I caught my second wind by the time I got to W 53rd Street and 6th Ave, so when I got to the office, I was raring and ready for an early morning solo dance party while I hung up Hanukkah decorations.

I haven’t stopped thinking about Asher. He was the reason I sent the wrong order to the wrong table—the reason I shattered a bottle of white wine, why I had to apologize to a woman for spilling salad dressing on her lap.

He is most definitely the reason why I’m living in a permanent hot flash.

I can still feel his lips.

God.

Get a grip, Olivia.

You can’t have an orgasm in front of a menorah.

Focus.

I channel all my energy into dancing the taste of Asher’s lips off of me while I hang garland made of the Star of David and dreidel. The security guard downstairs must be loving the show. I bet he’ll suggest I audition for that new reality show America’s Best Dancer. I should call Francesca. Maybe the Rockettes are looking for a five-foot-one blonde with jiggly thighs and great boobs.

“Are you having a manic episode?”

Asher’s voice hits me like a bus. He’s leaning against his doorframe with his arms crossed. He’s wearing a black crewneck sweater and fitted gray jeans with artfully messy hair and sleepy eyes. I want to jump him.

“What are you doing here?” I ask.

He furrows his brow. “I… work here?”

“It’s early.”

“Which is why I’m surprised to find you doing a terrible Mariah Carey impersonation down the halls. I figured I had at least another hour before you strolled in thirteen minutes late.”

All I can think about is him on his couch with his mouth all over me. I feel lightheaded.

“I couldn’t sleep,” I say. It’s not a total lie. I didn’t have time to sleep.

“Yeah, me neither.”

Asher up all night. Losing his mind at the thought of me on top of him. Kissing him. Grinding into him.

Olivia.

“Your bagel’s on my desk,” I tell him. “I didn’t get your coffee yet. I was waiting till it was closer to the time that you come in.”

“And how would you know what time I come in when I’m always here before you?”

A smile flickers over my lips. Asher’s trying to conceal his dimples, but he’s failing miserably. We can never go back to whatever we were before. His mouth was on my boobs.

I finish hanging the Hanukkah garland with Asher’s help. I don’t ask for it, but he’s there holding the end of the string as if he suddenly became some holiday-decorating guru. This is the man who wouldn’t have had a Christmas tree if I didn’t fraudulently purchase him one.

“You’re quite the little helper,” I say.