Can't Touch This (33 page)

He’s so damn hot that I can’t help myself and I pull him back to me.  “You don’t happen to have another condom, do you?”

His evil snicker against my skin tells me all I need to know.

A long while later, we exit the bathroom unseen and ease back to our seats.  He stretches out and pats next to him, motioning for me to lie down.  I wrap my arms around his middle and snuggle on his chest.  This gives a whole new meaning to “Fly United.”

“I wasn’t supposed to have sex with you until our third date,” I joke, my voice muffled in his upper body.

“Mmm-hmm and I was supposed to wait three days before calling,” he says, kissing my forehead.  “I hate the stupid games.  Let’s not play them.”

Thank God.  This is more than a one-plane-stand.  I have a future with Kyle.  I’ve never felt so right, so warm, so treasured.

Kyle falls into a deep, contented sleep, warm in my embrace.  Right before I drift off, I realize, I owe Griz a hundred bucks.

Oh well, it’s totally well worth it.

I
n the wee hours
of the morning, Kyle and I deplane and follow the rest of the late night passengers down to baggage claim, never leaving each other’s side.  His large hand encompasses mine as he leads me through the terminal.  That electric zap I felt when our eyes met his very first day at work sizzles right now through my entire body, warm from his and our mile-high loving.

As we wait for the luggage, he cups his hands around my face and gazes intently into my eyes.  I dare not blink for fear of ruining the moment or waking from this delicious dream.

But no dream has ever kissed me so thoroughly.  We angle our heads in opposite directions as his tongue crosses over my lips and into my mouth.  I match his fervor with my own and wrap my arms around his muscular shoulders, not caring where we are or who may be looking at us.   Airports are all about hellos and goodbyes.  Kyle’s erotic, wet kiss definitely speaks of more to come for us.

Eventually, we’re the only ones left standing at the carousel as the two remaining black bags—ours—continue to loop around in the hopes that we’ll retrieve them.  My shoulders sag and my chest pings at the thought of this night or morning or whatever ending.

Kyle piles our bags onto a cart and pushes it with one hand toward the exit, while continuing to hold steadfastly to me with his other.

The whoosh of morning air does little to knock me back to reality.  I don’t want to go there.  Not yet.  Not ever.  I want to drown in the memories of making love with Kyle until we can be together again.

“I’m not going to get much work done today,” he says with an evil grin as we stand in line for a cab.

Tingles run up and down my arms, a sensation that shimmers over me from his mere tone of his words.  “You wanna come home with me?”

He stops and thinks about it, tucking my hair behind my ear.  “I should get to my place.  Grab some sleep.  Shave.  Shower.”

This time, I don’t try to squash the vivid image of him naked and wet.  It’s something to look forward to seeing very soon in this relationship.

A cab pulls up to the taxi line.  “Here,” Kyle says.  “You take the first one.”

Can’t we share?  Course, I have no idea where he lives or if it’s even in the same direction, so it’s probably best to each go our own way.

He leans down and captures my lips again in a hunger, a need, a regret that we’re parting.  Finally, he releases my hand and I get into the cab and close the door, putting the most distance between us in about six hours.  Kyle waves and watches until the red taillights of my cab are completely out of sight.  Trembling fingers trip over my lips, remembering the many kisses we shared.  I sigh when I realize we didn’t make any follow-up plans.  Ah well, we’ll figure it out later today.

Once home, I float up the stairs in a lover’s hangover.  The faintest whiff of Kyle’s cologne is still on my clothes.  I should be dead tired, but I’m not.

I have to talk to someone.

“Wills?”  I crack open the door and then crawl into his bed, trying to rouse him.  “Wake up, hombre.”

He pulls the pillow over his face.  “What time is it?”

“Early.  I couldn’t wait to tell you my news.”

William flips over, rubs his eyes, and gives me his attention.  I spill everything, down to the delicious admission of my initiation into the mile-high club.

“I’m so happy for you.  No one deserves this more than you.”

I beam.  “Thanks for putting up with me through all of my stupidity.  I really think I’ve found the one.”  The pounding of my heart sounds out through my body, rattling me in a good way.

