workwife

It had been over a decade since she had published anything online. She used to write often, but adult life took over and she no longer had time. But the current state of the world made her desperately want some comfort, and she was tired of watching her favorite old shows. It felt like wasting time, anyway. So she pulled up her old fanfiction account and scrolled through her old stories, wondering if she was actually any good or if the positive reviewers simply had low expectations. It was fan fic, after all. But the reviews brought a smile to her face.

So she opened a word document and started typing, positive that those former loyal readers surely wouldn’t see anything she posted now. It had been so long. It would be just like starting from scratch.

No one would see it.

So she unburdened herself. She wove a story about coworkers who couldn’t date because one was the other’s boss, and one was divorced, but the other was just separated… but they were falling for one another. She substituted in TV characters – it was fan fic, after all – but she told her own story. She told of deep conversations and playful banter and unresolved sexual tension. She wrote of projects and team building exercises and a friendship that was growing to the point that they were the subject of office gossip. She wrote how she could see this play out if only a promotion occurred and they became the same rank and both were fully single. If only.

It was sweet. It was heartfelt. It was a little naughty. And it wasn’t supposed to be seen by anyone.

The next morning, she checked her email. Shockingly, there were reviews from her old readers who had set alerts for her nearly a dozen years ago. Most were along the lines of “Wow! A blast from the past! Nice story! Looking forward to more!” but there was one that simply said, “Interesting.” It wasn’t from a handle she recognized. She thought nothing of it.

Positive reviews are addictive, so she added to her story, adding a short chapter every day for two weeks. She abandoned her source material (her real life) and kept the romance going in character for the on-screen couple from the TV show. The reviews poured in, and she quickly saw many more screennames she recognized. But there was that one who just left occasional single-word reviews. “Wow.” “Hmm.” “Yikes.” She couldn’t decipher if these were positive or negative – why would anyone leave a review so scant it was cryptic?

Until one day, at her desk with a Chipotle bowl her work crush brought her, he blurted out, “You told me two years ago that you wrote fanfiction once upon a time.” She gulped, half-inhaling a grain of rice, and began coughing out of control. Her eyes watered and she tried to laugh it off as “just going down the wrong pipe.” He couldn’t possibly have figured out her fanfic handle, could he? He couldn’t possibly be reading her story… the story about him… the story that became unnecessarily graphic about 16 chapters in… could he? She blamed the redness racing up her neck and cheeks on the choking on rice and said, “Yeah, a long time ago.”

He studied her face and said, “Hm.”

Her ears were magenta. She was visibly uncomfortable.

He calmly, too-nonchalantly asked, “Write anything lately?”

She coughed some more. “I need some water.”

She hurried to the restroom, dampened a paper towel, tried frantically to will her blood out of her face and ears, and patted her warm brow with the cool water. Was it him? Was he the mystery reviewer? Surely not! How could he know? How could he have figured her out? How could he have found THIS story? Could he tell from the details that it was based on the two of them?

DID HE READ THE SEX SCENE SHE WROTE ABOUT THEM?

She felt like she was going to throw up.

She paced in front of the bathroom sinks until a coworker came in and asked if she was okay. The woman gave her a concerned look but proceeded to the toilets. She looked in the mirror and said, “What’s the worst that can happen? If he read it, surely it’s not a huge surprise.” She closed her eyes, took a long, deep breath, and headed confidently back to her desk.

But he was gone.

His empty bowl was in the trash can, and he was nowhere in sight.

She missed her chapter that night. She couldn’t write for fear he’d be reading it.

He acted like everything was normal the next day. Conversation flowed easily, they joked freely, their hands lightly touched in passing, warm and electrifying. So that night she wrote. Into her story, she wove in how one character discovered the other’s sexy secret, and it was a turning point in their relationship. That they discovered each other’s true desires, and it changed their hot and dirty passionate sex into deep, slow, and tender love-making.

Surely, if he was reading, she’d be able to tell the next day.

Every time she wrote an intimate scene, the reviews flooded her inbox, but she was only searching for one. Sure enough, she found it: “Jesus!”

She thoughtfully found a blouse with a plunging neck line for work that morning. She put on a touch more makeup than usual. He was flirtier than usual… or was that her imagination… or was she projecting because she was feeling flirtier than usual?

The not knowing was killing her.

At lunch, he strolled up as usual, this time with sub sandwiches. “So…” he began, then took a bite of his meatball sub, chased it with a sip of Sprite, then continued, “Read anything good lately?”

It was all she could do to not choke on her food again. She swallowed hard, and said, “Yeah. Since you mentioned fanfiction the other day, I’ve been back on there.” She patted her lips with the napkin and decided to cross the metaphorical bridge: “Have you read any fanfiction?”

He nodded. “Mm hmm.”

“Anything good?”

“Mmm hmm.”

“Who is the author?”

He paused. His right eyebrow arched.

He thought for a second then answered, “I have read some, but I haven’t reviewed any.”

Oh. OH. Oh no. It wasn’t him? Then who was it? Just a random stranger, like all the others? Was he even reading her story at all? Was it him, but he didn't consider single words to be real reviews? She tried to not let the confusion and anxiety show on her face.

He laughed at her abject failure to school her features. And then he changed the subject. They finished lunch and he left her desk with a wink and a smile. The rest of the day, he behaved as usual, but she kept fidgeting, wondering, puzzling over every interaction. As soon as she got home, she began to write. It was angsty and frustrated, so she deleted it instead of publishing it.

It took her three days and a couple of private massages from readers reminding her to “update soon!” before she decided on what to write again. She focused on his deep voice, his piercing blue eyes, his adorable yet alluring dimples, while still trying to move the story forward. Surely, if he’s reading it, this will remove all doubt that it’s about him. Well, the actor who plays her main character has those features, too, which is why she finds him so searingly hot, but he’ll know it’s about him (and how he melts her so completely).

She drove in to work, holding off on checking her inbox because she was nervous about his possible response. He strutted up to her desk as she arrived, two coffees in hand, and passed one to her while he set his down. He stretched like he’d just woken up, smiled, and said, “Goood morning” as he finished the stretch. He again winked, said, “Have a great day,” and headed on to his own desk.

He knows, right? Right? He’s reading it? For sure.

She opens her email inbox and scans the subject lines until she sees the user name for the single-word reviewer. She clicks it with more trepidation than she thought reasonable. But this time, it was not a single word. It was a rant. It was an angry rant.

Because he HAD found her fanfiction account – her username included her nickname and he knew her favorite show – and he had clicked to follow her AND bookmarked her author page on the bookmarks bar on the top of the browser screen of the shared home desktop. So when his wife clicked to open the bookmark, she saw the new story, read it, and realized that her husband’s “workwife” was oh, so very much more than that. Well, shit.

She decided two things - to wait until he was fully divorced before ever flirting again, and to never, ever write a story that she thinks no one will see EVER again.