these clothes? I had watched that video at least ten times from the time I opened my mail that day to the weekend; I thought my computer would explode if I pressed play one more time.
“Blaire?”
“Yes? Yes. I’m sorry, did you say something?” I shook my head, trying to shake off the litany of thoughts starting to run rampant—most of them involving some variation of the video. I felt my cheeks flame and my ears grow hot with embarrassment.
“You were staring.”
“I apologize. I didn’t mean to.”
“I don’t mind, but did you want to look at the menu before the waiter comes back around?”
“Sure.”
Joel mentioned me staring at him, but that didn’t stop him from doing the same as I opened the menu to reaffirm what I wanted. Ernesto’s was my go-to spot if I wanted Mexican food, so I was definitely familiar with the menu, but being around Joel made me flustered, and I needed something to do with my jittery hands.
“Are you ready to order?”
I put the menu back on the table and there stood a short man with charcoal colored hair and brown skin tanned red—a product of the Vegas sun—looking down at me, waiting for an answer. With a reassuring look from Joel, I answered yes and we both proceeded to give our orders: enchiladas for me and steak fajitas for him. The man gave an enthusiastic nod to each of our orders, and moments after he left, another woman came by to set down chips and salsa in the center of the table.
I didn’t wait for Joel to speak before I took a couple chips from the bowl. I didn’t know what made me so nervous, aside from the obvious, but I didn’t want to be the one to start. Maybe whatever he had to say would be quick and we’d sit in silence for the remainder of the lunch. Maybe after a few minutes of talking we’d realize that this was pointless and we both would be eager to leave without making it past chips and salsa.
The truth was, this was more like a date than I wanted it to be. At least to my nerves it was. I was obsessing about what to say, who would speak first, what I wore to work that day—all of the symptoms of a date were there, despite how much I tried convincing my mind that this would be the last time I would see him, especially in a non-work related context.
“Thank you for having lunch with me. I know it wasn’t easy for you to come—”
“Yeah, you sure haven’t made it easy.”
“You didn’t like the flowers? Or the singing telegram? OK, how about the video?” His smile spread like poison and just as mischievous. After spending the last ten minutes trying to shake my head of that video, there he was bringing it up again. Not only that, but he was wearing the smile that I imagined while watching the video. Though I couldn’t see his face, I felt those eyes on me, undressing me with a look. It was a look I’d seen before. It spoke of sinister desire and a fiery passion I’d become far too familiar with. Those eyes were deceptive, though—deep pools of green that pulled me in, intrigued me with their mystery, and captured me like a fly caught in a web. There was no escaping Joel, not when he looked at me like that.
“Was that from you?” I said trying to gain some ground, anything to cut the hold Joel had over me. He knew I watched that video, knew that I knew it was him, and worse, knew that I watched it until the very last minute when the screen went black while my heart was still racing from the orgasm that swept through my body like a tornado. The video still didn’t have anything on Joel. Nothing did.
“Cute. So tell me, how many times did you watch it? It couldn’t have been only once. I watched the video after I made it; there’s no way it was only once.”
“Joel, do you want to get to the reason why we’re here?”
“Blaire, I’m sorry—”
“You’ve said that already, in every imaginable way. In ways I didn’t even think one could say sorry.”
“I know, but you didn’t give me a chance to tell
“Blaire?”
“Yes? Yes. I’m sorry, did you say something?” I shook my head, trying to shake off the litany of thoughts starting to run rampant—most of them involving some variation of the video. I felt my cheeks flame and my ears grow hot with embarrassment.
“You were staring.”
“I apologize. I didn’t mean to.”
“I don’t mind, but did you want to look at the menu before the waiter comes back around?”
“Sure.”
Joel mentioned me staring at him, but that didn’t stop him from doing the same as I opened the menu to reaffirm what I wanted. Ernesto’s was my go-to spot if I wanted Mexican food, so I was definitely familiar with the menu, but being around Joel made me flustered, and I needed something to do with my jittery hands.
“Are you ready to order?”
I put the menu back on the table and there stood a short man with charcoal colored hair and brown skin tanned red—a product of the Vegas sun—looking down at me, waiting for an answer. With a reassuring look from Joel, I answered yes and we both proceeded to give our orders: enchiladas for me and steak fajitas for him. The man gave an enthusiastic nod to each of our orders, and moments after he left, another woman came by to set down chips and salsa in the center of the table.
I didn’t wait for Joel to speak before I took a couple chips from the bowl. I didn’t know what made me so nervous, aside from the obvious, but I didn’t want to be the one to start. Maybe whatever he had to say would be quick and we’d sit in silence for the remainder of the lunch. Maybe after a few minutes of talking we’d realize that this was pointless and we both would be eager to leave without making it past chips and salsa.
The truth was, this was more like a date than I wanted it to be. At least to my nerves it was. I was obsessing about what to say, who would speak first, what I wore to work that day—all of the symptoms of a date were there, despite how much I tried convincing my mind that this would be the last time I would see him, especially in a non-work related context.
“Thank you for having lunch with me. I know it wasn’t easy for you to come—”
“Yeah, you sure haven’t made it easy.”
“You didn’t like the flowers? Or the singing telegram? OK, how about the video?” His smile spread like poison and just as mischievous. After spending the last ten minutes trying to shake my head of that video, there he was bringing it up again. Not only that, but he was wearing the smile that I imagined while watching the video. Though I couldn’t see his face, I felt those eyes on me, undressing me with a look. It was a look I’d seen before. It spoke of sinister desire and a fiery passion I’d become far too familiar with. Those eyes were deceptive, though—deep pools of green that pulled me in, intrigued me with their mystery, and captured me like a fly caught in a web. There was no escaping Joel, not when he looked at me like that.
“Was that from you?” I said trying to gain some ground, anything to cut the hold Joel had over me. He knew I watched that video, knew that I knew it was him, and worse, knew that I watched it until the very last minute when the screen went black while my heart was still racing from the orgasm that swept through my body like a tornado. The video still didn’t have anything on Joel. Nothing did.
“Cute. So tell me, how many times did you watch it? It couldn’t have been only once. I watched the video after I made it; there’s no way it was only once.”
“Joel, do you want to get to the reason why we’re here?”
“Blaire, I’m sorry—”
“You’ve said that already, in every imaginable way. In ways I didn’t even think one could say sorry.”
“I know, but you didn’t give me a chance to tell
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