Eons ago, I had a mini-affair with a co-worker. I was 20-something and foolish, insecure and riddled with abandonment issues. Still, I take responsibility for my part in this love affair, especially since I felt no remorse when I hooked up with "Mr. G" at our holiday party.
Did I mention his girlfriend was also there?
I walked in, saw her and greeted her with a kiss on the cheek. I'd met her before at an office happy hour — the same alcohol-fueled work event where Mr. G and me professed our like for each other.
Because there's nothing more romantic that declaring your feelings for a man while his oblivious girlfriend stands 20 feet away.
This party was no different. I gave Mr. G the eye while dancing seductively. A coquettish smile spread across my face as I walked off the dance floor and headed to the bar in the next room. Of course, he followed. He pretended there was nothing between us — he was good at that. He even asked his girlfriend if she wanted a drink at the bar.
We stood next to each other at the secluded bar, breathing heavily as our shoulders touched. “This is so messed up,” I said, my guilt finally creeping in.
“I know, but I told you — I’m leaving her,” he told me. “I’m just waiting until after the holidays.”
I sighed with relief. I believed him after all. In my heart, I believed we were meant to be together.
“I just need you to be patient,” he assured. I nodded. He looked back towards the party, realized no one was watching us and pecked me on the lips.
I felt a rush. I desired him so badly.
You see, Mr. G and I had yet to consummate our non-relationship. We had talked about it for hours while sitting in his car. One time, he even planned a trip for us to his summer home in the Hamptons. His car broke down the day of our trip. Today, I realize his car troubles were a blessing in disguise.
“Come take a walk with me,” Mr. G whispered. I obliged. I would do almost anything he asked. I was blinded by love — or was it lust?
He led me to the elevator, and we we walked in. He pushed the red emergency stop button, grabbed me by the waist, pinned me against the wall and pressed his lips on mine, kissing me fiercely. I kissed him back with urgency and pure unadulterated sex. Out of breath, I pushed him away.
“We have to go back to your girlfriend,” I whispered. He caressed my cheek, kissed me one last time and pushed the fifth-floor button.
Minutes later, we were back at the party, smiling innocently and acting like nothing had happened. He stood by his mujer all night, and I wished it was me. As I danced on the dance floor again, pretending I was fine, I hoped to kiss him publicly the following year at that same holiday party.
This article was originally published at Latina. Reprinted with permission from the author.