Kiss Confusion

Connor is at the bar, talking it up with some of our male co-workers. I refer to them as the good ol’ boys. It’s a bunch of dudes, shooting the crap about stocks, sports, and shameless ego boosts. Most of the guys refer to him as Jacks, often with a hard slap on the back, which I think is dumb. Connor suits him just fine. With auburn wavy hair, brown eyes, standing at about five-ten or eleven, and thick legs and arms, he fills a space well. He is attractive and he knows it. The ladies around him unfortunately prove him right on that point, as they all gaze over his physique like it’s a specimen. Well, it kind of is. I think it’s safe to say that most of these women know if they actually do get a chance to hook up with Connor, that’s all it is and will ever be. One hook up. Your one shot with the co-founder of NatureMed. What am I doing? I’m joining the throws of females gawking at Connor Jackson, creating an inner dialog. Snap out of it, Jade!

This is the typical scene at our quarterly work retreats. I don’t know why they call them retreats. They are supposedly intended to increase company morale and connect our staff with team building skills and boring things like that. I’m not sure why I’m even here, since I know our numbers our down significantly, and my guess is I will be the first in line for the lay-off guillotine. I was hired last year, and also one of the three very last hires. Our company is young, but I think it’s solid. Connor won’t let it fall. His ego won’t allow it. However, if our profit this year is less, he will not hesitate to make changes, like leaving me unemployed. Though I was near the top of my class at Stanford, I doubt that will be enough to save me. Oh, plus, I do not think Connor knows my name. Though we’ve been in countless rooms together over this past year and a half, he’s never spoken it. Not once. I hear him laugh loudly from his bar stool. He’s drinking what looks like a Negroni as he pushes his NatureMed partner and co-founder, Grant, swearing at him ‘all in good team building fun.’ Grant, I like. He’s a reserved guy, but has a good pulse on his staff. He’s professional, but kind. I’ve never liked Connor. He is always rude to me. Well, not rude per se, more like, a continuous stream of ignoring me, no matter the situation. Meetings? No eye contact. In the work elevator? Stares at his phone. In the lunch room? Gets his coffee without so much as a “good morning.” Company retreats? Does not cross my path.

Instead of walking to the bar, I make a bee line to the water cooler. I’m not drinking tonight. I want to be sharp for tomorrow’s meeting pitch. We are a supplement ingredient company that markets botanicals and supplement complexes to higher end and boutique companies. My co-worker and cubicle buddy Maizey Starling and I are presenting our night time skin care line, a supplement plus a topical to target women in their “golden years.” We are introducing a newer ingredient called Venapro, which is extracted from valerian root, shown in clinical studies to not only provide a calming effect helping with insomnia and anxiety, but to also protect the skin. GABA levels and the valeric acid content in valerian have shown to protect the skin from stressors and possibly combat rogue cells, preventing skin cancers. Win win. We’re excited about it, and it’s my favorite marketing age group to research. It makes me feel like I am preparing for my own biological (and habit inducing) aging game.

Just as I approach the water cooler, I see Ricky from accounting strutting over to fake lean on the cooler. Augh. Ricky is nice enough, but his favorite and most annoying attribute is his lingering. He loves to interrupt your stride, stand in your way, or lean against things like he’s on the cover of a romance novel, all while he sizes you up with a very unattractive smirk and lots of chatting. Ricky is a tall guy, lean, dark hair, glasses with square black rims that reflect the overhead florescent lights. He is super smart, like a human calculator, so he is handy to have on your side, but he’s not so savvy on social cues our boundaries in the workplace.

“Well hello, Jade,” he says with his classic smirk, leaning a bit heavy on the cooler. I think it may topple and I cannot decide if I want to allow this to happen.

“Hi Ricky,” I smile. “Excuse me, I just gotta grab a cup. It’s really hot in here and I’m dehydrated,” as I fake fan myself, trying to act like I’m in a hurry so that I can scurry off as soon as I get my water.

“It sure is,” Ricky says as he grabs a cup for me. “Did you enjoy the team buildings groups activities… that we did this afternoons?” He is adding way too many plurals to this question, so I can only surmise that he’s had too many cocktails. He hands me an empty cup.

“Um, I only participated in one of them, the brain storming break out sessions, and that was fine.” I’m trying to get the water out of this darn cooler, but Ricky nudges the cup away as he does his infamous, standing in my way maneuver.

