Chapter 2: Chapter Two
He hit the down button, and the grace of goodness popped by again, and had it show up right away. He climbed in to the nearly empty elevator, and hit the button for the lobby. It seemed like forever watching the floor numbers light up on the wall of the elevator. The countdown was painfully long. She was wearing a dark red business suit with a light colour shirt and she had a dark briefcase.
From the lobby he almost ran out the door. Jaywalking across the street and into the building across the way. He walked over to the bank of elevators, watching the lights above each closed door. Maybe he beat her, Lucas thought. He stared at the directory mounted in the lobby, pretending to search for a particular office.
He turned as 2 doors opened simultaneously, with 2 simultaneous dings. He scanned the first, cursing himself for being slow. He almost missed her leaving the second elevator, but she walked right past him. And his heart stopped for a second. And in that second he tried to imprint everything about her.
She was more than beautiful. He wasn't sure if gorgeous was higher in the beauty scale, but she was way up there. She was 5' 8". Tall for a woman, but not taller than his 5' 11". And her face was perfect. High cheekbones, on a slim oval face. Her nose cute and her lips full. Her bottom lip was almost too plump. Her eyes were a dark blue. And her body... Her attire was certainly not revealing or even form fitting. The only concession to her body was that it showed how tiny her waist was.
Maybe it was the way she walked, athletic and graceful. Like watching an adult sized feline stride across the floor. Luke wasn't the only one that noticed. He could see other men and even some women in different arrays of surreptitious glances directed towards her. The security guard at the desk smiled a broad grin that should have broken his jaw, and then twisted his head to watch her leave.
There was no way on this planet Earth that Lucas was planning to ever think of asking that Goddess out. He thought about it as he drove home. Two things would prevent him from ever thinking about trying for that woman.
One, there was no way that he would ever get someone that phenomenal looking to think about him. She was probably the best looking woman he has ever seen. She should be a supermodel somewhere.
Two, her hair was not black. It was a dark brown. A brunette, a colour so rich, like cinnamon and chocolate. It was so deep. He could press his face to it and end up in a diabetic coma. He could taste it. It would be spicy and sweet on his tongue. The only thing that would soothe the honey burn was the creaminess of her skin.
But she was a brunette. Ellen was a brunette. Ellen was the reason that he swore off brunettes. The pain may have faded after all these years. But the lesson stayed with him.
He drove home. The grace of goodness wasn't back. It was the grace of cruel reality that tricked him. He wasn't an axe juggling fire breather. He was just another schmoe working 8 to 5 and going nowhere.
He remembered the day with bitter disappointment. It was sad. He lost one of the things that kept him sane in a day. Why did she have to be a brunette? Stunning yes, but a fucking brunette.
That didn't stop Lucas from fantasizing about her. In his mind she could be many things. Blonde, redhead. He made love to her over and over in all the different ways. He would taste every part of her. From the curve of her eyebrow to the curve of her foot. His mouth trailed kisses and nibbles on every inch of her skin. Her eyes would flutter closed, her back would arch. She would grab his head when it was buried between her legs, strangling him against her. Begging for him.
He would wake up feeling a little guilty. She was a brunette. And he still wanted her, and hated himself for wanting her.
His work continued. He did what they wanted him to do. Designed what he wanted him to do, in whatever inane crazy way that they wanted it done. It was wrong, but he had given up telling them it was wrong. They knew best. He was thirty today. He got the automated "Happy Birthday" email from HR. 30.
"Was thirty suppose to feel like this?" he asked himself.
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