I nap briefly, jump in the shower, dress, and walk on air as I bound out to the Porter Square T station.  Nothing bothers me.  Not even the messy man on the train who’s licking spilled coffee off his pants.  I don’t care about the mega-ton lady taking up two seats.  I don’t give a rip about the hygienically challenged man next to me or the guy with a hat that reads, “If Heaven ain’t a lot like Dixie, I don’t want to go.”  When I exit the Red Line, I even have a smile for the irritating man who shoves free newspapers in my face.  The world is brand new and bright.

I’m in love.

Everything is perfect.

Until I get to the office.

My door code doesn’t work, so I knock.  Janine, our receptionist, buzzes me in and then checks my name off a list.

“What’s this all about?” I ask.

“Just doing what I was told.”

What did I miss by coming into work an hour late?  The air is heavy with anticipation and it’s deathly quiet.  You can slash the silence with a carving knife.  I wonder if someone on the plane last night saw Kyle and me folded up like a couple of bean burritos.  I hope we haven’t been ratted to any of the higher ups.

I stop and smile at the thought, realizing that I don’t give a shit.

I do, however, wipe my sweaty palms on my black jeans as I exhale deeply in my cube.  Settling into my chair, I boot up the computer and log into e-mail.  There’s a message from Jiles, flagged with that annoying red exclamation mark addressed to “All Staff.”

I stare in disbelief.

DigitalDirection’s Board of Directors is reorganizing.  Layoffs will commence at noon today.  Employees are to continue with assigned projects and await notification.

My fingers hover over the mouse and my mouth drops open.  Let me get this straight.  I may or may not have a job by the end of the day, yet I’m supposed to sit here and work.  This is a joke.  Some sort of April Fool’s.  Nope.  It’s still March.

They can’t fire me.  I’m one of the hardest working, most dedicated employees they have.  I’ve got the stupid “Chef of the Year” spatula to prove it.  They can’t do without me.

I need Kyle.

I run down the hall to his cube.  There’s an open soda on his desk, telling me he’s here.  He’s probably with the Willies.

I need Griz.  She’s not in her cube, either.  I’m caught between euphoria and panic.  I have to tell her about what happened on the plane because it’s not something I want to elucidate in e-mail.  And now I can’t share good news because of the impending corporate doom.

Back at my desk, the hateful e-mail stares balefully at me from the screen. 
Layoffs
.  D-Day.  Is my professional nuclear holocaust about to commence?  Is it Nagasaki?  Or Not-Gonna-Sack-Me?

I don’t want to think about it.  I want to think about Kyle.  I dial his extension and it goes straight to voice mail.  Just hearing his message calms me a bit.  “Kyle, call me,” I say, not leaving my name.

A warm relief washes over me momentarily as I think back to our playfulness on the plane.  Never has anything felt so right, so perfect, or so in sync.  I want that feeling again and again.  Right now I’ve got to deal with my career, my future, my security.

Dammit, I felt so good a few minutes ago.  What a complete buzz killer.  Leave it to Jiles to screw with my life again.  I understand these are trying times, but why can’t we cut back on Xerox paper and not the number of employees? 
We
should matter.

We don’t, though.  It’s all about the bottom line.

They’ll hire temps.  They’ll outsource to India.  It’s what everyone does these days.

I need to take a deep breath, relax, and wait until noon.

I think about looking for Kyle again, but I don’t want to bring our liaison into the office.  Besides, he’s probably in a closed-door meeting about the layoffs.  Did he know this was coming?  No, I can’t think like that.  He would have told me.

I can’t find Jack either.  He’s probably out running errands, going to the gym, or at the mall.  Then I spot him.

I shout at him.  “Where have you been?”

“Getting a hair cut.  Did you know they’ve got a new code at the front door?  Janine checked my name off a list.”

“I know.  Haven’t you seen the e-mail from Jiles about the layoffs?”

“What layoffs?”  He sets his Dunkin’ Donuts coffee on the desk next to an old one from earlier this morning.

“Read your e-mail!”

“Okay, okay, hold on.”  He turns to the computer.

“I’m going back to my cube.  E-mail me.”

At my desk, I sit and fidget, rearranging the pens in my cup, moving my 8-ball around the desk and stacking files that are in place to begin with.  My phone rings and I jerk my head to read the display, hoping—praying—that it’s Kyle.  Nope.  Isabella.

I snatch the receiver.  “Griz, where’ve you been?”

