“I wasn’t planning on it.”
We hold each other’s gaze a few seconds too long. Another crazy impulse rises inside me: the urge to kiss her. I’m not sure where it comes from or when I started thinking that kissing my assistant might be a reasonable thing to do. All I know is that I shouldn’t. I won’t cross that line with Margot. She’s too important to me, as both an assistant and a friend.
Dragging my eyes away from her, I try to tread back to familiar waters. We were just talking about her terrible luck on Sip, so I stare up at the ceiling and say, “Maybe I should choose your next date for you. I’ve gotten pretty good at vetting people on that app. You could put my skillset to use.”
Margot doesn’t respond right away, but when she does, I hear the smile in her voice. “On one condition: I get to pick your next date, too.” I risk a glance in her direction, and she shrugs playfully. “It’s only fair.”
“Alright, do your worst.” I say with a laugh, pulling up the app on my phone and sliding it toward her.
Before long, we’re both lying in bed, exhausted but endlessly amused by this weird game we’re playing. Margot is facing me, propped up on one elbow with her legs curled as she scrolls.
“I found someone for you,” I announce eventually.
Margot looks doubtful, and I can’t really blame her. The last guy I jokingly chose for her had a profile that simply saidno uggos. This guy is my real pick though. Unfortunately, when I show Margot his profile, she doesn’t seem impressed.
“This guy is basically you,” she quips, arching an eyebrow.
“No, he’s not. He just seems normal and stable. He has a good job.”
What I don’t say out loud is that I think Margot is selling herself short. She’s smart, funny, and attractive. I know she thinks she isn’t good enough for a guy like this who arguably looks like a J. Crew model, but if anything, she’s probablytoogood for him. She just needs to put herself out there and stop wasting time on weirdos with plastic unicorns and foot fetishes.
“Alright,” she mumbles. “I’ll message him.”
A few seconds later, she announces, “Here’s yours.” When she flashes the profile at me, I’m immediately skeptical.
“She’s too young,” I say.
“She’s twenty-seven. That’s only four years younger than you, and it’s a year older than me. Do you think I’m too young?”
“You’re different,” I say, biting back a cliché remark about how Margot is more mature than most twenty-six-year-olds.
It’s no secret that I usually date older women. Hell, Margot even knows that my porn history is full of MILFs. It’s not that I’m exclusively attracted to women who are a few years older, but they tend to be more secure in themselves and what they want. I can be forthright about the fact that I’m not looking for anything serious, and they won’t take it personally. We’ll have our fun and go our separate ways.
But I know why Margot picked this particular woman. I inadvertently picked a guy who reminds Margot of me, so she picked someone who would inevitably remind me of her. The woman on the screen has dark hair and glasses, though they aren’t as cute as Margot’s. I can tell from a single glance that this woman would describe herself as quirky, which is a word I’ve heard Margot use to describe herself as well.
“You said you haven’t been clicking with your dates recently,” Margot reminds me. “Maybe you need to try dating someone different than your usual type.”
“Fair enough,” I say.
Margot yawns. Things get hazy after that. I remember dozing off then waking up and telling myself that I need to move to the couch. But the next time I wake up, there’s a hand on my chest and a leg thrown over mine.
11
Margot
If waking up in my boss’s spare bedroom was bad, waking up practically smothering him is catastrophic.
I’m not sure how we got like this, but one thing is clear: it was me who traversed the sacred, invisible line in the middle of the bed and decided to maul Ethan in the night.
Unfortunately, when I try to gently pry my body away from his, Ethan stirs. Before he realizes what’s happening or who is attached to his side like a sucker fish, he lets out a low, satisfied groan and pulls me closer. His hand travels up and down my back in slow, rhythmic strokes. I can’t lie—it feels nice.
When he shifts, his thigh nudges a spot between my legs that also feels nice.
Very nice.
Too nice.
The temptation to melt into him is strong, but this is my last chance to spare myself the embarrassment before Ethan fully wakes up and realizes what’s happening. Slowly, I lift my hand from his chest and begin untangling our legs. But it’s toolate. Ethan’s eyelids crack open, recognition dawning on him. Through heavily hooded eyes, he looks down at me.