This smells like trouble

“Holy. Balls,” Ash said, placing  her face directly in front of our window AC.

“Uggggh,” I groaned from my perch on the couch, fanning myself with the latest copy of US Weekly, emblazoned with the recent scoop on the Scott/Kourt break up. It was, arguably, the hottest day of the year and our ancient window unit stood no chance against the oppressive 101 degree heat. Has anyone ever noticed that movies romanticizing NYC always seem to take place in the fall or spring, when the city is bathed in perfect weather and gorgeous foliage? Never do they show the August New York—the gritty, humid, sweltering glam that comes with living in a place where every street is lined with trash, and central air is the rarest of commodities.

“We should flee,” I offer meekly, knowing that leaving means facing the heat head-on.

Ash gives me a stern look, as if I had suggested we go dumpster diving.

“We need food!” I add as a follow-up, “Our cabinets consist of ramen, wine and dried pea crisps.”

“We can survive on that,” Ash reasoned, turning her face back to the stream of cool air.

After a few minutes, I try again. “I’m restless,” I push.

“Fineee,” she caved, drawing out the ‘e’ to let me know she was really going against her will here. But let’s be honest, we were both ready to escape this tiny apartment. It was Saturday afternoon and we’d been holed up for nearly 24 hours. The lack of relationships in each of our lives had driven us both into a single-girl rut, and not the kind where you’re out drinking and partying every night. Sadly, it was the kind that whispered to us encouraging words about Netflix, HBO Go and way too much Seamless.

“I heard about this great tapas place in the FiDi,” I said, “We should check it out!” In spite of herself, Ash perked up at the mention of non-ramen entrees.

“I could get on board with that,” she said, folding her coltish legs beneath her and standing up. “What should we wear?”

“As little clothing as possible,” I replied, “It’s entirely too hot for anything else.”

As we got ready in our respective rooms, I heard Ashley’s voice carry over across the hallway. “Who told you about this place, anyway?”

“Just someone from work,” I heard myself fib. Not necessarily fib, he was a coworker, afterall.

I had felt the hope that he would be there growing inside of me as I had gotten ready. I knew it was a silly hope, given that the odds of seeing him here, now, at a place he had mentioned weeks ago were very slim. Yet that hope was the reason I’d chosen to wear a black razorback crop top paired with a striped asymmetrical skirt that I knew clung to me in all of the right places. I’d added sea salt spray to my already curly hair, and three coats of mascara. Arguably too much for a tapas happy hour, but justifiable at the prospect of seeing him.

Against all odds, he was the very first thing my eyes saw when we walked in. At 6’3”, he wasn’t hard to spot. The fire in my cheeks that crept like tendrils down to my stomach was insuppressible when I saw his towering frame by the bar. I clutched Ash’s arm instinctively, craving the reassurance of my best friend, forgetting she knew nothing.

“What?” she asked me, glancing from my death-like grip on her forearm to my face.

“Nothing,” I said, releasing my grasp and smoothing my skirt. “I just saw a coworker and was caught off guard.”

She gave me a look, but in that moment Jon caught my eye from across the crowded restaurant. His entire face broke into a genuine grin and I knew, not for the first time, that I was in trouble. He strode over in his easy, confident way. I ached.

“Hey Danielle,” he said, placing one strong hand on my lower back while leaning in to give me a kiss on the cheek.

“Hi!” I replied. Smooth. He looked expectantly at Ashley. “Oh, Jon this is my roommate, Ashley,” I said, gesturing to each as I spoke. “Jon works in the finance department at Arabella,” I added.

“Always great to meet a friend of Dani’s,” Jon said, shaking Ashley’s hand. I took secret pleasure at his use of Dani over Danielle.

“What are you ladies up to this afternoon?” he asked.

“Just escaping the insufferable heat of our apartment,” Ashley replied. Personally, I would have gone with something along the lines of we were extremely important and in high demand, and swung by here in between social engagements, but that’s just me.

“Well, I’m with a few friends over there,” he gestured with his head to a group of men situated at a high top by the bar. “If you’d like to join.”

