Work Text:
Friday Night Spice
by: Liza C.
Character(s): Josh, Donna
Pairing(s): Josh/Donna
Category(s): Romance
Rating: MATURE
Disclaimer: The characters belong to other people; this is for fun and no money. Seinfeld references are purely intentional.
Summary: 5th installment in the Seven Days One Fall series. Donna does Josh a favor.
Author's Note: Beta'ed: By the wondermus Kim
"But I need your help." No matter what Donna might say, I did not just whine. Even though it definitely was not a whine, it does get her to stop at the door to my office and turn back around.
"Too bad! Josh, do you forget it's only been five days since I was brutally thrown off a horse and strained my thorax?" No, actually, I don't. Getting the phone call from Margaret that Donna was in the emergency room was... heart-stopping. All I could think about was getting to her as quickly as possible; I don't even remember what I said to get off the phone. While it's not necessary for Donna to realize how upsetting her injury was for me or how grateful I am, I know exactly how bad it could have been.
"No, I did not forget. Did you forget that I was the helpful, thoughtful guy that came to the hospital and took care of you and-"
"While making fun of me mercilessly," Donna interrupts me with a raised eyebrow. Actually, I might have done that a little. Not that I'll admit it to her, mind you. I shake my head vigorously.
"While occasionally making funny remarks about the situation in order to distract you from your pain. Mission accomplished!" I declare triumphantly, but she just stares back at me blankly. I clear my throat and continue. "So, that was five days ago. Why can't you help me tonight?"
"Because I'm still stiff and sore, and I've been working all week-"
"You didn't work on Monday," I helpfully point out.
The loud sigh she emits indicates that she didn't find that as helpful as I thought she would. "Yes, you're right. I didn't work on Monday. But, I also could barely move on Monday, and the doctor ordered me to stay at or below a 45-degree angle all day. So, thank you for not forcing me to come do your bidding while I was recovering from my very painful injuries... and for only calling me seventeen times during the day."
"You're welcome." Hey! She just rolled her eyes at me. "I saw that."
"Good, you were meant to see it."
"Whatever, my point is, you rested all day Monday. So you should be able to help me tonight." See, I'm an extremely reasonable man. Everyone says so. And by everyone, I mean me.
"Josh, you're highly educated. I mean, you never shut up about the fact that you went to Harvard. Why aren't you able to do something as simple as hook up your new TV?"
"I don't know what kind of classes they have at the University of Wisconsin, Donna, but at Harvard there are no classes in remedial electronic cable-attaching." Okay, judging by the frown and-- yup, there it is-- the glare she's now shooting me, that might not have been the wisest thing to say while trying to engender her good will.
"Did they have classes in, you know, remedial reading? Can't you follow the directions?" No. No, I really can't. Follow the directions, that is. I can read. But there are like 57 different sheets of useless instructional information that came out of all the different boxes, and three-quarters of them are in Japanese. Since I don't actually say any of this out loud, she just keeps going. "And if it's so remedial, why can't you figure it out for yourself, Mr. Fulbright Scholar?"
"See, if you want a strategy to get an unknown candidate elected, or a plan to solve the health care crisis in this country or someone to take your LSAT for you, I'm your guy. But appliance wiring... not so much."
"You solve the health care crisis yet?"
"Workin' on it." Yes, after her visit to the ER, Donna gave me an earful about HMOs, PPOs, primary care physicians, in-network/out-of-network patient care and the sorry amount of influence that health insurance has on actual health care in America. And I really am working on it. But right now, my concern is getting my TV/VCR/DVD/Broadband and audio receiver components all hooked up properly. See, I'm going to be on Russert on Sunday and I need to tape it for... my mother. My mom likes to see all my TV appearances, so that's why I need a copy of it. Yes, they get NBC in Florida, but she might miss it. So I should have a copy for her, you know, in case. By the way, Donna's now eyeing me skeptically; I can see that it's time to pull out the heavy artillery. I flash her, what I like to call, my I'm-utterly-and completely-helpless-without-you-Donna look. It involves sad eyes, a forehead crinkle and dimples. It's taken me many years to hone it. It's a doozy, if I do say so myself.