“You know, Jade. You really should be more outgoing. You’re smart and this company could really benefit from your brain. I could get you more connected if you want. I’ve been here longer and I know more people. Just saying.” He looks at his fingernails like he’s checking out his fresh manicure, then with his other hand reaches out and pats me on my arm, as to say, “You got this, honey. Just let me help you.” Yuck, this is getting more uncomfortable by the minute.

In an effort to leave, I raise my voice over the background music, “Okay, thanks for the tip, Rick!” As I start to walk away with a still empty cup, he quick steps in front of me, once again. Dammit. This trick is getting old. “Look Ricky…” Before I can get my words out, I see Connor standing beside me, placing a large hand on Ricky’s right shoulder.

“Hey Ricky, you wanna let Jade pass? She’s gotta to help us out with some notes about her upcoming presentation. Cool?” Ricky backs away as if to say, “Yeah man, I’m totally cool.” I watch as Ricky saunters away to find his next victim.

With Ricky gone, I relax my shoulders, but now unsure how to thank my surprising intervention. I know Connor doesn’t have any need me for notes. In fact, I am shocked he was even aware about my pitch tomorrow. He is never at those kind of meetings. Grant is the one who shows up for pitches. I think I’m good at my job, but my ideas rarely get chosen. When they do, I’m never the lead on them. Maizey’s been the lead on a few of our accounts, which is well deserved because she is brilliant. Still, I am waiting for my own break through.

“Um, thank you. I was having a tough time escaping the water cooler gate keeper,” I admit to Connor.

“Yeah, it’s a thing. We call it the ‘Ricky vortex.’ It seems he likes to lure you in with it quite often.” Wait, has Connor seen this before? Since when does he ever pay me any attention? “Ricky is harmless, but he has no sense of women, time, or well, anything really except for numbers. He is a genius with numbers.” Connor scratches the back of his neck, then looking down at me with deep amber eyes he gives me a slight smile. Oh no, look away Jade.

“Well again, thanks,” I say over the music. I expect Connor to continue on with his life, ignoring me, Jade Smith, worker number 49, cubicle in hallway 7, slot 12. The one who’s brain child you never pick.

“Sure”, Connor shrugs, starting to walk away but then he pauses and turns, looking directly at me this time, saying, “Good luck with your pitch tomorrow.” Tingles dance up my spine. He does know about my presentation tomorrow.

Later that evening, the so called work retreat is winding down. Finally the quiet comes, the lull of everyone’s post-party haze. Too much conversation, too much noise, too much alcohol. As I grab my phone, I check to see if Maizey texted me any last minute notes about tomorrow’s meeting. Nothing. No news must be good news, right? I place my cell in my bag, as I see Connor out of the corner of my eye, seated too comfortably in a lounge chair and… sleeping? That’s not normal. I glance around to see if I can find one of the good ol’ boys. What jerks, none of them thought to check in with their boss before heading to the next bar on their team building bar crawl? I decide to go over, just to check on him. “Connor", I say quietly, as I ever so lightly place my hand on his chest. He shakes and awakes with urgency, placing his weighty hand over mine and pressing it into his warmth. Time seems to slow as he looks at me with confusion, still pressing into my hand. I’m afraid he’s going to do something weird, like slap my hand away once he realizes who I am, so I make sure to explain myself. “You were sleeping. I thought you might need a ride?”

He shakes his head like he was coming out of a dream. “Ah, yeah. I mean, I can grab an Uber. You don’t need to…”

“It’s no trouble, I am a DD tonight, so you will be putting my sacrifice of no alcohol consumption to good use.”

He grants me a subdued smile and a chuckle. Connor Jackson chuckles. Huh. To my surprise he says sleepily, “I’d appreciate that.”

Before we leave, I make a speed dash to the bathroom to check my face. It's been a long day and I fear the frazzling of team building fun, dodging Ricky, and now interfacing with my boss has gotten the best of me. I take a quick look in the mirror to fix my fly aways. My hair, though straight, can have a mind of its own. Random electric charged hair strands like to stand on end, as if I am a radio searching for a signal. I smooth down my long, chestnut, untamed hair, then grab a light pink lip gloss from my bag. I purse my lips, apply the soft tint, adjust my skirt, and lift my shoulders back with confidence. One more glance at my borderline pathetic state. I look so tired. I make a mental note to put on extra anti-aging cream tonight, then release a meditative breath. I can do this. It's like we're carpooling. Sort of.

