Making a Move

“Can I ask you a question?”

Drew didn't bother looking up from the paperwork on his desk. “Nope.”

I gazed at him across the oak expanse that separated our workstations. We'd worked together for months now, and had never really had a conversation. He wasn't rude, per se, but he also didn't encourage idle chit-chat. Maybe he just didn't like having a female desk mate.

Undeterred, I continued. “You do realize when someone say’s ‘can I ask you a question’, it isn’t really about asking permission, right? It’s more a warning that someone's about to ask an uncomfortable or invasive personal question.” I tapped a pen against my notepad and leaned back in my chair.

Shrugging, Drew continued to scrutinize the report. “I can just ignore you.”

Cocking my head to the side, I smirked. “Can you, though? I think you underestimate my powers of annoyance.”

Shooting me a sideways glance, he replied in a grave tone. “Oh, I’m getting a pretty strong inkling right about now.”

I let the insult flow over me. With three older brothers, I had thick skin. It took more than a little innuendo to bother me.

“So, I’m just going to go ahead and ask.”

He didn't respond, making good on his threat to ignore me.

“What’s the longest you’ve been in a relationship?”

That finally got his attention. Eyes wide, Drew looked at me in confusion. Yeah, we weren't friends. On my first day sitting opposite him, he'd nodded at me. 'Hey, I'm Drew' was followed by 'Hey, I'm Lydia' and that was it. Other than the occasional murmured greetings or the awkward smile when our gazes accidentally met, our interactions had been sparse. To say my question was not only inappropriately personal, but completely out of left field, would be an understatement.

But I spend eight hours a day within spitting distance of the man and he was pretty good looking. Since he wasn't going to make the first move, apparently it was up to me.

He only had himself to blame if my first move happened to be nuclear.

“I beg your pardon?" he asked slowly

“What’s the longest relationship you've ever had?” I was not backing down.

“Jesus, I don’t know.” He appeared to be thrown off guard, too polite to shut me down immediately, but not smooth enough to brush me off.

“Come on," I cajoled. "You have to have some idea.”

Flustered, he shook his head. “Ah, no, I really don’t. Why the hell do you want to know?” His suspicion was clear, as was his forming opinion that I was certifiably insane. Eh, it was part of my charm.

I sighed and twirled my pen, going for casual. “Relax dude, your virtue’s safe with me." It was most definitely not, but he didn't need to know that, yet. "I’m just making conversation.”

“Make something else,” was the taciturn reply.

“Nope,” I said with relish, mimicking his earlier reply. His sigh was long and loud, but he made no effort to respond.

“I’m going to keep asking until you tell me.” I was nothing if not persistent.

Scrubbing a hand over his face in annoyance, I’m pretty sure he growled.

“I told you, I don’t know. I’m not a chick. I don’t keep a record of it in a diary somewhere, will all the sappy details and little hearts and roses doodled around it! Shouldn't you be working?”

I ignored his question, however legitimate, and focused on more interesting topics. “So guestimate.”

“I hate that word,” he grumbled, staring pointedly at the printout in front of him.

“Still not giving up,” was my sing-song reply.

“Fine,” he exploded, then glanced around nervously, and lowering his voice. “Probably about three months, I guess. No longer than that. Satisfied?”

I pondered his response. “So you’re single a lot, huh?”

He rolled his eyes at me. “That’s not what I said. I don’t do long-term relationships. Doesn’t make me a monk.”

The look I threw him was saturated with skepticism.

He shrugged his shoulders and for the first time since I'd interrupted him, Drew looked supremely confident and masculine. “What can I say? The ladies love me."

Wow. Well, that was confident. I rolled my eyes

“Fine! What about you then, Nancy Drew?”

Ha! He'd asked me a question; I'd drawn him in. He was now an active participant in the conversation. Now to keep him hooked with my stunning conversational skills and wit. Or just completely off balance with my non-sequiturs. Whatever worked.

Leaning forward as if I were imparting some deep, dark secret, I gave him a chin jut. “Oh yeah, the ladies love me too. But I guess I’m like you, I just can’t commit to one.”

He stared at me, mouth slightly open, eyes slightly squinted, trying to interpret my words.

"So, you're…" he trailed off and I grinned.

"No, I'm not gay. I just couldn't resist that opening."

"That's what she said," he muttered and a surprised laugh escaped me. Drew was funny!

Ducking his head, he pretended to focus on his work, but I saw the small smirk crossing his lips. He was having fun.

Glancing at the clock, I saw it was five past five. Time to go home. Time to make my move.

"Do you want to have drinks?"

Drew's head jerked up and he looked at me, surprised. When I simply quirked a brow and waited for a response, his expression turned speculative.

"Was this whole conversation some convoluted way to find out if I was single?"

Most people would be embarrassed at being caught out like that, but Drew was about to learn; I wasn't most people.

"Maybe."

It was his turn to lean back in his chair, taking his time to study me. "How do you know I'm not a few weeks into a relationship now?"

I grinned. "I don't. But I do know I only have to wait a few months at most before I can ask you again."

He chuckled softly, shaking his head contemplating. "Alright," he said after a moment. "I guess I could go for a beer before I head home."

"Make mine a merlot and you've got yourself a date, Mister."

Grinning, he studied me for a moment. "I'm going to regret this, aren't I?"

"Only one way to find out. Come on, first rounds on me," I said, grabbing my stuff and herding him out the door. Win or lose, I was determined this was going to be a first date to remember.