The Temp

Chapter 1: The Temp in Early Spring

“You’re still here.”

(You smile, nod)

“Of course you’re still here. It’s past seven, the cleaning crew’s rattling their carts around, and half the floor is dark—but not this little strip of cubicles.”

“Not our row.”

(You tilt your head, pen in hand, gesturing to the glowing monitor in front of you)

“You always do that thing with your pen when you’re concentrating—tap, tap, spin—and I can hear it just over the divider. I could pick that sound out of a police line-up at this point.”

(Laughter. You smile)

“Don’t look so startled. I’ve been sitting next to you for three weeks. I’ve memorized your ‘working’ noises. And thanks for helping me fit in, showing me vital places like the vending machine, cafeteria, bathrooms—this place is huge and seems like it can be a little cold and ruthless.”

(You smile, sigh, and hit send on your keyboard)

“Yes, that includes the little sigh you do whenever an email disappoints you.”

(You are incredulous, she knows you)

“There it is.”

“I’m not making fun of you. Not really. It’s kind of adorable. Comforting, actually. Makes me feel less weird about being the new temp with the ‘please don’t fire me, I’ll stay until midnight’ energy.”

You know, the one who keeps eating at her desk like it’s a survival game. (She laughs, bites her lip)

(You laugh back, cheeks reddening slightly)

“Speaking of which…”

(She rattles a crinkly bag, reaches in, takes a bite. You watch)

“Don’t judge the pretzels. They’re dinner.”

(She misreads your face of want and arousal as she nibbles)

“What?” (crunch) Oh, come on, like you’ve never done the ‘vending machine cuisine’ thing. I’ve seen you (crunch) with the stale peanut M&M’s. That’s not a cry (crunch) for help?”

(She eyes you up and down)

“I mean, you obviously work out, look at you. Me? I haven’t found the time yet—still getting used to my little apartment.”

(You stop typing, look over at her)

“Yeah, you remember (crunch, munch) I moved here with two suitcases and a resume? New city, new job, new rent that makes my bank account cry. These pretzels were three for five at the corner CVS. I did what I had to do.”

“Besides, it’s easier than figuring out where to eat alone every night. At least my cubicle pretzels don’t ask if this seat’s taken.”

(You chuckle, though your eyes never leave her. They eventually flick to her monitor)

“My computer screen? What am I working on? (she inhales the rest of the pretzels and brushes her hands together, tossing the bag) Still finalizing that report. I’d have to sleep here if it weren’t for you earlier today.”

“No, I mean it. (laughs, she stands up and approaches the cubicle wall to be closer to you) You already fixed my Excel formula this morning so I can really input that data. God, there’s so much still left to do.”

(Your eyes flick from her monitor back to her)

“Oh, you’re looking at me?”

(You watch while she brushes away invisible crumbs from her face with her hands, her cheeks, the front of her small chest and lithe abdomen) “Did I get it?”

(You nod, chuckling)

“Thanks. You’re really nice to me. Everyone likes you; says you’d give them 10 minutes even if they only need five. You must have had good parents. No—seriously. I don’t know how you’re still single. I—well.” (her cheeks redden slightly, and she tucks a strand of loose hair behind her ear. You can smell her perfume, it’s intoxicating)

“See? There’s that look you give everyone! No, that one. You do it in this funny, guilty little smile. Like, you’re checking to make sure I haven’t spontaneously combusted from onboarding, but also make it feel like everything’s going to be okay.”

“Or, like you’re curious about something and you don’t want me to notice.”

(Your eyes dart between her face and her breasts, contained under a loose-fitting blouse unbuttoned slightly at the top, revealing pale pink skin)

“Too late. I notice everything. Occupational hazard of being the nervous new girl.”

(You blush hard, but she smiles and takes her chair once more)

“Here, watch this.” (She leans back in her chair, stretches her arms up, blouse hem lifting a little, untucking itself from her pencil skirt. The skin around her waist is pale and smooth, and…a little soft. Softer than the rest of her features)

“There. (laughs) You did it again. The quick look… then away. Like I caught you…trying to read over my…shoulder.”

