Free Can't Touch This by Marley Gibson Page A

room.
    I remember the feel of his soft lips on mine and my knees go weak.  Okay, I’m sitting down, but they still go weak.  I swallow hard and look at the e-mail details again.  San Francisco, huh?  And Miami?  I see Aislin has these shows “penciled” in to the calendar, but I haven’t filled out the paperwork or initiated payment yet.  I’ve always wanted to visit the city by the bay, as well as South Beach.  And, seeing where things could lead with Rory will squash these ridiculous—forbidden—thoughts of Kyle.
    Maybe I should get Griz’s advice.  Of course, I haven’t even told her about Rory yet.  My roommate, William, is the only one who knows anything and that’s only because and he seduced it out of me by baking homemade double-chocolate brownies when I got home from my trip.  I’ve got to think.
    I spend the next hour researching the burgeoning InfoTech Show and the smaller event in Miami online.  They’re exactly the sort of events we need:  good target audiences and a bundle of likely sales leads.  Perfect.  I price direct flights on American through Bing Travel and get some killer fares.  Excellent.  In Miami, the event is at the famed Eden Roc Resort Hotel, so I book the rooms.  Then, for the SF show, I find a room at the Sir Frances Drake in Union Square.  Even better.  Reagan Vanbiesbrouck, our top sales woman, is scheduled to be in Fort Lauderdale, so she can do the Miami show.  She also has a trip planned to San Jose, according to her calendar.  And Ted’s got clients in San Francisco.  This’ll work.
    I think about spending time with Rory in a couple of awesome cities.  I hesitate a moment and bite down on my lip, reminding myself that I was only using Rory to get information about his company.   Suddenly that plan doesn’t seem sound.  I honestly like him and he’s made it clear that he’s interested in me.  It’s better than any online prospect from the dating sites.  Rory’s his own man.  He’s cocky, charming, and doesn’t march to corporate rules.  He bucks the system, unlike someone else I know.
    I really need to stop making comparisons between Rory and Kyle.  Kyle’s a colleague, plain and simple.  End of discussion.
    I dash off an e-mail to Aislin asking if these are the kind of opportunities I should be looking for.  Two minutes later, she’s outside my cube with a Twix bar, beaming from ear to ear.
    “Vanessa, you are amazing.  Both shows are perfect,” she nods her auburn head.  “From now on, these decisions are yours.”
    Pride beams off of me as I turn back to my work.  I contact the directors of each show, secure booth space, and confirm my flights.  Only after everything is in place—three hours after getting his message—do I respond to Rory’s e-mail.
    I write:
    “Hi Rory, I’ve been thinking about you, too.  I’ll be in Miami at The Eden Roc.  And then in San Francisco.  Staying at the Sir Frances Drake.  See you then.  Vanessa”
    I hit send and imagine my message zipping along the fiber optic cables of the information super highway out to Seattle.  I gnaw on my index finger as I contemplate just how forward I’m being.  Then I harrumph when I remember that his tongue has been in my mouth.  I deserve to be forthright.
    Ten minutes later I get:  “Can’t wait to show you South Beach.  It’s a hell of a town.  And what do you know, I’m staying at the Sir Frances in San Francisco, too.  Can I wait that long to see you?  R.”
    Now I have two weeks to figure out what the hell I’m doing.

Chapter Nine
     
     
    I  fill Griz in on Rory over drinks at Cuchi Cuchi, a lounge and tapas place in Kendall Square in Cambridge near our office.  You can always find a crowd of happening people there to peer at as you guzzle Godiva chocolate martinis and break down the remains of the business day.  I sip the blood orange martini that’s before me and order up the tuna tartar coronets that look like they’re in