Lasagna

Given the way the day (now night, you realize) is going, you decide to play along with Emily. The lasagna's always a favorite at your Italian restaurant, and so you have no doubt a nice Italian place recommended by a food writer is going to have a good one. Beth orders a lobster ravioli, Sarah orders an eggplant Parmesan, and Emily takes a moment.

“Some asshole already ordered my favorite,” she teases, without looking up, and now that you know to look, you can see her ears wiggle slightly as she grins. It's adorable. Beth and Sarah giggle and Emily pats your shoulder. “I'm joking, silly,” she assures you still looking over the menu. “Oh, they still have it!” she says, and Emily moves her hand down. She brushes your side, but is far smoother than you would have been, so Beth and Sarah don't seem to notice. Of course, they're staring at the menu, looking for Emily's surprise discovery. Your eyes wander to the other girls for just a moment, and you notice Beth's shirt smashed against the edge of the table, her small bust seemingly smashed against the edge, while Sarah has simply leaned back. You're a bit nervous to try anything else with the two other women there, but instead take the time to glance at Emily.

“What do they have?” you ask.

“I used to love it as a kid. It's a sort of cream sauce with clams, but they thicken it up, so it's nice, creamy and hot, and then they put it over a bowl of rigatoni. It's a lot of food, but since the rigatoni is such a thick, long type of pasta, that cream sauce just pours into your mouth. When I was younger it would overflow; I hope that doesn't happen tonight,” she laughs. “A bit awkward with cream dribbling down my chin as a woman out with her coworkers,” she adds, laughing. Beth and Sarah join in, and you grin heartily, though you realize that description was for you.

“Well, now I'm happy. You're off the hook for stealing my meal. I'd better get first dibs on dessert!” she says, thumping your arm again. Beth and Sarah lean forward, and this time Sarah's breasts seem to overflow the top of her shirt. “What dessert?” they ask, almost in unison.

“Let's see if we have room,” Emily says slowly. “You can get stuffed pretty quickly if you go too fast,” she laughs. Again, you feel her fingertips on your thigh, and you shift in your seat to make room for your sudden erection.

The waitress reappears with the wine in hand, and hands you a glass of water. She asks for your orders, and doesn't write a single thing down. Her eyes seem to linger on you, but it might be your imagination, spurred by the teasing Emily's been giving you.

You all toast to a productive work week, and Emily, holding the wine in her left hand, takes the opportunity of distraction to stroke your thigh gently. You have the chance, you notice to return the favor, and Emily's face stiffens for a moment as you reach a longer arm over to push your fingers into her inner thigh. You are gentle, but forceful and you feel Emily's hand retreat slowly. You release her, reaching for your napkin, and glance over to see her wine in her left hand, and her other hand gently toying with her hair. You look over to Beth, who is gently sipping at her wine. Sarah is drinking more forcefully, but not as often, and you find it comforting, as if they are fitting the idea of who you thought they were.

It's nice as a stark contrast to Emily, the often tight lipped, seemingly conservative woman who's been more reserved at the office than you remembered. After you'd seen her changing, she seemed to open up, but you can't pin down if this was preexisting, or something happened during the car ride. You try to snap yourself out of analyzing it. Emily's barely touched her wine, enjoying the first sip at the toast.

“Why aren't you drinking?” you ask. Emily turns slightly to smile directly at you.

“I prefer to savor my wine with my meal. I admit the red won't pair as well with the clam and cream sauce, but sometimes I like the idea of two things pushing together that don't look like they would work. It can be surprising.” You're not unaware of her slight display, and her cleavage draws a glance before you let your eyes seek hers again. “Plus it goes great with that lasagna you stole,” she says, sticking her tongue out.

Sarah laughs. “Damn, she is all over you. What did you do to piss her off, John?” You grin. Beth looks interested in your response.

“I've seen too much,” you say in an overdramatic tone, hamming it up. Beth and Sarah laugh, and while Emily is able to flip you off again, you notice the flush creeping up her exposed skin. In order to keep the cover up going, you whisper conspiratorially, “She forgot her floss.” Emily actually gives a very slight jerk that you realize you only notice because you're sitting next to her. “So I let her borrow some. I gave her crap about it, and she's been paying me back all night.” Sarah laughs.

“Hell hath no fury,” Beth begins, and takes another sip of her wine. Emily pulls out her phone and starts tapping on it.

“What's up Em?” Sarah asks.

“Just checking on that grocery store. My parents told me that some had gone all night, and I'm checking to see if we might have time for a walk or something before we go shopping.” Beth and Sarah nod excitedly and you feel your phone buzz. You wait a moment until Emily's done, announcing that there is more time, as the store stays open 24 hours. Sarah and Beth nod excitedly.

“More time to drink!” Sarah says. Beth agrees, taking a longer pull on her wine. You're glad, you realize, to see Beth relaxing, though you're a bit concerned about Sarah taking the lead on any sort of party-like behavior.

You casually pull your phone out of your pocket and check the text. It's from Emily. “You haven't seen anything yet,” the text reads.

You make some small chat, but Emily glances at your phone and smiles, then looks to your other coworkers. “It's really nice to see everyone outside of work,” she says. “I'm glad we've got a week to get to know each other better.” Beth and Sarah look down to see a refilled wine glass. The waitress nods as she sees you catch her eye.

“She's good,” Sarah says. They raise their glasses to Emily's toast, and Emily turns to pointedly catch her glass against your water. You do your best to keep your eyes up, but the inside curves of her breasts draw your gaze for just a moment. Emily gives you a smile as you all drink.

Almost as you set the drinks down, the waitress appears and directs two young men expertly, with curt instructions in Italian. The lasagna lands in front of you, and despite your obvious distraction, you can't ignore the smell. To no surprise Emily's recommendation is spot on.

“If it smells that good, I want first bite as the cost of my finder's fee,” she says after the waitress has left.