Page 6 of Susie's Orc

God, I have to stop mentally calling him Jonah from Accounting.

“Just, leave here in like five minutes, okay?” I ask after giving him my address. “I need to… my place is a bit of a mess.”

“Sure. Yeah. Sure, that sounds good.”

When I look back up at him, he seems almost as nervous as I am, but also so damn pleased and eager as hell.

Which, okay, I kind of love that. It makes me bold enough not to chicken out, bold enough to do this, with him. No turning back.

I grin at him before heading to my car. “See you in a few.”

Chapter 4

Susie

Inside my apartment, I toss my bag haphazardly into my bedroom, then go into speed-run cleaning mode. It’s not a total disaster in here, but my heart’s still racing as I pick up a scattering of laundry, the empty tea and coffee mugs that seem to multiply all on their own on the coffee table and side tables, and the stack of unopened mail that I quickly stash away in a drawer.

My eyes scan the room, looking for anything else I can tidy, but before I can do any more last-minute prep, a knock at the door announces Jonah is here.

I quickly cross the room to open it, and oh boy, is he here.

The office has tall ceilings, lots of windows, and an open floor plan, but seeing him standing in the normal-height hallway just outside my apartment door is another thing entirely.

My heart races with the reminder of just how spectacularly big and broad he is, how unbelievable it is he’s here—actuallyhere, in my apartment.

“You found it alright?” I ask, swallowing around a wave of nerves and stepping aside so he can come in.

“Yeah,” he says, looking around the place. “It must be nice, living this close to work.”

“Uh, yeah. It has been.”

God, I’m terrible at small talk.

Or maybe I’m not.

Maybe I just can’t remember how to make it when I’ve got a coworker-slash-hookup standing in my apartment looking so handsome and touchable.

I close the door behind us, painfully aware of how lacking my apartment is.

Hand-me-down couch, IKEA bookcase, half-dead potted fern in the window. I’m twenty-seven, and my place looks like it belongs to a college kid. Which, alright, I’m acting with the approximate maturity level and impulse control of a college kid right now, so maybe I shouldn’t judge myself so harshly.

Stepping around Jonah and toward the living room—which is also connected to the kitchen and dining space and is usually pretty roomy, but feels awfully small right now—I internally agonize over my next move.

Do I take him to my bedroom? Hop up on the kitchen counter? Drop to my knees right in front of him?

Living room seems like the best middle ground, and I continue on into that space before turning around to face him.

Oh, god. What do I do with my hands? What do I say? Should I kiss him? Start stripping?

Wordlessly, Jonah takes off his jacket, lays it on the back of one of my dining chairs, and strides toward me with a slight smirk on his face and unmistakable intent burning in his hazel eyes.

We’re really doing this.

I expect awkwardness. I expect a little fumbling, maybe some painful conversation about what we’re going to do and how we’re going to do it. I expect doubt and weirdness, and part of me still thinks we should just call this whole thing off.

I’ve never done this. I’ve never felt this… this… crazed. It’s an out-of-body experience, and I’m expecting it to come to a crashing end at any moment.

What I don’t expect?

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