The boss is throwing a Holiday party just as he does every year, and just like every year, his step-daughter, Angie (Evelyn Claire), got out of control. My boss and I watched as she slurred "kiss me baby one more time," into the microphone that he uses for his pep talk, as if it was some karaoke machine. He asked me, "will you give her a ride home?" I smiled, "no problem." I thought of my wife, sick at home, and wished that she was here with me. Surely ...
The boss is throwing a Holiday party just as he does every year, and just like every year, his step-daughter, Angie (Evelyn Claire), got out of control. My boss and I watched as she slurred "kiss me baby one more time," into the microphone that he uses for his pep talk, as if it was some karaoke machine. He asked me, "will you give her a ride home?" I smiled, "no problem." I thought of my wife, sick at home, and wished that she was here with me. Surely she would know how to wrangle this out of control girl.
I drove her to her house. She lost her keys. I looked into the window, hoping she had roommates as she tried to steady herself in heels. "Do you have your phone?" Angie giggled, "phoooone home!" Hilarious. I rolled my eyes as I called my wife and explained to her that we were to babysit an adult tonight. "No, oh no--" my wife said, "I can hardly take care of myself, you'll take care of her."
"I'm in love with you," Angie cooed as I laid her down to bed. I scrunched my brow and left her to recover in her room. In the morning, she came downstairs feeling better.
One thing you should know about Angie and I, is that we, sometimes, flirt with each other at the office. I know it's wrong. I know I'm married, and she's just a twenty- girl, but still, when she rests her leg against mine in the boardroom, I enjoy the attention, the feeling of the heat that comes from her leg, and the way her green eyes glance over at me as she playfully sucks on the end of her pen. I've had to excuse myself and go to the bathroom to pound one out more times than I can count. The flirting is nothing to feel guilty about, but the fantasies are something to be ashamed of. I love my wife. I love my wife. I love my wife. I have to silently repeat it every time I see her.
My wife is in our room, resting with a terrible cold, and I am left alone with Angie. It's as if I am in a room alone with a lioness. She's the predator and I'm her prey. I want to be a good man. I want to refuse her advances. "You'll regret this," I tell her. "You'll regret this if we don't," she retorts.
