She had been the talk of the office since she started. With her pleasant smile and carefree wiggle, she walked like she was dancing and nobody was watching. They were watching. Every man’s eye was drawn to her almost by instinct. It was nobody’s fault. She didn’t dress provocatively, and my colleagues weren’t staring at her lustfully on purpose. It was just nature. A youthful, pretty woman like that can’t help but be attractive to men. When they watched her they felt good.

I tried to stop myself from constantly looking in her direction. I didn’t want to be another one of those guys, distracted and captivated, but basically a hopelessly infatuated fool. I tried, but I failed. The irresistible force met a fairly moveable object in me, and I was moved. It was starting to make me feel like my entire day was just one futile admiration after another, until I noticed her looking back at me. Eye contact. She seemed nearly as interested in me as I could imagine any girl being interested in someone like me, and I was amazed. She could do so much better.

She continued to look my way, smiling occasionally, confident, but not brash. After a few days, our paths crossed near the kettle. There was a moment of heat, and I’m pretty sure it wasn’t the steam. We had a chat and it turned out we were both due to go to the same gig, alone. She seemed so centred, but maybe she was lonely too. I suggested we get a drink beforehand.

The “date” is tomorrow. I’m excited. Though I guess it would be a bad thing if it went too well. I wouldn’t be one of the staring guys anymore. I’d be the guy jealously looking round at all his colleagues staring at his girlfriend.