The Opposite of Me by Sarah Pekkanen Page A

cheek.
    I opened my eyes. The room was dark, but moonlight flooded in through the glass walls.
    “I do?” I whispered.
    You know how in that moment before something momentous happens—like when a solemn-faced doctor tells you tosit down, or when you’re waiting to see if a pink line shows up on a pregnancy test, or when a car comes skidding toward you on an ice-slicked road—time seems to sputter to a stop? That’s what happened as my fingers encircled Doug’s wrist. Everything around us seemed to fade, leaving just me and Doug in a spotlight of color in a world that had suddenly gone black and white. He was so close I could hear the faint noise he made when he swallowed. I could see the patch on his chin he’d missed when he shaved. For several heartbeats we stood close together.
    “You’re beautiful,” he breathed, staring at me with those melted chocolate eyes.
    That’s when I grabbed him, hard, and kissed him.
    He tasted delicious, like cinnamon and red wine, and his broad back felt strong under my roving hands. All my pent-up feelings from the day washed away as waves of pure lust crashed over me. Now the only thing I could think about was how quickly I could tear off Doug’s shirt and run my hands over his chest.
    “Lindsey,” he breathed. “I never thought—”
    “Don’t say anything,” I begged. If he came up with one of his recycled lines, the moment would be ruined, and I wanted so desperately to lose myself in it, to let the delicious sensations overtake me and crowd away my pain.
    Doug’s lips were soft and warm, and when the stubble along his jawline scraped the sensitive skin of my neck, shivers rippled through my belly. He kissed me until I was almost delirious, while his fingertips slipped under the neckline of my dress and drew gentle, tantalizing circles around my shoulders. I leaned against the conference table, my head thrown back and my eyes closed, as his fingers moved lower and lower.
    “Beautiful,” he whispered again as he reached behind me andunzipped my dress. I reached back and unhooked my bra and impatiently tossed it aside, then pulled Doug close to me so I could feel his skin against mine. Sensations bombarded me: the warmth of his skin, the nearly unbearably exciting feel of his lips biting my earlobe, the electric touch of his fingers as he slid my dress down to my hips. I wanted this. I wanted this so badly it made me weak.
    Doug’s fingers froze.
    “What’s that?” he whispered.
    Oh, God; had he discovered my granny panties?
    “Did you hear that?” he whispered.
    I shook my head, my arms still wound around his neck, feeling groggy and disoriented. Why’d he stop? I didn’t want him to stop, not ever.
    “Shit,” Doug muttered, and he let go of me so abruptly that I almost fell over again. He bent down and grabbed his shirt off the floor just as footsteps approached the conference room.
    “My storyboard should still be in here,” someone—
Cheryl
—was saying.
    “Can’t wait to see it,” a man responded. “The fifty-million-dollar storyboard. I want it framed.”
    The light flicked on, and I squinted as its sharp brightness jabbed at my eyes.
    Cheryl was standing in the doorway, staring straight at me. And next to her was Mr. Dunne. A beat too late, I crossed my arms over my chest. The lust drained from me as quickly as if someone had pulled a plug.
    Cheryl found her voice first.
    “Lindsey?”
    I stared at her dumbly.
    “Well, I’ve never seen this side of you,” she said snidely, looking pointedly at my chest.
    “It’s—it’s not what it looks like,” Doug stuttered. He’d neverbeen able to think on his feet; I’d even put words to that effect in one of his performance reviews.
    I turned my back and pulled up my dress with trembling fingers.
    “I can explain,” I said over my shoulder.
    “I’d like to hear it,” said Mr. Dunne. “In my office. Two minutes.”
    Then he turned on his heel and walked away.

Five
 
     
     
    MR. DUNNE SAT