Smoke of Sighs

Chapter 10: Barmeyer et al., 2019

But I have a feeling if I fucked someone else I'd just be thinking of her.

I press my eyes shut, groan tiredly, reach my arm back behind my head to stretch out my shoulder.

I need to focus. Research. Job. Work. Paying rent. Adulting.

Has its perks but is mostly really fucking overrated.

I decide to take a coffee break, stretch my legs. It's Monday afternoon and I still need to put in a few hours categorizing and classifying the pile of written testimony I've collected.

There's a Starbucks in the Interdisciplinary Sciences building next door. I shove my wallet and my cell into the back pockets of my jeans and make my way over there. It's early October and the air is a bit chilly, but, the sun's out and beats steadily against my skin as I trudge my way down the path between swaths of grass and bushes and brick buildings.

Everything seems calmer and more sluggish, an early afternoon lull, as I enter the building and stride across the colourful tiled floor to the coffee shop tucked against one of the walls.

Oh, you're fucking kidding me. Just my luck.

Her hair today is done up in a soft, loose bun that shows off the gentle slope of her neck. It's that same alluring oaky-brown colour, flecked with shining highlights. The building is modern, all glass and steel and exposed brick, and the floor-to-ceiling windows to the left of the Starbucks give a wide view of the main quad, sunlight streaming through.

As I come to stand beside her where she's waiting at the back of the line, my heart-rate speeds up and my blood thrums.

She turns towards me and the surprised but unmistakably pleased look on her face makes my lips tilt up into a crooked grin. I guess it's her lucky day too.

"Hi, Dr. Hall," she greets slowly, plainly, her rich brown eyes sparkling. She doesn't have her bag with her, just her wallet. She must be sitting somewhere close, left her things there.

"Layla." I give her a faint nod of acknowledgment, amusement twitching at the edge of my jaw. "What a coincidence."

"My thought exactly."

She's wearing a pale red, short-sleeved dress that falls mid-thigh, thin tights. Her bare arm just brushes mine as we shuffle forward with the line and I swear there's an electric buzz that shoots its way down my spine.

"How was your weekend?" I ask casually. I wonder if she relieved any of her sexual frustration, if she was thinking about me the same way I was thinking about her. If she fucked herself to thoughts of me on Saturday night like she implied she would in one of her messages.

A soft, noncommittal shrug. "Exceedingly uneventful." She meets my gaze for a second and I can see the gleam in her eyes. I have to suppress a small, knowing smirk. "Thanks again for recommending those articles. They were very helpful."

I can't help but quietly remark, benign but vaguely suggestive, "Perhaps not helpful enough, I imagine."

She bites into her bottom lip to stifle her smile and my focus is drawn to the plush curves of her mouth that are coated in a smooth, deeply-coloured layer of lipstick.