Yellow, Blue, White

I walk with my shoes clicking down the hall. My pastel pink blouse hangs loose over my petite chest; I am acutely aware of its cold silken texture against the top of my breast. My slacks are black and tight, cupping my firm behind. I turn the corner to the right on the way to my office and see a familiar sight at the end of the hallway. There is a large window overlooking the city, which currently looks like a gothic town surrounded by fog. There, illuminated by the bleak window, sits a bright yellow cart on wheels. The characteristic wooden mop jutting out at an angle. All that's missing is the blue and white.

I smile to myself. He's begun. He'll make his way over to my office eventually.

The morning drags on as usual. I look forward to every coffee break, every mundane conversation with Linda or Soo-Yung or Tina or whats-her-face, who seem to believe that musicians and buskers are the hottest men alive. Except for Soo-Young, who is married and doesn't like to get involved in these discussions. I beg to differ. I need a strong man who can also be gentle.

My workplace is full of tiny squares. I walk past the same cold hallways everyday. Sometimes I take the straight lines and trace a large rectangle on the way back to my office. Other times I cut through the middle and zig-zag my way. Today I decided to zigzag. I reach my office. The yellow cart is closer now. Soon.

I'm speaking to Andrew, our manager, on the phone about an order. He's young and I've always thought that he was attractive. He has black hair, bright blue eyes, and a gorgeous smile. He is tall - about 5'9" - which makes my knees melt. Unfortunately he's married, but I can't help but get nervous before I say anything to him.

Andrew asks me to fax off the order so I take a walk to the photocopier on the other end of the floor, this time walking the rectangular path. Something about him being married and so committed makes me want him so bad, but I know that if Andrew ever reciprocated any sexual feelings I'd immediately stop crushing on him. Funny how that works.

I turn the corner.

'Good morning.'

I stop in my tracks. The yellow cart is ahead of me, to my right. There's a man about my height in a blue uniform, wooden mop in hand, eyes on the floor as he scrubs away. His hair is grey, almost white, but his blue eyes scream like a 20-year-old. His face resembles that of a puppy, big eyes and round cheeks.

I continue ahead of him. 'Good morning,' I say with a smile, turning my head to the right. His gaze meets mine for a millisecond before returning to the task at hand.

My shoes click down the hall and I feel warm on the back of my neck, as if someone were pointing lasers at me.

I reach the fax machine in the main office and I see Chris, the building technician opening the trays. He is a big burly guy with no indoor voice. 'What's going on Chris?' I inquire, one hand on my hip. 'I'M FIXIN IT HUN,' he says in a patronizing tone coupled with a wink. I hope you fix your attitude while you're at it, I think.

'GET ME SOME EXTRA PAPER WOULD YA.' Politeness is a foreign concept to Chris.

'Just a second,' I mutter, walking back to the storage room. Oh well, maybe I'll run into him again - that might make the trip worth it. I turn the corner. No yellow or blue or white. Just cold beige hallways. I sigh. What a waste.

I pull open the heavy storage room door and walk inside. I grab the extra paper and curse Chris for making me do his menial tasks. Opening the storage room door is difficult for a petite girl like me, and I always have to jiggle the handle and push against the door simultaneously to get out.

'For a second I thought you were locked inside.' I hear from my periphery.

I look up to the left to see him again: the whitish hair is dashingly handsome against his ocean blue clothes. This time his puppy dog face is twisted into a smile, revealing a slight dimple. How have I never seen that before? This time I notice his forearms. The watch on his right wrist accentuates his strong hand, clutching the wooden mop handle, his muscles visibly flexing to move it back and forth. A tattooed cross peeks out from underneath his bicep-length blue sleeve. How can someone so much older be so cute-looking?

I smile back, slightly embarrassed. 'It's a heavy door!' I exclaim, letting the it close behind me.

'That's true.' He agrees, eyes bright with amusement. He returns his gaze to the floor, working the handle, showing off those forearm muscles. It is so wrong to feel the hots for him. Not only is he probably at least 30 years older than me, I would upset the entire office hierarchy if I slept with the cleaning staff. They would think I'm a slut. But he's so cute, I whine.

I walk past him, clicking with the extra paper in my hand. For a split second - or maybe I had imagined it - I saw him turn his face towards the side to check out my ass. I've seen it before and I don't blame him. My ass looks particularly divine in these slacks.

I keep walking, hoping he's still staring at my ass. My pussy starts to get wet thinking of his rough hands and strong forearms groping my tiny bottom. I bet he has an erection when he watches me leave, my behind swaying down the hall - nobody would know underneath his uniform.

I return to the office and I finally get to send my damn fax and finish my last tasks of the day.

I make my way one last time to my office. I see two men in uniform, one on either side of the hallway, having a conversation. The blue and white cutie is on the left side and another dude in blue is on the right. I want to tease the cutie but make it seem innocent.

I walk in between the two of them, glancing at the random guy in blue first. They continue talking. As I turn my head, I lock eyes with the white-haired devil and I smile. He stops mid-sentence and smiles back, dimple and everything. His cross is peeking out, biceps flexed against the wall.

'See ya.' He chimes quickly, continuing his conversation.

I will, I think. I feel so powerful in that moment. If my smile has the ability to stop him mid-conversation I wonder how I can tease him even more.