"Joooosh..." She plops down wearily, yet carefully, in one of the visitors' chairs in my office. Obviously, the look worked; I'm wearing her down. I can taste victory.
"You helped CJ with hers." A-ha! An impenetrable argument. If she helped CJ, she should help me. After all, CJ is just a friend, I'm her... well, I guess outside the office, I'm just her friend too. Sometimes I forget that. And other times it's all I can think about.
"Yes, but CJ bought me food, was nice to me AND I was not recovering from injuries then and in need of rest and recuperation."
"I'm nice." She's staring at me like she doesn't quite agree... what's that about? I'm nice! When I want to be. Wait, there's a slight quirkage of the lip. She's about to smile! If she smiles, I've got a helper for the evening. Never mind that I'd be more the helper and she'd be the one, you know, actually doing stuff.
Nope, I was wrong. Danger, Will Robinson, danger! It was the beginning of a snarl, not a smile. I need to do something to salvage this. "I have food. Lots of really good food. Your favorites." This is not exactly the truth. I think I have a can of green beans and some saltines. So the exact truth is that there's nothing to eat at my house. Well, nothing that isn't way past its expiration date, and no ingredients to make anything edible either. But what I do have is a phone and a credit card. So my statement can be true by the time she comes over.
"Josh, why did you buy complicated equipment that you knew you would be unable to set up?" I think she just sighed. That's not a good sign, is it? I still think I can win this, though. She can never resist me for long. It's a thing... our thing. We have trouble saying no to one another. Okay... that's not precisely accurate. You see, we have exactly zero trouble saying no to one another, but we have a lot of trouble meaning no.
"Because I'm a man, Donna. As a man, I need the best, shiniest, most complicated electronic equipment available on the market today. It's something in the male genetic code. I can't fight it; it would be fruitless to even try."
"I see. You're right, that is very manly... buying something that is completely useless without the help of your much younger, female assistant to set it up. You're the picture of macho bravado, Josh."
"I don't think you mean that." I know sarcasm when I hear it. She looks exasperated; I wonder why. Did someone annoy her earlier, before she came into my office? "So you're really not helping me? You're really going to just go home and rest tonight?"
"Yes, I'm going to go home. I'm going to rest and I'm going to take a long, hot bath. Warm water is supposed to help soothe my injured muscles."
"How?"
"Huh?"
"How?" I repeat, just a bit triumphantly. Because I know I've done it; snatched victory from the jaws of defeat. Never count me out. Just wait and see.
"How is warm water going to help my injured muscles?" She starts speaking to me like I'm a fourth grader. "You see, the heat and the water work in tandem to loosen up-"
"No," I interrupt her with a slightly superior tone. "How do you plan to take a bath?" She's mine! She doesn't know it yet, but she's mine! I mean, she's mine tonight. Well, not mine precisely... you know what I mean.
She pastes a beguiling smile on her face. "What, you want the details, you pervert? Fine. It involves going into my bathroom, it involves taking off all my clothes and it involves running..." She stops and her face falls. I knew it would.
"Yup." My reply is smug.
"The stopper on my bathtub isn't working."
"No... no, it's not."
"I need to call a plumber."
"Yes, yes, you do."
"I have not called a plumber yet."
"I know."
"How do you know? Are you spying on my bathtub?"
"You were blathering on..." Uh-oh. She's giving me an eyeful of stink, best re-phrase. Don't want to blow it by a bad word choice at this late stage of the game. "...telling me a very engrossing story just the other week about how your tub wouldn't hold water and how you needed to call a plumber, but you didn't have the name of a good one. And then I said that after the exterminator incident, you should probably play it safe and call a female plumber, and then you got huffy..." You know, I think I'll shut up now.
