The next day, I’m back at work, tapping a pen against paper, trying to keep from writing “Evie heart Bear & Sawyer 4 evah” over and over. What is it about orgasms that turn me into a starry-eyed school girl? It’s killing my aloof movie star mojo.
“How are you coming on the quarterlies?” My coworker and cubicle neighbor pops his unwanted head in. I smile at my blank computer screen. I know this trick. Ben asks first thing about a project I’ve never heard of. Once I’m flustered, he dumps some of his own work on me.
Not today. I swirl my chair his direction, poised and ready. “Not my assignment.”
At the sight of me Ben’s eyes widen, and I smile further. Usually I wear bulky blouses and shapeless skirts, or slacks designed to hide my body. Not today. A dress arrived at my house last night,