(You nervous laugh and run your hand through your hair as a reflex)

“Relax, I’m not going to bite.” (She opens a bottom drawer and extracts another bag of pretzels and opens them. You’re quite used to that sound coming from her cubicle and heat gathers between your thighs)

“Unless (crunch) you take the last pretzel, then we’ll talk. (munch)

(She offers you the bag, but you decline. Standing up right now would be awkward)

“I know (crunch) what I look like, you know. You don’t (munch) have to pretend I don’t.”

(You blush, raise your eyebrows in a confused expression)

“Average. (laughs) That’s the word. Average height, average everything else. My mom used to say I had ‘room to either shrink or blossom’” which I’m still convinced was code for, ‘You’ll probably stress-eat your way through your twenties.’”

(You bite your lip and shrug)

“Honestly, (crunch) she might have been onto something.”

(You stiffen as you watch. She takes another pretzel, talks around it)

“It’s funny—my clothes fit a little loose when I started. This blouse? (she runs a hand down her front, completely unselfconscious and you love that about her) I bought it one size bigger because I was terrified of looking too much on my first day. Too tight, too busty, too… anything.”

(You stiffen further as she gently cups a breast, unaware it’s turning you on. To her, you might just be another stuffed teddy bear on her shelf)

“So here I am, shapeless (crunch, munch) temp in a floaty blouse and matching pencil skirt, hoping people remember my name from my email signature. God, I hope they keep me, being a temp is fine, but I need full-time status and benefits would be really nice. I’ve got this mole I want someone to check out.”

(She lifts the hem her shirt revealing a little freckle, but you’re too busy staring at the little roll of soft skin atop her skirt. That certainly wasn’t there three weeks ago)

(You smile and offer her words of encouragement)

(Laughs) Aww, you’re so sweet to say that. I hope they hire me full-time, too.”

(Crunch, munch) “But then there’s you. Mister Quiet. Mister Tap-Tap Pen. Mister ‘Let me show you the shared company portal to upload documents faster like it’s a sacred temple.’”

(She waggles her fingers over her keyboard and pretends tapping out keystrokes ultra-fast. You let out an uncontrolled belly laugh. This girls’ fun)

(Smiling, she slows, then stops) “You’re very polite, by the way. A little awkward, but in that gentle way. You say ‘sorry’ when someone bumps into you. I’ve seen it.”

(You reach up and ruffle your hair again, nervous energy. She’s staring at you. Good thing you’re still sitting down)

“You did it yesterday when I backed into your chair in the hallway. I felt your arm brush my side and I apologized, and then you apologized, and then we both did that weird office laugh like, ‘Ha ha, bodies exist, how unfortunate.’” (Her eyes roam over you)

“But…your hand stayed hovering there for a second. Just off my hip. Like you were thinking about steadying me, then talked yourself out of it. Am I…reading that right?”
(She looks into your eyes and bites her lip. God, she’s pretty! You pinch your thighs together)

“Because…I noticed that too.”

(Fuck! You pinch your thighs still-harder together)

“You’re flushing now.”

(She laughs)

“It’s cute.” (She runs a hand down the side of her neck under the guise of tucking hair behind her ear, but her hand trails down the side her neck, along her collar bone, down to where her shirt is unbuttoned to show of just the hint of cleavage. Your eyes meet, neither of you looks away)

“Look, if it makes you feel better, I’m just as awkward, I just talk more. That’s all this is (she waves a hand airily). Noise to fill the quiet between us so I don’t fixate on whether I misfiled that purchase order.”

“But—since we’re both here, late, living off caffeine (her eyes focus on the refilled mug of coffee still steaming next your elbow) and fluorescent lighting (her eyes flick up) —can I confess something?”

