I am so pathetic.
Have I really not changed since high school? I thought once I grew up, my shyness would somehow magically evaporate, and I would have no trouble in the dating world. I could go right up to guys and say all the cool things I thought of in my head. (But in my head, I also had long blond hair, huge eyes, and way more curves. So maybe those weren't the most realistic of expectations.)
I look over for about the thousandth time. Why can’t I ever keep my eyes off of him?
His head starts to turn. I gasp, whip my head around, and accidentally bash my elbow on the desk corner.
Who was it that said ‘love hurts’? They were dead-on. Ow.
Cautiously, I move my head a fraction of an inch to the left. In the corner of my eye, I can see him start to walk my way. Then I realize what I’m seeing.
My heart thumps against my chest, like it wants to burst out of my body and yell, “I LOVE YOU!” I discreetly place a hand on my chest to slow it down.
Because he can’t know I like him. If I ever told him… oh God. My self-esteem would be shattered, since he’d probably just laugh in my face. How could a guy like him like someone like me?
Oh, God. He’s getting closer. Quick. Look busy. I hastily grab a random pile of papers and pretend to peruse it intently, while really, all I’m thinking is He’s coming over here he’s coming over here he’s coming over here to talk to YOU!
A shadow falls over my papers. My cheeks instantly turn bright red, like they always do when he’s near me. Okay. Deep breath. Look up. Act like you didn’t know he was coming. Like you haven’t been watching him for the past month.
I turn the page and glance up, then do a double take in surprise. Okay, maybe that was a bit much.
“Hey, Dylan,” I say nonchalantly, extending my hand. Wait. Why am I doing that? Who shakes hands when they say hey? Quickly, I pull it back – just as he’s about to shake it. Great. I’m so smooth.
“Hey, Sara,” he says, smiling. My heart speeds up even more. “I was wondering if I could borrow your stapler?”
I blink. “Uh… yeah,” I say dazedly. I grab it and pass it to him. Our fingers touch for a second. His skin is like velvet. I giggle nervously, then freeze in panic.
“Thanks,” he says. Miraculously, he’s still smiling, not fleeing from the crazy woman who giggles when she hands over staplers and shakes hands when she says hey. “What are you working on?”
I peer at him, then follow his gaze to my paper. Oh, no. What am I working on?
“Oh, just… you know…” I steal a quick glance at the page. It’s from Eddie in PR – something about marketing? “Uh… actually, I don’t really know,” I say. Then immediately wish I hadn't.
Dylan laughs. Giddiness bubbles up inside of me. I made him laugh!
“’Kay, well… bye,” he says, turning to leave.
“Bye,” I say.
“Oh – and Sara?” he says, turning around. He’s got a little smile on his face, and his eyes are twinkling. And suddenly, I know. Because I’ve seen this before. In movies, I mean. This is how the guy looks at the girl right before he asks her out. This is how he looks at the girl he always ends up with. This is how he looks at the girl he never noticed before, but suddenly, one day, they start talking, and then he just knows. And I know, and I can’t believe I ever doubted. Just looking into those big brown eyes, I know he’s about to say –
“Thanks for the stapler.”