I work with a lot of attractive women. Among the guys at work, I’m the only one who thinks a particular redhead belongs at the top of the list, but that’s okay. She’s my favorite.
I’m not talking about her today.
A few months ago, a woman started working on my floor. She’s short, dark-haired, a little loud, a lot feisty, and very curvy. She’s also married — less than a year.
I run a training session for everyone new in her department. She sat across from me in hers, and her shirt revealed a professional amount of cleavage — although, with breasts like hers, it’s impossible for “professional” not to be “quite a bit”.
We talk on occasion. Given that I’m almost a foot taller than her, I have an excuse to look down.
But yesterday, I’m pretty sure she was flirting with me. Evidence:
I so very much wanted to flirt back, but unfortunately my company comes down like a ton of rectangular building things on guys who do that. (Plus, HR is about eight steps away from my cube.) Maybe if we go to a work event outside the office, I’ll turn up my dial a little, but for now I have to be satisfied with whatever she gives me.
Of course, if all goes well at that theoretical work event, she might hopefully be interested in giving me a few things I haven’t had in a while.