Going to an Interview

I wrote this story years ago and just came across it. I thought I'd do a little editing and submit.

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She was typically late but managed to arrive uncharacteristically early for her appointment, an interview, a reason to return to a place she hadn't been in years, though she drove by almost daily. Out of habit, an old, long-forgotten habit, she parked in that back lot, the one behind the dorms, and suddenly her memory was flooded with the smell of football players' sweat assaulting her nostrils, cat-calls shouted from second floor windows by a thick man in nothing but a towel, his wet hair tousled and crazy after his shower.

Surely she was too old to draw that kind of attention anymore, but she'd be lying if she said she didn't long for it. She opened her car door and immediately locked it again, an old habit that would never die. She clutched her red purse to her side, unsure. Should she put it over her shoulder or carry it on her arm? She never knew what to do with a purse, but she was sure it made her look somehow more legitimate, professional, grown-up, though she never felt any of those things, even on a good day. Maybe today was a good day.

As soon as she'd closed the car door behind her, the cell phone she had clutched in her left hand bumped into her awkwardly-applied purse and slid down her body, bouncing off her stiletto clad foot and dropping onto the asphalt. She grunted and looked around to see if anyone had noticed, feeling silly. Across the parking lot a young man caught her eye. He smiled an amused, lazy smile. He was running, wearing a sleeveless shirt, the sleeves ripped out to expose his growing muscles, and a pair of loose, cotton shorts that reached his knees. He was exquisite, divine. Her eyes left his and followed the form of his body down and met with defined, beautiful calves, feet stuffed into a new pair of Nike running shoes.

His running had slowed. He was 50 feet away now, and he started to walk, barely moving, staring at her. His eyes followed her full form, taking in every curve, seeming to see through material that was far from sheer. She adjusted the hem of her smartly tailored suit jacket, bit her lip. Carefully she knelt down to retrieve her phone, believing his eyes were following her as she felt a warm blush crawl up her neck, flooding her cheeks.

She looked up, and he was gone, no where in sight. Had she imagined him? She started across the parking lot, headed for the administration building, if she could recall its location. She walked tall, as her Mama'd taught her. Something in her recalled that old strut, muscle memory, and she pranced across that lot like she had in her younger days, provoking eyes from every direction. Tall in her heels, despite her naturally average stature, she pushed her shoulders back and forced her chest out. Her round butt protruded purposefully. She thought of her entire body as a union of separate parts, aligned and perfectly placed together. And at her center - the core, the one hot spot that she most prized and guarded most, nestled safely between her thighs; she was convinced, as she had been in her younger days, that her entire energy radiated from that location, and those boys could smell she was hot, in heat.

Those old thoughts gave her the confidence she needed to strut like a peacock, proud and beautiful, toward her next chance at a better life, something different, a change and a chance worth taking. She had to try, at least try. Rounding the corner of the building in fine form, she nearly stumbled over a creature kneeling on the concrete walk, tying his shoe. It was him.

Closer than before, she could smell his sweat, feel the heat leaping from his body. She reached out to steady herself, an instinctive gesture, but her hand met with his shoulder, and a jolt shot through her like static shock. When he looked up, she searched his eyes; he hadn't felt it. She was sure of that, but he reached for her anyway, took her hand and steadied her, rose to his feet and made sure she was okay.

"Do I... know you?" he questioned, his look quizzical. She shook her head. Her voice had left her seconds ago, though the seconds seemed like hours. "I didn't mean to trip you," he said, but she wondered, really wondered, if he hadn't been waiting there for that very purpose. Had his shoe really come untied? Why had he stopped running? The questions darted around her mind.

He put his warm, hard hand against the small of her back and looked at her questioningly once more. "Are you sure you're okay?" She nodded, the lump still keeping her voice captive. Heat radiated from his hand up her back, down to her toes. She sucked in her breath sharply and promptly forgot to breathe again for seconds that seemed like days.

Then she noticed it there on the ground by the pointed toe of her right shoe. Her cell phone. She knelt to recover it, but he knelt at the same time, and their heads bumped together. She rose quickly, reflexively reaching her hand to rub where it hurt. His head was so hard! He rose again, holding her phone. "You seem to have a hard time holding onto this." He laughed, a bright smile gliding playfully across his face, leaving as quickly as it came. She found herself longing to see it again, but she said nothing. She shrugged.

Self-consciously she stopped rubbing her head, worrying she'd mussed her hair, worrying he thought her odd, maybe mute. Forgetting her center of gravity, her core, she rocked back nervously on her sharp heels and pulled the right corner of her mouth back in an almost apologetic half-grin.

He reached toward her, extending the phone toward her empty left hand. She moved to take it, clasped her hand around it, but he didn't let go. He stood motionless, enjoying the feel of her fingers pressing against his, though she hadn't meant for them to. He looked into her eyes, up and down her body in a quick glance, and he couldn't help but wonder what kind of panties she had on under that sensible, knee-length skirt.

He decided to make it his business to find out.