Her chest is rising and falling, faster and faster, and her fingers inch around my neck, interlocking behind my head.
She licks her lips, and I lick mine. She lifts up on her toes, I drop down. Her fingers caress the back of my neck, working up into my hair. My hands move around her waist, holding her so close I can feel her heart beating inside her chest.
Closer and closer our mouths move, until they're about to touch.
Everything in my body is on fire. My heart is racing and my palms are sweaty. My dick is getting hard as her nipples bead up, becoming visible under her dress.
Errrr! Errrr! Errrr!
The sound is jarring, causing us both to unfurl our bodies and take a step back. Bright white lights are flashing at each exit, and kids are moving out of the room with a slight look of panic on their faces.
The fire alarm is so loud I can barely hear myself think. Dalia looks around us, reaching her hand back to grab Kira. We move with the crowd out the exit, and in the middle of it all, I lose her.
Her hand is in mine, I feel her fingers, I feel them tighten, and then she's gone. My hand is empty, cold, and Dalia is nowhere in sight.
Just like that, it's over. Our almost kiss will remain that. Almost. A wish I want back. A desire I'll relive over and over in my dreams.
Her lips will be there. Her chest pressing against mine will sit like a weight on my ribs.
But I'll always open my eyes before we kiss.
I won't let a chance like this slip through my fingers again.
If I have the opportunity, I'm just going to take it.
8
Dalia
I inhale a short breath right before the elevator doors open, and I hold it in. I can't let it out, it's like my brain won't let me until I know.
For years I spent tiny moments wishing to be noticed, to become the light in a room full of darkness so his eyes would fall only on me. And now all I want is to become invisible.
Don't see me. Don't see me. Don't see me.
The mantra plays over and over as the doors open so slowly it's like they were oiled with molasses. I'm met with a smiling secretary holding out a folder, and a list of requests from Sandy.
“Ms. Vox is requesting immediate action on the file, plus she wants you to go over a few other slides from the D Sneakers advertisement images. She's not very happy with images three and five.”
“Got it, thanks,” I say, taking them from Giada. My eyes shift nervously around her face, and she gives me a thoughtful smile.
“You okay, Ms. Greene?” she asks.
“I'm all right. Things aren't—” The phone rings, and she lifts a finger for me to hold my thought.
“Vox Design,” she says into the receiver as she taps the keyboard and stares at the monitor.
I don't stay to finish our little conversation, I just give her a quick smile, and head to my office. It's better that way. I really don't feel like explaining anything to her.
My heels click on the hard floor, so I try to step a little lighter, a little less noticeably. Looking over my shoulder, I stop at each hall, peeking first before moving past.
He could be anywhere. I don't want to see Lyle, I'm not ready, not after our fight. I feel weird, like I'm on the verge of crying any second. My emotions have been going haywire, I'm high and low, angry and sad. It's like I can't control any of it.
Everything I remember feeling back in school is coming back to life inside me. The embarrassment, the anger, the sadness. It's fresh, alive, and burning through my veins.
I feel rejected, like he's justifying what she did by writing it off like it never happened. He's refusing to see her for the real person she is. I don't understand it, it seems obvious to me.
It's always been obvious to me, even when I chose to ignore it.
Stepping into my office, I close the door behind me, and lean back. Finally, I breathe a sigh of relief. I'm safe. Hiding in the confines of my own space.
I walk to the window and look out at the horizon. The sun is peeking out, and beginning to seep over the buildings, dusting them in red and orange. The city below me is coming alive as more and more cars fill the streets, and people begin their day.
Pulling the folder out, I open it up, and thumb through the papers. It's one of the client work sheets I drew up with a mock idea for the upcoming advertising campaign.
And Sandy drew red lines all over the fucking thing.
With my eyes on the paper, I walk to my desk and drop into the chair. My entire body is clamming up, my skin is getting hot and sticky.
Setting the folder down in front of me, I flip through page after page and all I see is red. Red lines stripe the paper like cuts. Every single one stings. My eyes start to fill with water as I read her comments.
'This is awful, what are we six? Change it to something more modern, and not like it came out of Sesame Street.'
'Dumb.'
'Stupid.'
'Just no.'
The last one isn't just a cut, it's a damn gouge. Scribble after scribble of ink marks every inch of the picture.
She hasn't changed at all.
Is she doing this because she knows Lyle and I got in a fight?
It makes sense. Sandy knows about the argument, and now she's pissed. Hanging my head, I can't stop myself from breaking down. The tears come, falling one after the other onto the design. My design.
“Dalia, what's wrong? Are you all right?”
Lifting my head, Lyle is standing in the doorway, concern flooding his expression. He starts to move into my office, and all I want to do is
