An Exception to Compatibility

Ten Off

Once I reach my car, I drive like a mad woman for around fifteen, park my car at a slightly audacious angle, walk to my building and take an elevator (free of sex-deprived humans) to the sixth floor.

Steve, our floor's receptionist gives me a sour glance before returning to his incessant keyboard typing. Steve is an asshole. You ask this middle-aged man man if anyone's handed in a missing phone on a maximum of three occasions, and suddenly you're his number one enemy. I smile at him sickeningly, and I notice his eye twitches which is enough of a win for me.

As I enter the office, a number of 'good morning' and other polite greetings ring out to which I respond to each. I love most of the people I work with. The ones that appear on that list, are the ones who treat me with respect, don't talk about politics or religion 24/7, never talk about their sexual encounters (at least not in detail) and aren't stuck up snobs. When I think about it, this isn't a difficult criteria to meet, but there's a few that possess zero of these qualities. I take a seat at my desk, pop my bag on the floor, adjust my skirt and open up my laptop.

Today's task is a continuation of yesterday, updating our database with our newest sponsorships and fleshing out any missing applications. Hours fly by, and only when Dina - a lovely woman from management - asks me if I'm going on break soon do I realise it's past 1pm.

The staff room, is somewhat abandoned because for some reason most people eat at either 12pm or 2pm never between those times. But Felicity, my closest work friend - not in distance, she works in accounting - is cutting up her sushi and drops her knife when she sees me.

'I have updates!' she whisper squeals. I return her excitement with an equivalent whisper squeal. Felicity was paired with a stunning guy at her volunteering expo a month ago, and they've been talking ever since. It's also the only thing we've been talking about ever since.

'Spill.' I demand as I boil water for my cup noodles. Felicity looks like she's about to explode.

'So, last night you know how we went to see that Tarantino film?' she looks at me and waits for my confirmation which I give in the form of an excited nod.

'Well, let's just say we didn't end up parting ways last night.' she giggles out.

'No way, you stayed the night?' I hissed. She kicks my foot and whisper-yells at me to be quieter, but then grins and nods frantically. We both do a mini-dance although being in a highly professional environment. But when your friend gets dick, you have no choice but to celebrate, right?

I prompt her to go into detail (girl code) and it looks like Felicity had a mega steamy night. Makes me wonder if I'll ever have sex as good as what she's described.

When I return back to my work, I'm a little drained from the social interaction and continue to carry out my tasks in silence. A few people interrupt me to affirm confirmations of my task at hand but that's about it.

When I leave the office it's 5:30, and by the time I get to my apartment its 6. I put my room key in its slot, kick off my heels, fling my bag on to a couch and collapse into its adjacent couch. I'm exhausted yet ravenous, which is the worst combination because I don't have the will to walk 10 steps to the kitchen. Instead I close my eyes and imagine a handsome man kicking off their shoes, only to lay their chest on top of mine. I can almost feel the couch sigh in relief from holding another human. Mr Make-believe starts rubbing his hands up and down my arms, stopping every now and then to circle my elbows. As he trails up my left arm, his fingers latch onto the collar of my shirt and play with my buttons. I notice a tattoo is peaking out from his collar, which has weirdly become an addition to my usual fantasy man. I'm going to go crazy if he doesn't touch my breasts soon. I let out a soft, involuntary moan and that's when there's a knock on my door.