“They pulled us in with the engineers first thing to give a report on the graphics we’ve been working on.  Everyone looks like they just came from a funeral.”

In a short while, our fate will be sealed.  “I don’t know what’s going to happen.  Call me at home tonight.”

“Good luck to both of us,” she says.

Outlook dings and I see an e-mail from Nancy Mendelssohn, HR director: 
Please report to the Larry Bird conference room.

The shot clock is ticking down.  I start shunting and feel like I will surely have a heart attack.  When the readout on my clock shows 11:53, I grab a notepad and a pen and stop by Jack’s cube.  “Come on, Larry Bird room.”

His brows furrow.  “No, Bobby Orr.”

“What?”

“Yeah, that’s what my e-mail says.”

I lean over his shoulder as my heart pounds away viciously and read his announcement.  This is
not
a good sign.  One of us is on our way out.  We stare at each other; the silence hangs in the air like dirty laundry.

“Let’s go,” he says, patting me on the back.

I gulp hard knowing there’s nothing I can do about any of this.

J
ack turns into
the Bobby Orr room and I see Griz.  I motion to her with the universal “call me” sign as I continue down the hallway to the Larry Bird room.  I keep my eyes peeled for Kyle, but I still haven’t seen hide nor hair of him.

In the designated room, Ted waves me over.  I sit down and look around.  There are a handful of programmers and a couple of people from accounting.  Two client services managers are on their cell phones and one of the HR gals is up at the front.  About forty people.  These aren’t slackers, either.  Ted’s our sales manager.  They can’t lay him off.  Especially since he made two sales last night.

Last night... it now seems like last year.

The glass door creaks and Jiles marches in like a storm trooper.  He sits down, staring ahead with his hands folded, looking like he’s about to say grace.

A twisted, maniacal grace.

He turns to the HR lady.  “Is everyone here?”

She does a silent head count and nods.

Jiles clears his throat and I feel like my heart is going to burst through my chest.  Without making eye contact with anyone in the room, he announces, “Effective immediately, your position has been eliminated.  DigitalDirection will no longer be in need of your services.  You have fifteen minutes to pack your personal belongings and leave the premises.”

With that, Little Baby Jesus—who has suddenly morphed into Lucifer himself—stands and marches toward the door.

I look down to see if blood is pouring from my body cavity since I’ve obviously been involved in a drive-by shooting.

The room is tomblike.  The meaning of his words seeps into my system like deadly poison.  Everyone mumbles and murmurs as form letters are passed out.

Ted shakes his head and laughs.  “Slam dunked in the Larry Bird room.”  Leave it to a guy to make a sports analogy at a time like this.

This is unforgivable.  This, this gangbang!  They didn’t even have the decency to bring us in one at a time and explain what’s happening.  Suddenly, my heart palpitations kick into overdrive.  I’m not taking this sitting down.  Jiles almost makes it out the door when I bolt from my seat and yank him by his arm.

“This is some kind of joke, right?”  I peer into his beady little eyes, but only for a second.  He won’t make eye contact with me.  “I worked my ass off for you, doing Aislin’s job, organizing these client events, and this is the thanks I get.  My position’s not necessary?  Are you fucking kidding me?”

“You should get down on your knees and thank me for all I’ve done for you, Vanessa,” he says flatly.

“Oh, you’re right, Jiles.  Thank you for unemploying me after you worked me to death.”

He continues to stare at my feet as he scratches his beard.  His skin is almost green.  I have the urge to reach underneath his chin to see if his face will peel off, revealing underneath that he’s really a reptile sent here to destroy us.

I try to think of something appropriate, something meaningful.  Words fail me.

This is it.  It doesn’t matter that I worked long hours and did everything that was asked of me.  Vanessa Virtue doesn’t matter.  Only the Almighty Dollar is what’s important to the company’s bottom line.

Without saying a word, Jiles steps through the door and closes it in my face.  I begin to shake fiercely, struggling to get a deep breath.  I’m great with confrontation while it happens, then I fall apart.  Ted pulls me to him for a friendly hug.  I wish it were Kyle.  I need Kyle. 

The generic “here’s why you’re getting laid off” letter explains the company’s financial problems, the need to cut back the workforce, yadda, yadda, yadda, blah, blah, blah.  It’s all bullshit.