“We’d love to,” Ashley replied, while I simultaneously thanked her and tried to resist the urge to throw up.

“Great,” he said, his face breaking into that ache-inducing grin. He casually slid his arm around my back and navigated me to his group of friends.

An hour later, I was engrossed in conversation with Jon and his friend from when they were in grad school, Tim. Tim was the co-founder of a start-up, and was reciting to me the many reasons Jon should leave Arabella and come work with him.

"...plus, at a start-up, we all kind of make our own schedules. Which is perfect for Jon since he and the wife will probably start popping out babies soon!" 

My eyes remained fixed on Tim, not daring to flicker in Jon's direction. I didn't want him to see the heat that crept up my cheeks whenever I was reminded of his marital status. 

Perhaps I should regress. 

Back in the spring, after I had been at Arabella for a few months, I had started to take notice of a ridiculously sexy man in the hallways. His gaze always held mine a beat too long—and I was instantly curious.

I started poking around until I found out that he was in our finance department. I ended up formally meeting him at a company happy hour, at which we spent the subsequent hour after shaking hands talking at the bar about anything and everything. From there, we started grabbing lunch once in a while, and taking strolls outside when the weather was too nice to be chained to our desks. We texted occasionally, usually innocent things about inside jokes or office gossip. Nothing had happened, and I knew with his wife it never could. But that didn't stop the unreasonable flush I felt everytime he was near me.

"Well," I said, bringing myself back to the present. "It sounds like a great chance. Jon, maybe you should leave corporate America and head into the start-up world!"

"Corporate America? Dani, a dog peed on the conference table in the middle of a meeting last week, I wouldn't call Arabella the most corporate," he grinned. I melted.

"How about another round?" Tim asked. Before I could answer, he had already started navigating his way to the bar.

"So, do you live close by?" I asked. He had always said he lived in the FiDi, but the part of me that had a massive crush on him wanted to know where.

"Yeah, just down on water street," he said, downing the last of his beer. "I love this area. It's also convenient, since the wife's parents are in Jersey and we can easily take the ferry over from Wall St."

I nodded, hating that he dropped her into conversation, and hating myself even more for hating it. 

Just then, I felt Ash's clammy hand wrap around my upper arm. "Hey guys," she interjected. 

"How's Henry?" Jon asked, nodding comically toward his very drunk friend who had been monopolizing Ashley for the past hour. 

"Henry might as well be a walking bottle of Hendricks," Ash said with a slight laugh, effectively portraying that she wasn't upset over his drunken antics. "But D, I'm about ready to head out. Do you want to come?" 

I pondered this. I could stay, alone, and hang out with Jon. But then I saw a vision of myself having to take the subway home alone after he inevitably left me to go home to his wife, and the picture was too sad to imagine playing out in real life. 

"Sure," I replied, reaching for my envelope clutch. I turned to Jon. "It was great running into you," I said, biting the inside of my cheek. 

"We should make it be on purpose next time," he said, wrapping his left arm around my back in a half-hug. I pressed by body too close to his, the wine making me braver than I should be.

, 

I said my farewells to his other friends and we headed out into the now-cooler New York evening.

"You. Little. Slut." Ashley said as we hit the sidewalk, punching me lightly in the arm. "You're totally having an affair with your married coworker!" She let out a loud squeal for effect.

I rolled my eyes dramatically. "Please, Ash. I'm the last person in the world who would have an affair."

"I saw what I saw. I can't believe you didn't tell me about him! He's gorgeous."

She didn't have to tell me twice.

"Let it go!" I said with a laugh. I hadn't told Ash before now, because I didn't want it to feel real. As long as I never said it out loud, I could pretend it was a small crush that didn't mean anything. If no one else knew, it could remain just that—a crush.

She gave me a stern look. "Hey, I'm definitely not one to talk," she said, referencing her past of cheating on the regular when she was with Steve. "But just...be careful. This smells like trouble."

She couldn't have been more spot-on.