Jacqueline

Monday rolls around on the heels of an awkward Sunday. Awkward because when I woke to the sun pressing against my closed blinds, I did so alone. I was naked under the sheets and there was a note taped over my alarm clock. The numbers glowed blue against the paper, so I had to peel it off to read it.

No lessons today, Butler.

Take the day off and bask.

—V

In the kitchen I found a box of cereal next to a bowl and spoon. Vince’s way of making me breakfast¸ I’m guessing. It was sweet. And confusing.

I walked into work this morning with my head held high, proud of myself for not seeking him out. Not a single needy text.

We have a Monday afternoon meeting each week (Vince calls it a “jam session” to be funny because it’s easily the most boring and useless waste of time), so I’ll see him then.

I’ve been busy digging through a mountain of emails and sorting spreadsheets in hopes of making sense of the numbers before the meeting this afternoon. I turn in my chair to stretch when a flash of movement outside my window catches my eye.

J.T. jogs by, no shirt, hair waving in the wind, and when he’s passing my window he turns his head and smiles. When he includes a wave, I know that smile is meant for me. He can’t see in—reflective glass and all that—so my returned wave isn’t witnessed by anyone.

Or so I think.

“Afternoon.”

I turn to find Vince at my door. He leans on the jamb, eyes on the window, then on me. He’s chewing gum and his expression is one of mild disdain.

“Hey! Hi!” I chirp too brightly. Then I remember that he’s the one who walked out after the explosive sex on Saturday and remind myself I have nothing to feel guilty about. At the time I didn’t feel jilted, but not hearing from him on Sunday was strange.

“What’s up?” I ask coolly.

“He still on your to-do list?” Vince asks even more coolly. I don’t even pretend not to know what he’s talking about.

“J.T. and I have a bit of a ‘hanging chad’ issue”—which is my way of saying unfinished business—“but it’s only a matter of letting him know I’m done.”

Vince nods once—a simple tip of the chin.

“Do you have tips for how I should handle it?” I’m hoping he suggests I don’t talk to J.T. at all, or recommends I send a text stating we’re through.

After a pregnant pause Vince’s frowning mouth opens for one word. “No.”

“Hey, guys. I—oh. Am I…interrupting something?” Kayla is holding a Post-it note and wearing a look of caution. I understand why—even I can feel the tension in the room.

“Jackie and I were going over a few final notes before the meeting,” Vince says, not taking his eyes off me.

“I…see.” Kayla’s eyes flash around the room before landing on me. It’s obvious Vince and I were not discussing the meeting. “This can wait.” She waves the Post-it note and leaves.

“Well, that’s no good.” I round to the front of my desk and watch out the doorway as Kayla heads for her office, stopping to peer over her shoulder at me. I wave. She waves. “Do you think she knows?”

Vince’s fingers wrap around my arm and he pulls me back into my office and smoothly shuts the door. “What’s going on, Jackie?”

Him using my first name is almost foreign in this environment.

“With what?”

“With Jaundice.”

I jerk my arm out of Vince’s grip. “Gimme a break. Nothing’s going on. And anyway, how can you act jealous when you were the one who sneaked out of my house on Saturday night?”

“I didn’t sneak.” A pair of angry eyebrows crash together. “You didn’t hear me leave because you sleep like the dead and snore like a pair of chain saws.”

Offended, I drop my mouth open. “I do not.”

His smile finally emerges. I didn’t realize how relieved I’d be to see it. I sigh. Angry Vince is reserved for when we talk about Leslie. Vince being angry with me is…Well, it’s unacceptable, is what it is.

“You do,” he says. “It’s cute.”

I roll my eyes, which is probably why I don’t see him coming. Before I know it, his lips are on mine, his fingers in my hair, his other hand gripping my hip and holding on. I kiss him back. How could I not?

“Next lesson,” he says when we part to catch my breath. “Don’t kiss Jaundice unless you want him to know your secrets. You can fake a lot of things, Butler, but your kiss is incapable of dishonesty.”

Is Vince bluffing? Could he feel how badly I wanted that kiss—or how much I want him to do it again? That’d be disastrous.

“Got it?” he prompts.

“Got it.” My voice is little more than a tight croak of agreement. I back up as Vince grips the doorknob and lets himself out. “Great idea, Vince!” I call out for our coworkers’ benefits.

A few people scowl at my awkward interruption of their workdays.

Vince only chuckles.