"Right..." She looks dejected. She must have really been looking forward to a bath. Personally, I don't see the appeal. All you're doing is soaking in a tepid pool of your own filth. Well, I don't see the appeal of soaking in a tepid pool of my own filth. I definitely see the appeal of Donna in a bathtub, with bubbles and nudity... I think I'll stop right there. There are, obviously, many reasons I shouldn't think about Donna like that. For the sake of my sanity, which is tenuous at best anyway, that topic is now off-limits. There will be no more talk or thoughts of naked Donna in a bath.
"You could take a bath at my house." Funny, that's not what I was going to say. And that doesn't really follow the rule I just made about neither talking nor thinking about Donna in the bath, now does it? But it's out there; guess I'll just go with it. However, I don't think anyone else should know that I just offered to bathe her... I mean, for her to bathe at my house! I'm not going to be a part of the bathing process! Unless... do you think she'd let me? No! No, of course not. That's not appropriate... right? Right! It's definitely not appropriate and I'm fairly certain that there are many people who would find objections to me inviting my assistant to bathe at my home, let alone me helping her bathe. It's not a normal boss/assistant thing, which is why I think they would frown on it, not because it would be wrong. At least I'm pretty sure it's not a normal boss/assistant thing. It's been so long since I had a normal relationship with an assistant it's hard to say; I can tell you unequivocally that I never invited my last assistant, Janet, to bathe at my house. See, right there, just thinking about that visual gave me the willies. Also, I'm pretty sure that Margaret doesn't take baths at Leo's house... at least I assume she doesn't. Do you think she does? Because that would be seventeen kinds of creepy.
"I could?" The look she's shooting me appears to be a combination of disbelief, hope and... maybe a bit of nervousness. But she doesn't appear to be creeped out by the offer. I take that as a good sign.
"You said, and I quote, that my bathroom is tragically wasted on a man." Wow, I'm really selling it. What do you think is up with that? Don't answer that question.
"Yes, I did."
"So?"
"I'll be there at eight. Have food, be prepared to be nice, and the bath should be running when I arrive." And with that she gets up and strides out of my office. Well, she doesn't so much 'stride' as 'move very stiffly and gingerly at a snail's pace' towards the door. She does seem tired and sore, and not fully recovered. Maybe she should go home and rest... but on the other hand, she really does seem to want a bath. If you think about it, by having her come over to set up my new TV, I'm really doing her a favor. I wonder if my bathtub actually works...
***
My townhouse, while twice the size of Donna's place, still isn't huge. It only takes me twelve and a half long steps to walk from one end of the main hall to the other end. And that's what I'm doing right now; walking back and forth from one end to the other, sort of a pacing-like thing. It's something I do when I think. And right now, I've got a lot on my mind... or when you boil it down, I pretty much have one thing on my mind.
Donna. Donna and hot water. Donna and bubbles. Donna and my bathtub. Donna naked. See, it's happening right now. Right in there. Yes, I'm crossing back and forth in front of the bathroom door. Don't look at me like that, it's not like I'm going to go in uninvited. However, since it is my hot water, maybe I should be in there to, you know, monitor its use or something... yeah, no one's going to buy that. Least of all Donna. But she's still recovering from the Pokey thing, what if she falls and she can't get up. I know, unlikely, but still I need to be ready to move in at a moment's notice.
I have to admit that this is a little bit ridiculous. When did Donna bathing naked become all I can think about? That's actually not a hard question to answer. It was about the time that I invited her to bathe at my house. But it still doesn't explain why I've been able to think of nothing else since.
***
"How was the bath?" Damn! I had at least 45 minutes to pull myself together, but the question still came out sounding like I'm a member of the Lollipop Guild, and now she's eyeing me oddly.
"Good." Her hair is up in a messy ponytail, her skin is flushed warm and pink, and she looks... radiant.
"How do you feel? Did it help?" Phew. My voice is back to its normal range. I am, once again, a man. Although a distracted man... Donna's wearing my robe. Do you think she's got anything on under that robe? I don't think she does. I think she's naked under that robe. My robe. "You're wearing my robe."
"Good eye there, Josh."
"You're wearing my robe." I know I already said that, apparently I think it bears repeating. Or I can't form coherent thought. One or the other.
"Yes, I am."
"Why are you wearing my robe?"
