Deviant(7)

Ian winked and leaned over a little. “Someone I met at a club in Soho. We hit it off, and once I thought I had a shot, I invited her back to my place. She accepted and… Well, I think you know the rest.”

Slapping his knee, I couldn’t help feeling jealous. Everyone was having sex right, left, and centre, except for me. “You jammy bastard.”

“No need to get jealous, sugar lips. I’m sure you’ll be able to find someone out there willing to sleep with you.”

Gasping, I very nearly lunged for the git. “You better get out of here before I launch my stapler at your head.”

“I’m sorry, Tyler. I couldn’t resist it. How about we go out this Friday night…after the Bolognaise, of course? I’ll buy the drinks, considering you paid for lunch the other day.”

Remembering how he had to rush out of the restaurant, I had to ask, “Oh, how did that go, by the way?”

Waving his hands, he dismissed it. “I managed to come up with something within the hour. No sweat.”

Looking at Ian, I couldn’t help but feel jealous of his nonchalant attitude. He seemed to work better under pressure, and he can do as he pleased with his time. I hate people like that.

“Well, I can’t make it for our normal Friday night. Maybe Saturday? You can come around for Bolognaise night then. What do you say?”

“Will there be sex involved?”

“Absolutely bloody not, Ian,” I scolded.

“Oh well. A man can try.” Getting up from his perch at the edge of my desk, Ian smiled. “What shall I bring around, red or white?”

Sitting back in my chair, I twiddled my pen. “Maybe a bit of both. You normally do anyway.”

“Very daring, Tyler. Okay, I’ll bring both. Maybe spin the bottle won’t be out of the question.”

Watching him stroll away, I tried throwing a paperclip at his head, but it missed him and landed right on the head of Thomas, one of the senior editors.

Trying hard not to laugh, I leaned back in my chair and scooted down as much as possible, trying to get out of sight. Thomas looked everywhere for the offending person, but shrugged once he realised he wasn’t getting anywhere.

I wasn’t completely out of the woods just yet. Looking around, I glanced over and just happened to see Andrew Walker walking past our cubicles. He seemed to study me somewhat curiously, then went on his way. Oh shit. How much did he see?

Trying hard not to think about it, I got to work on some things until it was time to go meet the second couple for my article.

This next set of childhood sweethearts was rather adorable. I was glad I taped the whole conversation between us as I couldn’t remember a damn thing once I left. The whole time I was there, I was fidgeting and getting antsy. I was dying to get home and find out if my stranger had replied to me.



*****



Once my day was over, I got back home and pulled into my parking space. I raced for the stairs. Unlocking the door, my heart was thumping so wildly, I thought it might just spontaneously combust.

Dumping everything on the floor, I went to my kitchen and found the note sitting where I left it this morning. I could see my writing on it, but couldn’t see a reply. I felt disheartened for a second because I had been thinking about it all day. I was looking forward to coming home and finding a little note back to me. In a sense, I felt a little angry.

Figuring I shouldn’t concern myself too much with it, I decided to get a drink of wine and sit down at the table.

Sipping the wine, I looked at the note again. It was almost as if I was willing the words to pop out at me. I didn’t know what I wanted him to say. I just wanted him to say something—anything. One word would do, just to let me know I wasn’t going bloody crazy.

I don’t know why, but something told me to turn the note over. I gasped. “Shit!” I’m not going fucking mad after all. All these years of thinking I was going crazy, thinking that maybe I had been dreaming this all up. Dreaming him up.

Not now, though. Staring at me now were two words. Yes, two. I actually managed to get two words from my stranger, and they were the most beautiful words I had ever seen.

You’re welcome.

For some strange reason, I felt complete elation with this tiny little note. For three years, I had been going out of my mind, wondering who the hell this guy was. It was only today that I came up with the idea of trying to communicate with him. If I had been doing this from the very beginning, who knows where we would be now.

Sipping my wine again, I wondered what I should write back. Should I ask him his name? Should I ask him why he’s been stalking me for the past three years? Should I ask him why he keeps moving my stuff? But, most of all, should I ask him why he keeps on bloody insisting on turning the toilet paper the wrong way?! He was obviously a little bit OCD with his need for things to be in the right place. He wasn’t even living here and he was taking over.