“Did you get lost in here?” Alex asked one fateful day, coming up next me in the stock room.

I had gone to get paper to replenish the printer but decided to take a minute to catch my breath. We’d been working together alone for hours, and being the object of Alex’s focus for long periods of time was invigorating, but trying not to say or do anything stupid was exhausting.

Not to mention fighting the ever-present attraction, a live wire that bounced around, shocking me in the heart every time he gave me a lopsided smile or touched my arm.

“Not lost. I’m just trying to, you know, pick the best one.”

We stared at the identical stacks of packaged printer paper together.

He rubbed his chin, considering the options. “It is hard to decide.”

“And what about the ones I don’t pick. What if they feel left out?”

He snorted. “Like getting picked last for dodgeball, something that happened frequently to me in middle school. I feel for the paper, I do.”

I groaned. “Dodgeball is the worst. It’s torture. Who wants to be picked first for torture?”

He turned to face me, standing only a foot away, his eyes dark in the low light of the closet. “What if being printed on is torture for the paper? Must be painful. Stacked in a dark tray, yanked through gears and machinery, and forcefully covered in ink.”

I laughed.

This was one of the many things I appreciated about working with Alex. I could talk to him about anything that popped into my head, even if they were completely random tangents. I could make ridiculous statements about paper feeling lonely and he would play along.

He reached for my face then, tucking a strand of hair back behind my ear. His fingers lingered on my cheek. His eyes dipped to my mouth.

Holy shit. Did he want to kiss me? Was this really happening? Was I dreaming? I wanted to pinch myself, but if this was real, there was no way I’d risk it.

I leaned into him and shut my eyes, every cell in my body gravitating toward him like he was a mirage in the desert, and let me tell you, I was thirsty. His breath caressed my lips, and then . . . and then he pulled away.

“Uh, here, I think this one is dying for torture.”

I opened my eyes. He grabbed a ream of paper from the stack and left the room. Shocked, I stood there, staring at where he had been a moment ago. What had just happened? It took me a minute to collect myself. A long minute. When I went back to the employee area, we went back to work. Had I imagined the whole thing?

He acted like nothing happened. And then, the next week, I was off his team.