"Doesn't the invitation to take a bath at your house include, you know, all the accoutrements?"
"I... uh..." Donna is wearing my robe! That fact is affecting my sentence construction abilities. At this point, it might be a good time to mention that she looks damn good in my robe; who knew terrycloth could be so sexy? Finally, I pull myself together. "I don't know... I'm not sure that I've ever issued an invitation to anyone to take a bath at my house before."
She's smirking at me. Why is she smirking at me? Smirking is my job. "Since I found it in the linen closet, where it still had the tags in it from when your mom sent it to you last year, I didn't think you'd mind."
Yeah, I'm not really a robe kind of guy, but seeing that right now it has a naked Donna inside of it, I might start to be. Is it a sign of mental illness to be jealous of a robe? "I don't mind. You look like you feel better?"
"I do. I think the bath might actually be worth the price of installing your audio visual equipment. Let's get started so we can eat."
Now I'm feeling pangs of remorse, for my use of guilt and bribery to get her to come over and help me tonight. Don't look so shocked. It does actually happen to me sometimes. "If you're not up to it, we don't have to. I'll figure it out or pay somebody, or we can do it another time..."
She's smiling. Did I ever mention how much I love it when she smiles? Well, I do. It's one of my favorite things, along with talking to her... and having her take a bath at my house. What? New things get added to lists like that all the time.
"That's okay. I'm here and I feel pretty good now. Besides, it won't take long; I'm good at this stuff."
"You're good at lots of things." And I mean it, she is. But she must be surprised to hear me say it, because her eyes go wide and then she quickly looks to the floor. I motion back towards the TV. "Where do we start?"
She wanders all the way into my living room and stands in front of the entertainment center, surveying the mess of equipment. "What we need-"
"You're going to do it dressed like that?" There may have been some squeaky syllables in that sentence. But you can't really hold it against me, can you? The only thing that's separating her from nakedness right now is a loosely-tied layer of terrycloth! I can't be expected to work under these conditions.
"Dressed like what?"
I wave my hand at her. "You're... you have no... you're practically naked!"
"I'm in a robe, Josh. Remember, your robe? We just had an entire conversation about it."
"Like I said, practically naked." I shake my head in order to clear it and pull myself together.
"I'm comfortable." She says it emphatically. "I work best when I'm comfortable."
"Okay." I take a deep breath and exhale slowly. That's fine if she wants to stay in the robe. It doesn't affect me at all.
We decide to eat first. I lug the cartons of food, chopsticks-and forks, because I'm thoughtful like that-- as well as a couple of beers into the living room. We spread out in front of the TV so we can eat while we try to figure this quagmire of wires and cables and doohickeys out. I know what you're thinking. You're thinking I ordered Chinese food. Well, you'd be wrong. I ordered Thai. Ever since Donna ranted about me having a heart attack while eating leftover Chinese, I haven't had much of a taste for it.
Donna is in the middle of saying something about coax cable and the pros and cons of component video when I notice that I can see a bit of her thigh peeking out from between the blue material of the robe as she sits cross-legged in front of me. I sort of hiccup and my breathing comes to a full stop for several interminable seconds. Then she reaches to grab my beer-apparently she likes mine better than hers-- and just like that my view of her bare skin vanishes. Is it normal that I have that kind of a reaction just by seeing a bit of her leg? I mean, I saw a lot more than that last week in the emergency room. But if we're being honest, I also must confess that I almost hyperventilated and had to be put on oxygen while I was helping dress her in the emergency room last week. So this reaction might not be an isolated incident.
***
"I rule!" Donna yells and pumps her fist into the air as both the picture and sound come on. It only took about 30 minutes of her telling me what to do before we got the entire thing up and running. She really is good. Turns out she just took the instructions out of the box, turned them over to the English side and read them. Novel approach. I could have done that if I wanted to.
"Not bad." I can't help but grin at her. I figure I'll skip the part where I say I could have done it by myself if I'd wanted to. She might not appreciate that.
"Let's see whatcha got here." Donna sinks back down into a chair and starts flipping through the channels. Did I mention she's still wearing the robe?
