Three

2. Spinning

It's been weeks since the hand incident, and nothing remotely close to it has happened. The office was thrown into chaos, but you welcomed the doubled-up workload. It was a distraction from your vulgar thoughts.

Since then, nothing seems to have changed between you and Rob. He smiles at you when he sees you, greets you when you walk past him, and jokes about your obsession with coffee. It is as if nothing has happened, as if he hadn't whispered your name with an intensity that was enough to melt all the glaciers in the world. There was no indication that once, he had his hand on your back. The memory of it sent your spine tingling again. But alas, you were almost at the point of disbelief - you are now not sure if these things actually happened, or if it was just your over-active imagination.

But then Friday arrived.

On Fridays, you go out with your friends, and because you abhor the color of your uniform (plus you do not want to be identified outside the office), you bring a different shirt. You always change just before leaving the office, and that depends on the time you actually finish the day's work. Today it's a little later than usual. Most people have already fled the office, rushing so they don't piss themselves off because of the weekend traffic. It's a good thing your meeting place was just near the office so you can just walk there. You've told your friends you were gonna be 30 minutes late, so you let them order for you.

You glance at your watch - 6:03 in the evening. You stretch and look around. There isn't anyone left in the office but you. Confident that everyone has left, you seize your opportunity and go into the shared comfort room to change clothes. No one else was around anyway so you don't bother locking the door of the cubicle you were in. With your back to the door, you meticulously change your clothes, taking your sweet time. It's a five-minute walk to the meeting place, so you have plenty of time.

The door behind you opens just as soon as you've removed your top. You curse and turn around, locking your arms in front of your chest to stupidly hide your C-cup breasts.

Of course it had to be him.

You stare at each other, utterly surprised. Clearly both of you didn't expect this. Your instinct screamed at you to turn your back to him and ask him to leave, but it seems your eyes are glued to each other. Your heart starts pounding on your chest. Was this providence? No. You were both married. This can't happen. It's not supposed to happen. Turn away, your head screams. Ask him to go.

His eyes then turn to what your arms tried to block. You see his face twitch, then he locks his eyes on yours again.

Stop. Turn away. NOW.

A second later, his hands are gripping your head, pulling you close at neck-crack speed, his mouth devouring yours.

Your mind is too shocked to respond, but your body isn't. Your mouth kisses him back fiercely, and you find your hands gripping his collar, pulling him even closer, if that was even possible.

Fuck, am I really making out with Rob in a bathroom cubicle? Your mind races with a million thoughts. How far will this go? What if we're seen? Will we lose our jobs? Will his wife kill me? Will my husband kill me? These thoughts are extinguished when you feel his hands wander on your body. One hand grips the nape of your neck while the other fiddles the strap of your bra, unlocking it with ease. The same hand slides from your back to your breast, and you moan as he squeezes it.

Suddenly he pulls away, seemingly awakened by the noise you made. His hands leave your body as he steps back, your arms fall limp to your sides. He looks at you with a vacant expression on his face. You don't know if he's shocked, angry or apologetic. Seconds of silence pass. You turn away from him, grabbing your clothes. "This didn't happen," you mutter. "Please close the door," you continue, your voice trembling a little. You mutter a small curse. Now you've done it. Your brain is bombarded with a million thoughts. Will he tell on you? Will he start a rumor to ruin your image? Of course it will be your word against his. And because he has friends at high places, of course you'll be the one to crash and burn. Don't be an idiot, you tell yourself. He's a man, and you don't think he's the type to spread or believe gossip. This is probably nothing, and you're probably just overthinking. It's easy to deny everything - there are no security cameras in the shared bathroom. You hear his footsteps move away from you as you fix your bra. Worst case scenario, I'll just resign, you think. No fuss. Just walk away.

You hear a door lock click.

You hurriedly put your top on and look out of the cubicle. You see Rob by the bathroom door, his hand on the lock. He looks at you again. This time his eyes burned with want. "Neither did this." He turns off the bathroom light.