Meeting the IT Girl

Second part written by a coworker, first part by me after a prompt given by the aforementioned coworker. 

I

I’d been wanting to talk to her for days. The IT contract girl was on the last day of her job, and now it was do or die. I’d just been to the sleazy burger joint for lunch with my buddies, and we’d been flirting with the barmaid, Michelle, and I had some residual recklessness. So with onions on my breath and mustard on my shirt I walked up to her.

At first she didn't see me, but she looked up from behind the server rack and noticed me standing there dumbly. She hadn't heard what I’d said, and I couldn't now remember it well enough to repeat it. She slid a lock of auburn hair away from her face with manicured fingers, and her impatient, hazel eyes caught me unprepared.

“Hi,” is all the came out of my throat.

“You can’t have that in here,” she said, looking at the sweaty waxed paper cup in my hand. I didn't even realize I was still holding it.

“Yeah,” I stammered, “sorry. I’ll just…” and I turned to look for a trash can. That’s when the cup slipped out of my hand and tumbled down toward the server rack, and her.

II

“Are you kidding me!” I realized quickly this wasn't a question.

“Oh shit, I’m so sorry,” I offered worthlessly.

The cup was empty except for some ice cubes that effortlessly skated across the top cover of the server once freed of the cup’s cheap lid. One particularly determined ice cube took flight off the edge of the sheet metal, plummeting down the front of her blouse.

I reached for anything that I could use to help contain the mess. I was jealous of that ice cube, but I figured I’d better do what I could with the hardware while she addressed the security breach occurring within her own rack. I mopped up the mess with a couple of bi-fold paper towels that were reallocated from the lunchroom some time ago, thanking god that nothing was powered up yet.

“What the hell are you doing in here anyway?” she demanded as she corralled the last, and luckiest, ice cube somewhere near the bottom of her blouse.

“I wanted to see if you needed a hand with your rack,” the words tumbled out of me as awkwardly as the cup had fallen from my hands.  A little ashamed and completely embarrassed, I hid my face in my hand and laughed nervously. I was a train wreck in slow motion.

“You want to try that again?” she inquired.

A small smile started at the corner of her mouth.

“I’m all out of apologies. I think I owe you a drink,” I offered, figuring what the hell. I’d probably be written up by my boss for this, might as well shoot for HR too.