Coincidences

Ryan

I need to get myself together. I can't be stuck on Monique's thoughts; I have a soon-to-be fiancée, for God's sake, and no matter how much I hate her and her family, I have morals.

I throw another fist at my punching bag before retreating to dry my sweat. I can't believe I got jealous over her coworker on Friday when I, myself, kissed her after I indirectly laid out a professional-only relationship with her the day before.

Why, when I'm about to become a married man, do I finally have the courage to approach her?

I even went too harsh on her to simply emphasize it, both to her and to me, and all those efforts flew right out the window because where do we stand? Boss and employee who've kissed twice and mixed feelings are brewing stronger and stronger like a fresh cup of tea.

I stormed out of the gym, making sure to dump the towel in the basket, and headed to take a shower. I almost lost track of time. More like Monique took up most of my headspace, and I had no space left to think about time.

As I begin my shower, my hands lead down to my hardened shaft, but I resist the temptation. I have to. One thing will lead to another, and the only woman I urge for is one woman I shouldn't. One orgasm with her name on my lips will change everything.

Not like you haven't already.

I've already pushed my limits by kissing her; heaven knows what I'll do next if I keep thinking about her so much and so intensely.

If only mom never made such a wish, I wouldn't be between two rocks—a girl I want but can't have and a girl that I want nothing to do with but is my soon-to-be wife.

I wear a pair of trousers and a polo and drive to the tailor. We're not even officially engaged, but we are already shopping for wedding outfits. It's quite lonely doing errands on my own, but given our current situation, it wouldn't be fit to have Monique here as I shop for my own groom's outfit. I haven't even told her yet.

She deserves the week off anyway, seeing how she was limping yesterday.

I know it wasn't just her heels.

I park the car and take a breather before going into the establishment.

I just want this day done and over in a jiffy.

"Yes, sir, how may I help you?" I snap out of my thoughts at the call of the saleswoman. "I need a tailor-made groom outfit ready for 5 days," I say, fixing my shades.

If only this could be a simple contract signing, but 'The public needs a show' as per The Smith's request, and who am I to say no to my parents-in-law? Ew.

"This way," I follow the woman to the back where my measurements are taken and then take my leave.

I head home and pack a night's outfit and a few necessities into a bag and load my car up before I take off.

At a stoplight, I glimpse a familiar figure as I look around and notice Monique walking along the sidewalk in simple shorts that would still seduce any man. I blow my horn a couple of times, and she turns around in curiosity. She groans at the familiar car but comes over nevertheless.

I wind my window down and do the unthinkable.

"Get in." "Sir?" "Get in before the light changes." She rushes around to the passenger side and sits. Damn those curves. "Where are you going?" "A friend's," "who is this friend?" "Someone who has information I need." She dodges the question, but I need to know. That wild part of me that manages to keep awake needs an answer.

"Monique." I turn to her, keeping both hands gripping the steering wheel tightly, but she focuses on what's going on outside with her hands folded over her chest. "Who's this friend?" "James," she mutters, and I think my foot on the brake almost goes dead.

Why is she going to his house? Can't they use email or texts?

"Why?" My tone gave away how annoyed I am, driving off as soon as green replaces the red above. "As I said, for some information," "you can message." "Respectfully, it's none of your business, sir," she breathes out with a scoff, and I almost stop the car at her sudden attitude. It is my business, but it would make me sound like a hypocrite, contradict my morals, and stir confusion with what happened a few days ago.

"Next time, wear more coverage. There are men who take advantage of the underdressed," I say, keeping as calm as possible.

When we get to the destination, she's about to hop out, but I stop her. "You have 20 minutes." "Mr. McIntyre, I can catch a ride home. Thank you." "15 minutes, Monique." I reduce it, hoping for her to argue again so it can drop 5 minutes more. She scoffs and gets out, swaying her hips as her breasts bounce with each stomp of her foot.

Careful Ryan, hot waters.

Off-limits but still able to test.

No. I shake my head and run a hand through my hair. I watch her enter the building, then my ringtone catches my attention.

"Dad?" "Where are you?" "Busy," "it's Sunday, and we had a plan." "I'll be late; tell Mr. and Mrs. Smith I'll compensate for my late arrival." I cut the line and blew out a breath.

This is a waste of my time for something fake.

I shouldn't even be here either, acting on impulse. That's not Ryan McIntyre; at least that wasn't Ryan McIntyre.

I look at the time on the dashboard—5 minutes left, Monique. I should've given her 10 minutes!

To pass the time, I fumble with my phone with my anxiety still present. What are they doing in his room right now? Is he confessing to her? Is that what they were talking about yesterday in her cabin or at lunch?

Is he in love with her?

Am I in love with her?

Woah, of course not; it's a simple attraction between us.

So why am I here? To ensure the safety of my female employee. But I wouldn't do this for anyone else.