Free My Naughty Little Secret by Tara Finnegan

stalking, it’s your official warning—ring a bloody shrink, I’ve only just taken my jacket off and already you’re harassing me.”
    “Sorry,” he said sheepishly. “I just want to see you. I want to make sure we’re ok.”
    “We’re ok? When did it become we ?” I asked, “We’ve had one weekend together.”
    “Yeah, but what a weekend, and I’d like it to be we .” I could picture the grin I heard in his voice. “By the way, are you sitting ok?”
    “Right, that’s it, hang up that fucking phone now . I’m not having this conversation with you at work,” I said crossly. Incidentally, I could still feel a tingling in my buttocks, not quite sore, but tender. Michael’s tone changed abruptly.
    “Siobhan, I’m not going to tell you again, I really don’t like you swearing at me like that,” he warned, and I got that feeling down in the pit of my stomach. I really didn’t know why he made me feel like that.
    “Why, what are you going to do about it?” I challenged.
    “Right now, I’d like to get you into my office and lean you across the desk and spank you ‘til you beg for mercy. It’s bad enough swearing, but now you’re deliberately goading me. Don’t push it.”
    Crikey, he was serious. Mid-morning, I was called to reception and was stunned to collect a large basket of deep pink roses—I hadn’t even thrown out the last flowers yet. At this rate, my house was going to be like a florist shop. The card read: “These are the colour I like to see on your cheeks.”
    “Fuck him,” I thought, laughing. I knew too well which cheeks he was talking about and I remembered his threat. On the way back to the office, I bumped into James and Michael, arguing again.
    James stopped to admire the flowers. “What’s the occasion?” he asked curiously.
    “Oh, just some half-mad stalker,” I answered, glowering at Michael, who had the audacity to laugh. That man had a nerve of steel. James looked at Michael fleetingly as he laughed and for a brief moment I worried that he was aware of the undercurrent, but it was so momentary that I probably imagined it. He hardly knew Michael well enough to catch such subtle nuances.
    When I went up to lunch, surprise, surprise, the resident stalker was in the canteen. Damn him, could he not go back to being an antisocial pig? Again he indicated the empty chair and I plonked ungraciously into it.
    “This is so discreet, Michael,” I remarked with as much sarcasm as I could. “So were the flowers. I s’pose I’m meant to thank you?”
    “Aw, relax, Siobhan, haven’t we sat together before? What’s the big deal? Who knows where the flowers came from? And yes, I believe it’s customary to say thanks. Anyway, there’s something I wanted to say to you.”
    “Oohh, goodie, I can hardly wait, and that is?” I scathed.
    “You need to remind D-James of your name every time you meet him; he keeps calling you Shove-up.”
    “Oh, no,” I cringed, “I thought Shove-on would make it easy…”
    “Oh, yeah, too easy,” he teased. “I told him I had something I’d like to shove up…”
    “MICHAEL,” I shouted. Others in the canteen looked around.
    He was laughing. “Christ, Siobhan, relax, it was a joke.” It didn’t feel much like a joke; my face was boiling and even the tips of my ears felt sunburnt. I wanted to punch him at that moment.
    “Whoa, temper, temper,” he teased, making my green eyes blaze even more. I was beginning to think I liked disapproving Michael way more than admiring Michael. How the hell did I get myself into this mess?
    “I told you yesterday, I don’t want anyone at work knowing my business. If you don’t like it, you’ll have to find someone else to play with.”
    “I’m not playing anything. This is real, whether you like it or not,” he snapped.
    “Now who is being touchy?” I retaliated. I was delighted that I had sent his playful persona running for the hills. It was too imprudent.
    I left the table in annoyance.