I'm so distracted by the robe, or should I say the nakedness beneath the robe that I'm watching her... not my very new, very expensive television, which seems to be working perfectly.
"I wonder if there's anything on tonight."
"Uh-huh," is my only reply as my eyes roam over the V of pale skin that is tantalizingly visible above the navy blue terrycloth. The contrast mesmerizes me. Or maybe it's the slight swell of cleavage above the V that's mesmerizing me. Is she talking? No, actually she's not talking. Her eyes are fixed on the TV and sort of a shocked, scandalized expression colors her features. I look to the screen to see what has her so transfixed. Uh-oh. "Donna?"
"Yeah?"
"You stopped flipping." Is it warm in here? I'm feeling a little warm; I tug at my already open collar.
"Yes, I did."
Clearing my throat, I manage a grunt. "Why?"
"I should think that would be obvious."
"Obvious?" I realize my voice didn't really sound like me just then. I'm not sure I'm getting enough oxygen at the moment.
"Sure, I want to see what you do when you're home on a Friday night."
"And this is what you think I do?"
"Is it?" She's raising her eyebrow at me and her lip is quirked on one side.
"No!"
"Then why do you have it?"
"I don't know! I don't even know what it is!" I'm at a loss. Is it possible I subscribed to some sort of X-rated naked people channel without knowing it?
"Sure you don't." She's shaking her head and pressing her lips together; I think she's trying not to laugh. Laughing at me! She thinks she's caught me. Geez, what does she think I am, some lonely middle-aged guy who sits around watching naked people do... what naked people do when they are in mixed company. Or, judging by the scene currently on the screen, not in mixed company. Yikes! I can't believe I have a naked people channel and Donna found it. I mean, it's not that I'm above it, but I don't want her thinking I'm a deviant.
Donna looks down at the TV remote and points it at the TV, and the menu appears on the screen. But we can still hear the audio from the movie. I've got to tell you, it paints quite a mental picture all on its own. Once Donna has found the info page, I heave a huge sigh of relief. Cinemax. Thank goodness. Lots of normal, non-perverted people subscribe to Cinemax. It comes with HBO, for God's sake. I'm quite relieved to have it proven that I'm not an abnormal sex pervert. At least as far as subscribing to porn goes AND as far as Donna knows... I'm kidding, I'm not an abnormal sex pervert at all. I swear! I'm a normal sex pervert.
"You pervert!" She's staring at me with a furrowed brow.
"What?" I yelp and immediately look from the TV to where Donna is sitting-- still in my robe by the way-- glaring at me with clear disapproval. It's Cinemax; surely she can't judge me for that, can she?
"Skinemax? You subscribe to Skinemax, Josh?"
"It's a movie channel, Donna. They play movies." I feel the need to defend the honor of myself and my cable system. To tell you the truth, I don't even know why I have premium channels to begin with, it's not like I'm ever home to watch them. I've never even seen an episode of that show about the mob that everyone always talks about. Sounds highly overrated to me.
"Yes," she gestures to the TV, "movies with naked people... for perverts, like you." She's grinning at me now. Perhaps she's not as shocked as she would like me to believe. She turns back to the TV. I don't, but she does. Why isn't she more embarrassed? I'm embarrassed. I see her hit the remote again.
"Let's see what cinematic treasure they're playing tonight. Ahhh... a classic, Working Girls III: Sins of the Secretary. You know, I can see why you subscribe to this. I feel that I can say with the great confidence of someone who sees a movie at least once a year, that this never hit the theaters. And I'm also pretty sure you won't find Harrison Ford in it." I glance over to the TV, but Donna still has the menu up. Sitting here, listening to porn with Donna, you'd think my mind would be racing, but right now at this instant, the only thing that occurs to me is that, judging by the audio alone, I don't think the secretary is working very hard.
She flips the menu off and the screen pops up. Thankfully, the naked people are gone. "See, it's a movie, there appears to be a plot." I wave my hand towards a scene of fully- clothed people in an office. Even though their clothes aren't exactly what I would consider suitable attire for a professional work environment. Although, it certainly would spice up the office if Donna wore more cleavage shirts and mini-skirts... I'm just sayin'.
