Chapter 2
Paul:
For two and a half years, I’ve loved my job. Now, nervous energy roots in my stomach, threatening to grow into a ball of frustration every time I think about anything even remotely related to campus security. I have to force myself to show up to work Monday afternoon. Every cell in my body wants desperately to stay away, and I strongly consider calling in sick.
But the promotion I’ve been working toward is on the line, and with the completion of my master’s work looming just a year away, I don’t want to do anything to jeopardize the next step in my career. A position as Full Time Security Supervisor, overseeing junior specialists and student monitors would look great on a resume. I’m not going to throw that away over a ghost from my past returning and reviving old memories.
I even arrive fifteen minutes early, figuring Abby will probably be early as well. Doesn’t everyone try to be early on their first day of work? But at 2:59, when she’s still not there, I start to wonder if she’s decided not to show. Maybe I got lucky and she decided to do us both a favor and not take the job. I even start running through what I’ll say to John when I call him to fill him in.
The new girl flaked is what I settle on. It’s short and to the point and doesn’t give away how relieved I am to not have to train her. At 3:05, I pull out my phone and prepare to send the message off to my boss. And then the door opens.
In strolls Abby, dressed ridiculously inappropriately for roving campus. Her heels are shinier than a new car, at least three inches tall, and razor thin. As if the shoes aren’t silly enough, she’s paired them with a tight black skirt and gauzy pink blouse, just sheer enough that I can make out the slightest hint of a black lace bra beneath. Not that I’m looking at her bra.
I’m definitely not looking at her bra. I look away from her entirely, down at my phone, and do my best to pretend utter disinterest in her.
She comes fully into the room and stops in front of where I sit. Don’t look up; don’t look up. I look up, my gaze traveling over her form to her face like a starving man looking at a gourmet meal. Shit.
“So, how does this work?” she asks when our gazes meet.
I get up from my chair so I’m not at eye level with her body and take several steps away from her. “Once you’re trained, John will probably just give you a post, a place where you will spend most of your shift, just keeping an eye out for anything weird or any students that might need help. He’ll probably give you something easy like the library or the music building. My usual post is Student Services and Administration, with rounds through the west parking garage before and after. So, that’s where we’ll start.”
Abby nods. “Do I get like… a taser or anything?”
I chuckle at the question, and she narrows her almond-shaped brown eyes at me, her dark brows furrowing in displeasure. I recognize that look and know the temper that lurks behind it. Out of self-preservation, I cut my laugh short and force a serious tone. “No taser. If you want to carry pepper spray, you can, but it’s not a requirement of the job. We’re not allowed to carry weapons though.”
“Pepper spray, no weapons. Got it.” She motions toward the door. “Shall we?”
I hold up a hand and motion toward the mini kiosk on John’s desk. “You need to check in first.”
Abby rolls her eyes and moves to John’s desk, bends at the waist to get closer to the screen. And fuck if my body doesn’t immediately react to the sight of her round ass swaying in the space between us, barely covered by that scrap of a skirt.
I do my best to shove away any thoughts of my hands slipping under the material and settling on those cheeks, and I definitely am not remembering the time I took her from behind in front of my dorm window to indulge the exhibitionist fantasy she wanted me to act out with her. Despite the fact that the idea of people seeing us isn’t exactly my schtick, I can’t deny the experience was hot. Sex with Abby was always incredible. Even our most mediocre encounters were leaps and bounds beyond anything I experienced before. Or since.
But that’s over. Has been over for a long time, and I definitely should not be drooling over her ass right now. I’m supposed to be training her, not fantasizing about her.
She finishes signing in and turns back to face me before I have a chance to adjust myself. All I can do is hope she doesn’t notice the semi I’m sporting. Maybe my dark jeans are thick enough to hide it.
I breathe a soft sigh of relief when she sashays past me and then follow her to the door, hold it open so she can go through. We make our way to the elevator, and she presses the button. Then we wait in silence. When the elevator arrives a few seconds later, I motion for her to enter first, then join her, pressing the button for the first floor on my way into the carriage. When spend the entire ride, short as it is, in more silence, and when we step off the elevator, she waits—silently—for me to indicate which direction we’ll be heading. I point to my left, and we walk side by side down the hall to the west exit.
