A Coffee Kiss

An eighteen year olds conflicting emotions on the "flirtationship" she has with a twenty eight year old coworker of hers as he stops by on his way to work.

It was a quiet Saturday morning, the sky a thick grey blanket that hung over the city, warning the glaring passerby's below of the impending rain fall. A girl the age of eighteen stood behind a sink, the sleeves of her black hoodie pushed up to her elbows, her thick brown hair falling helplessly in her face as she tried and failed yet again at sweeping it back behind her ear with her forearm. Her hands, sore from the exertion of scrubbing dishes and burned by the blistering temperature of the water, scrubbed the metal bowls until they glistened and then placed them on a grate so the water would drop through into the sink like the rain fell from the somber sky. Her eyes held worry as she awaited his arrival, her thoughts twisting and writhing with the anticipation that he would ask too much of her. The man that twisted and mangled her thoughts, as she tried without success to do anything that would distract her, was a coworker of hers. He had been eyeing her for days, sending her flirtatious text messages that hinted at an interest at his end. Not that she didn't find him appealing, he was tall, had black hair and soft brown eyes that made her cheeks enflame a deep red whenever he looked her way. He was fit, clocking in several hours at the gym a week, no doubt. He had a way of making her feel self conscious, without knowing of course. Yet he was dangerous. Not the pulp-fictious kind in most movies where a man is charming and mysterious, but the kind where though he intrigues you there's still a voice in your head that screams at you to run in the opposite direction, to hide. That's exactly what she wanted to do this very moment when she heard the deadbolt slide and click quite audibly, to turn invisible and pull into herself until there was nothing left but a sink half full of dirty dishes and sweltering running water. Yet she couldn't deny the conflicted longing she had to hold him close, to kiss him with everything in her. But what would he do if she showed emotion like that? She scrubbed ever harder at the cup in her hand as she heard his quiet footsteps behind her, drawing ever closer as her heart beat so loud that it rang in her ears. The foot steps abruptly stopped, the whisper of his shirt brushing against the back of hers was all she was aware of. He placed his warm hands gently on her hips, leisurely twisting her to face him until her chest was flush with his. His warm eyes were there to greet her, sending her knees into a frenzy of quivering shakes, her hands shook as she braced herself against the counter behind her. He leaned in, no longer wary of her like he seemed to be over the phone, no longer careful of what he said or did to make her in any way irate. He simply leaned in close to her face, his hands now gripping her waist as he smashed his wet lips to hers. He slid his tongue past her teeth into her mouth, tasting of coffee; strong and sweet. He had seemed that way to her when they first met, strong and sweet; Now, she feared him, almost, afraid of what thoughts went through this man's head as he drew her ever closer. He sucked at her full bottom lip, drawing the kiss out longer. The kiss was sweet, she thought, even though what she was doing was wrong. Leading him on by flirting recklessly back was a mistake she longed to steal back. Now, she could do nothing but wait until he decided to be through with her. A kiss like this begged her of more as he groped her chest, but she didn't want to give him that satisfaction. She didn't want more than this, though she had regretfully given him much more via the pictures she sent. It was a stupid thing to do, she knew that. Sending pictures to a man almost ten years older than she, a coworker at that, that could at any moment show those pictures to their boss and get her fired. "Just fun" he had said, which at the time sounded intriguing to her; but what was the definition of fun to him? A few racy pictures, a collection of flirty text messages, a make out session and a groping, sure, she could deal with that. But how far was he willing to go? How far was she? He broke their kiss off short as the blatant ringing of his cellphone blared in the pocket of his black slacks. Out of breath and out of time, he answered his phone taking a measured step away from the girl, hidden relief and wanting for his kiss running through her simultaneously. It was their boss, wondering where on God's green earth he was. He had been running a few minutes behind when he had arrived at her house, now a good half hour had passed between the time it took him to get to her house and kiss her like she had never quite been kissed before. As he clicked his phone shut, he gave her a quick, speculative glance before drawing her gently closer again and, this time, leaving a soft, chaste kiss on her now bruised mouth. She kissed him back, her hands frozen to her sides. He turned without another glance in her direction and walked swiftly out the door, the only sounds were of the running faucet and the soft click of the mahogany door as he shut it behind him. Her knees shook still as she melted to the floor, her back pressed against the wood of the cabinet below the sink and her wobbly knees close to her chest. She was grateful for the interruption of his phone, yet at the same time longed to be in his arms again if even for a moment. Why did she feel this way? Why did he scare her when she so obviously wanted him the same way? Was it the inevitable hurt she was afraid of since she seemed much more attached then she led on? Or was there some underlying subconscious theory that roared at her, telling her that he was much more dangerous then she could see? Her stomach twisted with worry and anxiety as she lifted herself off the floor that needed a good once over with a broom, and continued to wash the rest of the dishes in now cold water as if nothing had happened. As if it was just a normal Saturday morning filled with uneventful tasks at hand and a head full of worries and to-do's.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Author's Note

This little story had popped into my head one day as I listened to a friend of mine tell me about her "flirtationship" with a coworker of hers. She seemed, at the time, like she couldn't make up her mind whether she wanted to be friends-with-benefits with this coworker or not, hence the conflicting emotions with my lead character. Let me know what you think of it. I'll take all forms of critic on this one. :)