(You reflexively grab your coffee mug and grip it—hard. You nod, taking a careful pretend sip because it’s still hot as shit. You’re trying hard not wince just holding it)

“I snack more when I’m anxious.” (She eats the final pretzel and tosses the bag into her garbage)

“I know. Shocking.”

(Your eyes roam over her body once more)

“I moved here, what, six weeks ago? It took three weeks of emailing resumes from my laptop in my tiny-ass kitchen. New town, no friends, new job where my email signature still says, ‘Temporary Administrative Support.’ I’m trying very hard to be useful. Which apparently, in my brain, means saying yes to everything and eating my way through every spreadsheet. But I think people are beginning to notice.”

(Your eyes dart to her gut, then back to her face)

“My work progress.” (She laughs, catching your eye)

“The first week, I was bringing salads and sparkling water for lunch. Very respectable, very ‘I’ve got this handled.’ I mean, so many people eat at their desk. And I’m pretty speedy around a computer—that is, when it doesn’t glitch—I thank you for that, by the way.”

(She looks at you approvingly then tilts her head up to the ceiling, her hands fold over her stomach)

“But then, as I got faster and our boss gave me more assignments…then the overtime started. And I’m not saying no to extra pay.”

“And the new deadlines. Don’t get me wrong (she holds out a hand, worried you might spill the beans) I love being busy, I feel like I’ve gained…trust with the higher-ups. But I can only bring so much fresh food from home to tide me over while at work.”

(She returns her gaze from the ceiling back to you, her hands still folded over her stomach)

“And the way my stomach starts rumbling at 4:30, now.”

(She looks down and gives belly a little pat) “Now my afternoon snack has a snack.”

(She laughs, and gestures at her garbage can in her cubicle)

“You see these empty pretzel bags? There was a granola bar before this (she toes the can with her shoe). And a leftover donut from the break room this morning. I think the sugar content alone is enough to power this whole floor.”

(Her gaze flicks from the garbage can to you. She surveys your face)

“I catch you glancing at me…when I eat, sometimes.”

(She looks away, touches her ear, curling hair behind it that still has not fallen. A nervous tic of hers?) “Not in a bad way. Not like you’re judging. Just… curious.”

“Like you think I don’t see the way your eyes track from the screen, to the bag, to my mouth, then back again.”

“It’s okay. Honestly, I kind of like the attention. Makes me feel less like a ghost.” (She raises a hand over her head, pointing down and mouths the words ‘new girl needs friends’. At this nerdy display, you chuckle making her smile)

(She sighs contentedly and you suddenly wish you had a plate of donuts to offer her) “If I start growing out of this skirt and skirt, though, I’m sending you the bill for new clothes. Deal?”

(You blush)

“I’m kidding.”

“…Mostly.”

(She bites her lower lip) “What I mean to say is—since we’re cubicle neighbors and I trust you, I give you full permission to tell me if I’m getting fat, okay?”

(She smiles and pushes her chair away, looking at her computer. Perfect timing, because the bulge in your pants has become full-mast at her unexpected use of the word…fat)

(A minute passes, then two. You take a sip of scalding hot coffee, willing away your erection).

(She laughs, looking over at you) “You’re still here, by the way. You could have left fifteen minutes ago. Your inbox is empty. I saw you close it, earlier. Got something else the boss needs working on?”

(You nod, taking a careful sip of coffee this time. Your erection has softened, slightly)

“You’re staying ‘to finish that report,’ right?” (She waves vaguely at your works space)

“Or, you’re sticking around to listen to the new girl talk to you like this and pretend it’s just background noise while you type.”

“Either way… I don’t mind.”

(You take a sip)

“It’s nice.”

(You take a gulp)

“Being next to you.”

“Even if it’s just pen taps, the glow of your monitor, and the sound of me crunching my way through another evening.”

“We can call it… mutual overtime.”

“For now.”

(She smiles and turns her chair back to her work while you down the rest of the hot coffee, hoping it masks the groan you just audibly let out at her final words. Did she hear you? Was what that smile was for…?)

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