By the time we reach the outside, I’m wracking my brain trying to think of something to say. I’m not usually bothered by a lack of small talk, but this silence between us is stretching to a level way beyond awkward, far past uncomfortable, and bordering on painful.
“So, the parking garage is just over here.” I point toward the looming structure.
Abby snorts. “No shit.”
Yeah, I guess that was a pretty dumb thing to announce, but my pride still prickles at the idea of her laughing at me. I clench my jaw tight to avoid responding.
The afternoon sun does little to warm the January air. Despite my hoodie and the thick denim of my jeans, the chill nips at my skin, but if Abby is cold, she doesn’t let on. Her heels click-clack across the sidewalk pavement in time with my own rubber-soled footsteps, as we move quickly toward the garage. Even though the garage is technically open air, maybe it will be at least a little warmer inside.
I lead the way up the entrance ramp and into the structure, stopping halfway down the first row of parking stalls at the elevator. “I usually start at the top and work my way down,” I inform her. The garage has four levels, and even though it takes the same amount of time to make a circuit of each, there’s something psychological about counting down that makes me feel like the rounds go quicker. “I typically like to take the stairs up, but given your poor choice of shoes, the elevator seems like the better choice.”
Abby’s gaze snaps to me, and fire blazes in her eyes. “What’s wrong with my shoes?”
I shrug as the elevator dings and the doors slide open. “Nothing, if you’re going out to dinner or a movie. But we’re walking around campus to ensure safety and security. Something more practical might be a better choice tomorrow.”
Abby’s jaw sets stubbornly, as she joins me inside the elevator. The doors close behind her, and we jerk into motion. She visibly tenses at the strength of the movement and grabs for the handrail on the wall behind her but doesn’t otherwise say anything.
And even though I’ve just finished insulting her fashion choice, I suddenly feel the need to reassure her. “Don’t worry. That’s just how this elevator moves.” It’s one of the oldest buildings on campus, and I’m pretty sure this elevator is older than my dad, but it's safe.
She lets go of the handrail but still looks skeptical.
When we arrive on the top level, I motion for her to step out first. “See, perfectly safe.”
“Uh huh.” She doesn’t sound at all convinced. Each time we get back on the elevator to go to the next level, though, she looks slightly more at ease with it.
Between Abby being late, her sex-kitten heels slowing down our progression, and the extra time we spend getting on and off the elevator, we end up getting to Student Services almost a full hour later than I usually do.
Embry, the student receptionist at the check-in desk smiles wide when she sees us, “Hey, Pauly, I was beginning to think you weren’t working today.”
“Hey, Em. Just running a little late.” I greet her back as I lead Abby past the desk. “How’s everything?”
“Oh, you know… boring as usual!”
I laugh. “Just how I like it.”
Embry gives a little wave as we head toward the business office.
As soon as she’s out of earshot, Abby turns to me and says, “Pauly?”
I shrug. “It’s what she calls me.”
If I’m not mistaken, Abby’s voice sounds a little sour when she responds. “And you call her Em.”
Is she jealous? I choose not to respond and instead launch into an explanation of how I typically start at the back of the building, in the business office, and work my way forward until I’m back at the student support center.
Where I spend the rest of my time chatting with Em. I leave that part out, though, and decide to forgo that part of my rounds while training Abby. I’m not into Embry like that, and I’m pretty sure she’s not into me either, but I don’t need my jealous ex-girlfriend hanging around making things extra awkward. I just need to switch up my routine for a couple weeks until I finish training Abby, and then I can go back to business as usual.
By the time I lead Abby back to the security office to sign out, I’m no longer sure I will survive the next couple of weeks. I’m strung about as tight as I’ve ever been. Every time her luscious hips swing a little too close and brush against me, every time the scent of her tropical shampoo and coconut body oil invades my nostrils, hell… every damn time I look at her makes me want her. That’s exactly the reason I’ve avoided Abby in the years since our breakup. I wasn’t over her. I’m still not over her. I may never be over her.