I sit patiently in the car with my fingers drumming on the steering wheel; their tempo increasing with every passing second – okay, so maybe not that patiently.
“Sorry. Had to give clear instructions to hubby. Am I very late?”
“No! Just 20 minutes,” I snap as she enters the car and buckles her seatbelt.
As I put the car in drive, my perfidious eyes check out her perfectly-crafted slender legs, flowing freely out of her skater-skirt.
Sometimes, I feel it’s purposeful.
I notice my attire of plain polo-shirt over blue jeans and sigh internally.
“So, we need to finish these items today.” Her solemn voice puts virtual brakes on my thoughts as she brandishes the checklist.
“I never expected that organising a middle-school play would be this strenuous,” I comment.
“Welcome to my world,” she says with a sweet smile.
I feel my heart skip a beat – probably early signs of arrhythmia.
There is no way, my heart is cavorting and pirouetting at just a glimpse of her smile.
‘I will get you replaced, better stick to your one job,’ I chide my heart, disapprovingly.
An hour and a few stops later, our tired bodies and exhausted minds slump back on the car seats with air-conditioner blasting at full.
“I should have dressed better for this summer heat,” I remark, wiping sweat off my forehead.
“Aww! No, I find you cute this way!”
‘No, heart, don’t you dare?! No! I will kick you out of the body if you somersault again.’
“You are awesome, doing this stint every year. I am about done after just once,” I speak out to conceal my thudding heart.
“So sweet of you,” she giggles and pinches my right cheek. “But this is my job and you are just a volunteer-parent.”
Her fingers linger on my cheek, which makes me look up at her inquisitively to find her usual animated eyes boring into mine.
The fireworks that had started from my right cheek is already zooming across my entire body and I cannot locate my heart anymore.
She slides her fingers slowly down my cheek and brushes them against my shoulders. Something stirs inside me but her glazed eyes make me extremely nervous.
As she bends forward with her eyes trained on my lips, I involuntarily close mine in anticipation.
The next instant, I feel her soft lips graze my right cheek and she whispers, disappointedly, “I thought you felt the same way but it seems you are not ready. Sorry, let’s forget what happened just now. Bye and don’t forget the meeting tomorrow.”
As she exits the car, I let go of the breath, I hadn’t noticed, I have been holding.
Before I can ruminate on what just transpired, my phone’s ringtone shrills through the charged-up atmosphere in the car.
I reply to my husband’s questions in auto-answer mode while my ruffled-up sexuality tried to manoeuvre the unexpected crossroad in its course.
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