Wednesday afternoon. Sigh. She knew she would miss having the Thursday afternoon workout session. It had been a nonstop day, but she was finishing up and could go home soon. Alone in the building, she was startled to hear the back door open. Probably a student coming to use the computer lab. But a minute later, someone knocked on her door.

“Sorry to drop by without calling. I saw your car here so decided to stop. Hope that’s okay.”

“Of course.”

She and he had talked about 6 times that day already and exchanged multiple emails, so she wondered what he could possibly want or need at this time of the day.

“It’s quiet in here. No classes tonight?” he asked.

“No, I guess not. I don’t yet know the schedule here that well. Maybe there’s a club meeting later, but I really don’t know.”

He took the seat next to her uninvited and placed his keys on her desk. He certainly seemed to be making himself at home.

“Am I interrupting? Shall I leave?”

When had she ever asked anyone to leave her office?! He knew her well enough to know she would never be so rude, no matter how busy she was or how ready she was to get home, have a glass of wine, relax, and regret the absence of her “therapy” the next afternoon. They talked desultorily of work. She was feeling impatient, wondering why he was here wasting her time. He was socially awkward, sure, but honestly! Was he really that oblivious?

“So when does the visiting professor arrive?”

“Supposed to have already been here, but the last we heard, maybe another 2-3 weeks.”

“Do they still have the apartment for those here?”

“Oh, yes. The housekeepers have had it clean now for 3 weeks—swept, mopped, vacuumed, kitchen and bathroom cleaned, sheets and towels washed. It’s all prepared—just waiting on the guy to arrive from Mexico.”

“Is he traveling through Mexico?”

“Yes.”

What else was there to say? The visiting professor wasn’t in their discipline, so they had never discussed him before. Why the sudden interest?

“I’ve never seen the apartment. Is it nice or just a glorified dorm room?”

“It’s okay. Nothing fancy. A small living area with television and desk, a kitchenette with breakfast table, and a bedroom and attached bathroom.”

“Oh, okay. I’d like to see it sometime.” A few seconds of silence, then—”Do you have a key? Would you give me a personal tour?”

Suddenly she recalled the somewhat suggestive notes from last spring. The realization must have shown on her face because he looked intently at her and nodded very slightly.

“Sure, we can take a look.”

She got her keys and led the way to the far end of the hall. The quiet of the building suddenly seemed more intense. She was acutely aware of him behind her. He watched her hips as they walked down the hall. He liked the view—the skirt fit tightly enough to emphasize her figure and was short enough to show plenty of legs. Concentrating so on her body, he almost caromed into her at the apartment door. The lock snapped as she turned the key, and they were in the kitchen. He glanced to the right and saw the bedroom. Not wanting to move too quickly, he turned left, entering the living area. She felt like she was talking too much, babbling nervously. What was wrong with her? They had worked together for years and had never had any awkwardness between them. So why now? On the periphery of his consciousness he realized she was chatting about the apartment, but his mind was working almost solely on what his best move might be.

Walking near her, he let his body graze hers, invading personal space but not so egregiously that she felt threatened. He knew she was a bit skittish, so he had to carefully find the balance between pushing but not too hard. He told himself that if he could maneuver the situation well enough, then the pushing could be much more satisfying and well worth the effort and patience he was prepared to invest.

He thought he detected a reaction, an inclination not to move away but rather to maintain the casual contact. That would be a good sign, of course, so he could increase the pace of finding his way to the bedroom.

She asked if he wanted to see the rest of the place and warned him jokingly of the Pepto-Bismol color he could expect in the bathroom. He made one last survey of the room and agreed to move along on the tour. Once in the small bedroom, he could intensify his efforts. After all, what good was a bed that wasn’t being used? He obligingly agreed the pink bathroom was unfortunate for the man who was soon to inhabit the place. As they backed out of the small room, he blocked her exit, talking about something or other, enforcing and prolonging their proximity. He allowed his eyes to rest openly on her breasts. A slight shadow of lace showed through the delicate fabric of her blouse. He fantasized immediately about seeing that lace without the blouse.