I bring Connor to his apartment, which if course is in the most gorgeous area of Santa Rosa, with lush vineyards and redwoods trees that seem to watch you carefully, suspicious of you as you drive by. The problem is, he’s sleeping again, this time in my car. How to wake a sleeping beauty, yet again? My method last time worked fine, so once parked, I place my hand at the center of his chest and speak his name softly. I feel silly doing this, since we’ve gone from zero exchanges of words to me now having physical contact with my boss. Nevertheless, history repeats itself. He grips my hand, holding it there on his strong chest, breathing, waking, and looking intently into my eyes. “So, we’re here I think. It’s the address you gave me.” I shift my weight so I can try to remove my hand from under his. “Um, do you need me to walk you in or are you good?”

“Please,” is all Connor replies, as he gently releases my hand. Okay, so I am walking my boss to his door and then briskly walking away so I can get home, take a hot shower, drink some tea, and rest up for my pitch tomorrow. It’s a smart, simple plan. We get to the door that boasts massive oak wood and detailed design. It looks like it is a door out of Lord of The Rings. Conner fumbles with his keys, as I wait patiently tapping my foot, hoping this will just be over and he can go back to pretending I do not exist. Except, he grabs my hand as soon as the door opens, and leads me inside.

This apartment is not an apartment at all. It’s a house or maybe a duplex. My head lifts and rotates to take in the scene of this vast open concept. There are cathedral ceilings, large wooden beams, and a mix of style with new looking stainless steel appliances, yet the furniture looks old, holding that same wood work style as his entry door. “Do you own all of this?” I ask, still glancing upward at the oak beams.

“Mmm hmmm,” he answers affirming in a mumble of sorts. He is getting a glass of water, standing at his sink, his broad back is stretched out, one hand on the counter, the other with glass in hand.

“It’s really beautiful,” I say, trying to make this silence less awkward. Connor’s back is still facing me, so I continue to explore his home with my curious eyes. It’s clean, organized, and boasts a rustic yet modern feel. I glance again to Connor, the expanse of his back could be a conversation piece, I think. And is he ever going to turn around? “So, I should just go. I have an early morning,” I say as I back towards the door.

“Wait,” I hear him say from the sink. I stand still, x marks the spot where he told me to halt. Finally turning and looking at me, he says my name. “Jade.” Just that, nothing more. I’m confused. Is he just trying to remember who I am, since my existence in his company has pretty much been undetected. He turns his body and begins walking toward me. His movement is so slow, that I have time study his face. All the muscles around his jaw look tense. I feel my heart rate pick up and now the expression on his face looks confused. Stern and confused. He looks mad at me. What did I do?

It’s not an epic attempt, it’s subtle, almost sweet. He reaches for one of my hands, places it to his chest yet again, and moves his other hand to hook behind my head. My feet are still glued to his floor, otherwise, a wise person would exit this building that their boss has wooed them into. Connor’s hand is large enough that his thumb can outline the base of my head down along my jaw line. How is this happening? Oh yes, liqueur is the key to this upside down, crazy situation. My thoughts come to a jarring stop as he slowly places his lips on mine. Connor breaths in as he kisses me, like he’s just as surprised as I am. His mouth is warm and wet from the water he just drank, and he tastes of a Negroni, gin and bright citrus. I’m not really kissing him back because I still think this is not happening. Until I hear a deep moan coming from the back of his throat, and it entices me to let go. I can’t help it. I give back to the kiss, opening my mouth, and allowing him to explore. His tongue is slow, and the sensation makes me arch my back. He’s much taller than me so my neck is already arched, but now, I feel like I’m going into a full body back bend. This can’t be good. He readjusts, now threading his thick hand through my hair at the base of my head and it causes a surge of heat to pulse through me. I know I should back away, but there must be something magical in this oak floor because I am stuck. I think I’m losing air and won’t be able to hold onto this kiss much longer. As if he read my mind, Connor breaks away, but my palm remains over his heart. Traveling his heated hand down the side of my face, I observe a new thing about Connor. There is a jagged scar near his hairline, about two inches. It makes him look raw, almost vulnerable. The lingering aroma of orange and gin is between us. Connor is staring at me like he is starting to sober up, beginning to realize just exactly who is in his house and in his hands. Still with that hard look, but all confusion gone, he makes a statement that changes everything, “I’ve wanted to do that for over a year.”