutters supportively, patting my shoulder on her way out of my cubicle. “Just give me a shout if you need help with that. Gary wants it to go out tonight.”
Great. At least it’ll keep me busy, though. I have to admit, my mind is starting to run away with me. I’ve imagined everything from his favorite color (red) to his favorite sexual position (um… some things are private!). I’ve decided I have too much time on my hands. I need to get a life. A real life. Despite the fact that real lives are overrated. Or maybe Dr. Marsh is right, and I need to get a fantasy life that doesn’t include Jude. But… I don’t want to.
I find myself looking forward to my downtime so I can daydream about him. Or not even making it to my downtime, as witnessed by Lisa. Some of my dreams are ridiculous, featuring me sitting on his drafting table, fanning him and
