Passepar2 Writing Group

I love him. Totally one hundred and ten percent love him.

I watch him place his laptop on his desk and stare at how his hair in front swooshes down and half covers his face. He pushes it back with his left hand, then brings his arm back to the desk in a continuous and smooth movement. His medium blue with tiny, slightly darker blue pin stripes, button-up dress shirt is a little tight across his chest, but in a really good way. Just look at the way the collar brushes against his neck. His neck is tone and tan.

Oh, crap. He just looked at me. Did he know I was staring? Can he tell how much I love him? He probably can. No, he can’t. He was probably looking at the wall behind me with the whiteboard on it. He was just checking everyone’s stats. It wasn’t me at all. I hope. How embarrassing.

But, I hope he really was looking at me because that would mean he knows I exist. We sit here everyday about 20 feet away from each other and he’s never said more than an offhand hello to me. I bet he doesn’t even know my name.

What a stuck up jerk. I can’t believe I thought I liked him. He doesn’t even have the courtesy to say a real hello in five months? He must think he’s all that, all right. He practically parades himself around the office. Oh, look at me! Look at me! I’m so handsome! My shirt is so nice! Look at my perfect hair!

Whatever. Like I don’t have enough work around here to keep me busy for ages. Like I have time to just look at him. And notice how long his eyelashes are. Or wish I could run my fingers through his wavy hair. Or see how nicely round his bum is whenever he gets up to fill his coffee mug.

Oh, god, he’s so handsome. I wonder what he thinks about me. Or if he does think about me at all. I’ve been here for months. He’s had to have formed some opinion of me.

Arrrrrrrrrg. Back to work. Back to work. Concentrate. These data sheets aren’t going to fill themselves out.

Wait, did he just look at me? He looked at me. That was definitely not the board. It was me. I saw his eyes hit mine for at least two whole seconds, which is practically a lifetime in eye contact.

Oh man oh man. What do I do now? Do I go over there? Introduce myself? Wouldn’t that seem awfully weird after having been around each other so long? Maybe I can just act like we’ve already met. I know his name.

Oh. Back to his work. I see how it is. Can’t even acknowledge me. Won’t even give me a smile or a wave. Just back to his work like we didn’t even look at each other for ages and ages. He was practically making love to me with his eyes and now he’s just going to go back and pretend like it never happened.

What a jerk. A real jerk, that guy. I can’t believe I wore this skirt hoping he’d notice it. Or these earrings. Like I care what he thinks. He’d never appreciate the tiny and tasteful glitter I used with my eyeshadow just for him. Whatever. Like I care. Back to work. Wait. Did he just look at me?