Page 71 of Summer Breakdown
Isshefuckingjoking?Jasmine stands by the desk in a suit. A slightly oversized, fits her flawlessly, Frankie will have an aneurism linen suit. It’s the kind of thing Frankie would look like a used car salesman in, but God, does it work on Jasmine. The trousers are high-waisted, and her top is tucked in and hanging slightly over her waistband. Frankie’s three seconds away from falling through her office window.
Instead, she stands behind the shades of the blind, peeking out. She can’t go out there, because there’s a chance Jasmine will look at her, and Frankie’s attempt at being calm and collected about her existence will cease to exist. She’s trying desperately to be friendly. They are friends and nothing more than that because Jasmine said “I’m glad we’re friends,” so the fact Frankie daydreams about what it would be like to kiss her again, and the thoughts about what her evenings look like, and the way she wants to be her girlfriend so badly she might write a poem about it, don’t matter.
Then Jasmine takes her jacket off, and Frankie pulls the cord of the blind so hard it snaps. No one notices. It’s just her, her fingers flicking the plastic of the blind back up so she can watch Jasmine perch on the edge of the desk, and the throb between her legs.
Jasmine’s legs are slightly apart, and her hair is loose, and it’s her favourite sight. Frankie wants to trace the length of her collarbone with her tongue. The collarbone she can see because she’s wearing a vest. There’s no office dress code.Mali is wearing shorts and a crop top because it’s hot, and Frankie couldn’t care less.
She cares about Jasmine though. The way she can see the band of her bra, just a little. Jewel green against her skin. God, she’s so attractive. Frankie wonders if asking the office to start wearing clothing that covers their entire body is unreasonable. Perhaps Jasmine will turn up in a long-sleeved top and a balaclava, and Frankie will still think she’s the hottest thing to ever grace planet Earth.
Then, the worst thing happens—or the best, depending on how you look at it. Jasmine looks right at her, her eyes finding Frankie’s, even as she’s hidden behind the blind. She looks at her so quickly, Frankie is sure she knew she was there the entire time. Her gaze doesn’t sweep over her office like she was hoping to see her. It finds her immediately. Like Frankie is her prey. Jasmine smirks a little, winks at her, and then carries on talking to Mali like Frankie doesn’t exist.
Frankie doesn’t duck down. She doesn’t even close the blinds to pretend she wasn’t here, but that’s because she broke them when Jasmine lifted her arm to push her hair behind her shoulder. God, she’s so embarrassing.
So, no, Frankie is not sitting on the office floor waiting for five o’clock. She dropped a pen and her back hurts, so she’s just lounging. And if she doesn’t get up until the office is closed, that’s her business. She’s in charge. She can do what she likes.
“Frank,” Mali calls, and Frankie groans. She was hoping to just die here.
She clears her throat. “What’s up?”
“We’re ordering drinks. Want one?”
Frankie wonders how to get off the floor without making it obvious she wasonthe floor. It takes her too long to ignore the little dignity she has left, but then she decides to crawl to her desk.
“Er, sure,” Frankie replies, trying to shout so it sounds like she’s further away from them. She’s so clever.Frankie army-crawls her way under her desk, and thank God she has one with a front so no one can see her deep-breathing under here. She’s a rugby player, for fuck’s sake. Why is she out of breath and worrying about back ache just from trying to creep into her office chair at a slightly strange angle?
It takes too long, but she works her way into her chair, sighing as she hides behind her computer screen. She takes a deep breath—the kind she used to take on the pitch. How embarrassing.
“What drink do you want?” Jasmine asks. Her voice is too close. Far too fucking close. Frankie’s head shoots up. Jasmine stands at her door, leaning against it. She’s smirking like she might have seen her.
Frankie will just ignore it. “Uhm, a tea. Please.” Her cheeks are blazing hot. Hell would feel cold kind of hot. Maybe if Frankie promises her mum she’ll go to church with her this Sunday, God will get her out of this right now. Self-combustion is a thing she’s learnt about. But her and God are tight; he’d do her a solid.
Jasmine doesn’t seem to give a shit that Frankie wants to pass away. “It’s twenty-seven degrees.”
“I run cold.”
“I know.” Jasmine looks at the carpet, then back at her. “But I think you’ll be jealous when our lemonades get here.”
Frankie’s eyebrows shoot up. “I do want that.”
Jasmine hums, looking from her to the floor again. Frankie watches the way her jaw clenches. “Wanna talk about that?”
“Nope.”
She smiles like she knows Frankie’s entire life has been turned upside down. “‘Kay. Are you coming out, or should I look for you through the blinds?”
Frankie rests her forehead on the desk. “Stop talking, please.”
Jasmine laughs. “You owe me four-fifty.”
Frankie lifts her head back up with a frown. “You’re buying Mali’s drink.”
“Mali doesn’t spend her entire time ignoring me.”
“I don’t ignore you,” Frankie replies.
“Need I bring up the crawling?”
“Oh my God,” Frankie groans. “I said please.”
