In one swift motion, I slammed my hands against his chest, pushing him away.
Lightly. But still.
He swayed a bit and moved back, but the movement was oddly leisurely, almost… sensual. What the hell kind of combination was that?
So I took a step back too, fixing him with a dark, warning glare.
But he just smiled at me, still innocently.
"Did you get a cramp in your back? Hope it’s better now."
I swallowed. What the hell was he saying? Was he seriously giving me a way out of this? Salvation from the awkwardness! I nodded eagerly, glad that he was playing along, pretending like nothing had happened. Because we both damn well knew what just happened had all the hallmarks of the…
First Touch.
And that was impossible. Because I was a beta.
"Yeah, just a little twinge in my back," I forced out, stunned that I was also going along with his story. I cleared my throat. "And I missed my elevator."
"Maybe you're overdoing it at the gym," he said casually. "You look like you go a lot. It's easy to strain your back when you work out too much."
I stared at him, realizing he was still holding onto the bit. So I kept playing.
With an almost theatrical gesture, I put a hand on my back in some random spot and muttered, "Old injury. Played a little basketball in college."
‘A little’ was a stretch, I’d made it to maybe three practices. But he didn’t need to know that.
"Gotcha. Too much sports, injuries guaranteed." Sariel nodded. "I did ballet for four years. I know a thing or two about that."
Did he seriously not realize how ridiculous this conversation was? Did he not see that I was bullshitting? Well, whatever.
Sariel turned and pressed the elevator button.
"Top? Bottom?"
I stared at him for a second, lips slightly parted.
Was he… Was he actually asking—? Elevator direction. Right.
Since I had no idea where I was even supposed to go, I had no clue what to answer. And then, out of nowhere, I thought—fuck it.
Something in me snapped. Some kind of quiet rebellion against… what? Hating him? By default? He was just a kid. Perhaps I didn’t have to be a complete nightmare of a boss to him.
"Seventy percent top, thirty percent bottom," I said. "But it can change."
Sariel blinked at me. Real, honest disbelief flickered in his eyes.
And then he burst out laughing. "I didn’t know you had a sense of humor, you don’t look like it." Then he added, "I’d say I’m the opposite. Thirty percent top, seventy percent bottom. Or at least… I think so, judging by the frequency of my fantasies. Haven’t actually, uh… done anything yet."
His cheeks flushed with a charming shade of pink, like he was embarrassed by his own TMI.
I stared at him, unable to process what had just happened. Shock rolled over me again and again like a receding wave. My mouth was slightly open—probably an unusual expression for me. This conversation was downright crazy.
But the worst part? I wasn’t stopping.
"Never? Why?"
He shrugged. "It just kinda happened that way. I’m kind of a loner, and probably demisexual. Plus… nobody would want a freak like me," he added with a rueful smile.
