I Couldn’t Stop Looking at My Coworker

It happened again today. I ran into her in the hallway and, for one second, I forgot how to breathe. I try to make sense of it and I can hardly believe it: just a few months ago, Noa was nothing more than a stranger, or even worse, just a coworker. And overnight she became the center of my obsession.

I think it all started a month ago, the afternoon we crossed paths in the office bathroom. I was wearing worn-out jeans, a random T-shirt, and sneakers that were practically begging to be thrown in the trash. Nothing special. And yet, while I washed my hands, my mind imagined her in a completely different way than the one standing in front of me.

She turned toward the mirror, adjusted those long, fluffy curls she always wears loose, looked me up and down, and said:

—Girl, you look gorgeous today.

It wasn’t a big deal. In fact, after saying it she straightened her blouse and left as if nothing had happened, leaving me completely thrown off balance. I didn’t know what to say. I stood there still, watching every one of her movements as she walked away. Straight back, shoulders pulled back, defined hips and, let’s be honest, an ass that took your breath away. Everything about her was impossible to ignore, wrapped in a vanilla perfume that intoxicated me.

From that day on, I started running into her everywhere. Or maybe it was me making too much of her presence. By the coffee machine, her back against the wall and the paper cup in her hands. On the way to the cafeteria, walking with those so self-assured steps. Leaning on a coworker’s desk whenever she had to fix a problem on their computer, in a pose that invited me to trace her whole body with my eyes and that always ended in the same place.

I wanted to talk to her, but embarrassment held me back. All the embarrassment she, apparently, didn’t have any of. Noa was like that: cheerful, chatty, and with absolutely no filter. If she had to tell someone, “You’ve had your computer on for a month without shutting it down? Oh my God, how embarrassing,” she’d blurt it out without thinking twice. And it was precisely that directness that made me turn my head every time I heard her voice on the other side of the office. That was her magnetism, her secret weapon.

I spent hours inventing excuses to cross paths with her. I went down for coffee when I didn’t even feel like it, I dragged out lunch if I saw her sitting in the cafeteria, I pretended my computer was running slowly just for the remote chance they’d send her to my desk. I never managed it, of course. And all the while, every gesture of hers stayed burned into my mind: the way she bit her pen when reading something on the screen, the bra strap that peeked out when she leaned over, the raspy laugh she let out when something genuinely amused her.

At night, at home, I went over those details one by one like someone guarding a shameful secret. I told myself it was nonsense, that it would pass, that she was nothing more than an attractive coworker and nothing else. But every morning, as soon as I walked through the office door, my eyes looked for her before my mind had time to decide.

***

A few days ago she wrote to me on the internal chat. There was an issue with my computer and I had to check it. She asked if I was busy and, when I said no, she came over to my desk and sat beside me to look at it with me. Having her that close gave me goosebumps.

—This is already sorted, Irene. Now restart the computer and see if it runs just as smoothly. Think you can do that? —she said in a kind, almost playful tone.

I think it was the first time she’d spoken to me that much in a row.

—Y-yeah... of course I can —I answered, unable to stop myself from stammering.

My hand trembled on the mouse while I looked at her. Without even realizing it, I lowered my gaze to her red-painted lips, always so perfect. It was instinctive, uncontrollable.

—I think this needs you more than me —she said then, taking a chocolate bar from her pocket and breaking it in half to give me a piece—. You’re doing really well. It’s a shame you’re always so busy. You’re the only one on the team I still don’t really know, but I hope we bump into each other more often soon.

Her words surprised me, though not as much as the gesture. It was, precisely, my favorite chocolate bar, my lifelong weakness. Maybe that’s why the only thing I could think to say was:

—Thanks! Did you know it’s my favorite?

Seriously? Was that the best I could come up with? Am I stupid?

Stupid or not, inexperienced or simply clumsy, she answered me with half a smile as she got up from the chair and leaned a little toward me.

—It’s mine too —she whispered in my ear—. I think one of these can brighten up your morning.

And then she put her half in her mouth, slowly, never taking her eyes off mine. After that, as if nothing had happened, she left. She left me with half a chocolate bar in my hand and a stupid expression reflected in the turned-off screens on my desk.

***

Over the next few days, almost without realizing it, we started talking on chat all the time. It became a habit. I told her how annoying it was to have a report sent back over and over again with corrections, and she told me how she could feel coworkers devouring her with their eyes every time she crossed the floor. “How embarrassing,” she’d type, laughing. And I silently wondered whether she’d noticed that I was part of that group of drooling idiots too. If she knew, she never mentioned it.

Then we started sending each other songs. I don’t think there’s a better way to get to know someone than through music, and I was surprised to discover how much our tastes were alike, even if she didn’t look like the type to spend weekends dancing until the floor dropped out from under you, like I did. Because yes, at the office she wore her shyness like a flag, but that shyness evaporated on Saturday nights, on the dance floor of any club and with a drink in her hand.

After music came exchanging social media accounts, and the conversations moved there. By the time summer arrived, we were talking at any hour of the day. Every so often she told me how pretty I looked in a photo, or how jealous she was of the places I went. But I couldn’t bring myself to confess that what had me completely bewitched was her tanned body, the one that looked spectacular in the latest photo she’d posted, posing in a blue bikini next to a friend at the beach.

That image awakened a desire in me that I could no longer hold back. After hitting “like,” alone in the dimness of my apartment, I couldn’t resist the urge. I slid a hand under the waistband of my pants, pushed my underwear aside, and started touching myself slowly, with the phone screen still glowing on my chest.

I imagined her whispering in my ear, placing one of her soft hands on my neck while she guided me toward her mouth. I wanted my hand to be hers. I wanted it to be her touching me, her fingers parting my lips and drawing circles over my clit, faster and faster, more and more impatient.

When I was about to come, I looked for a place to prop up the phone so I could keep looking at her while my fingers sank into me. By then I’d already taken off my pants, my back arched against the couch, my gasps impossible to hold back, and my eyes closing on their own. I didn’t want it to end, but I could barely control the tremors running through my own body anymore. And without realizing it, with my slick thumb, I hit the video call button.

***

By the time I understood what I’d done, Noa had already picked up. She’d seen me panting, biting my lips and arching all the way to the end, unable to stop in time. I wasn’t aware of any of it until, while I tried to catch my breath, I heard her clapping slowly on the other end, leaning back a little so the camera would frame her better.

—Fuck, babe. What a show, huh? —she said, her voice loaded with a calm that made me burn—. Although I think you got confused calling me. But don’t worry, this stays between us.

And before hanging up, she blew a kiss at the camera.

—Now I’m even more eager for Monday to come around at the office.

Then, accompanied by that mischievous half-smile I already knew by heart, she ended the call. I swallowed hard, still breathing in raggedly and my face on fire. There was no going back now. And instead of the shame I should have felt, what I noticed was something else: my hand slipping back, by itself, between my legs.

I touched myself again thinking about her words, convinced they hid a promise. A surprise she would give me on Monday, as soon as I walked through the office door, and one I meant to receive with an eagerness I could barely stand. The same eagerness with which I now bit my lips, moaned her name under my breath, and imagined her, at last, sitting beside me.