"Yes, I believe you're right, there is a plot." Now Donna is squinting at the TV. "It appears that she's going to take some... dictation. No... wait... I was wrong. That's definitely not dictation. You don't need to remove your blouse for dictation; at least I've never found it necessary..."
"Well, it frankly wouldn't hurt every once in awhile," I interject. Oops. She's scowling at me. Apparently she's the only one who gets to make jokes like that. She looks back at the screen. You know, I think she's fighting a smile. I'm not positive, but I would swear that the corners of her mouth are twitching upwards-
"Would you look at that?" Donna interrupts my train of thought in order to continue her commentary. "She unbuttons her shirt and without ceremony, out burst her assets. Lady, you're at work! Wear a bra for the love of God! Talk about unprofessional." She's shaking her head disapprovingly at the screen, before she points at the screen. "Shouldn't they shut the door? Oh. He got the door. Did you just see that? Wow! And points for creativity and dexterity go to him. Hmm... she doesn't act very much like a subordinate. You know what!? I think she's the boss and he's the sinful secretary..."
"Huh?" That got my attention. I've been staring at her instead of the TV. Don't ask why I'm staring at my assistant when there are naked breasts on my TV. Some things, I can't explain.
"I think she's the boss and he's the secretary!" She repeats excitedly.
"You like that, do you?" I may be smirking at her. She really is so dang cute when she's watching soft-core porn. Not something I realized about her before this. Not that I would have had an opportunity to realize it, mind you. I may add that to my list of favorite things: talking to Donna, Donna smiling, Donna taking a bath at my house and watching Donna watch soft-core porn. It occurs to me at this point that I probably shouldn't share this list with anybody. They might get the wrong idea.
"Yes." She finally looks over at me. "That's how it should be with us."
I don't know how or on what, but suddenly I'm choking. Perhaps some air went down the wrong pipe. Does that happen? It must, because I'm coughing and I can't catch my breath. I close my eyes as I sputter and choke-- for some reason, not being able to see half-naked Donna or the mostly-naked people on the TV helps. My eyes pop back open the second I feel the first whack. Yes, Donna has moved from the chair to where I am on the couch and is now whacking me on the back. I've gotta say, while it's sweet of her to want to help, it's not all that helpful. Neither her robe-clad proximity nor the whacking is doing me any good at the moment.
I will myself to catch my breath and I scoot away from her slightly. What? We're watching naked people television and she's on my couch, naked under that robe, and looking amazingly beautiful. If I don't scoot away, I may be in real no-turning back territory here.
"Are you okay?"
"Yeah, I'm fine."
"What happened?"
"Nothing, I don't know... must have swallowed the beer wrong." Thing is, I hadn't had anything to drink for at least five minutes when I started coughing. But thankfully Donna was so mesmerized by the nudity, she wouldn't know that. I should just let the whole thing drop, but I have to ask. "Did you just say that... that..." I point to the screen where I'm pretty sure that the secretary is doing something that lies completely outside the parameters of his job description. "...is how it should be with us?" My heart rate seems to be slightly elevated. Slightly elevated, like I just sprinted around the Tidal Basin and then up the steps of the Lincoln Memorial.
"Yes." Her voice is nonchalant, but if I'm not mistaken, there's a hint of a blush creeping up her neck.
"Really?" Hmm... my voice was a little strained there. Can't imagine why, what with Donna sitting next to me on my couch, blanketed only in terrycloth, as she tells me that we should be more like the soft-core boss/assistant on Skinemax. What is she saying? She wants to do that on my desk tomorrow. Holy crap! I'm never going to get any work done at my desk ever again.
"Definitely!" Does she mean that? What should I do? She's only about a foot away from me on the couch. Should I lean over and kiss her? Yeah, I like that idea. But I can't do that. Can I do that? This isn't happening. Is it? I'm just not that lucky. I search her face for answers; she looks me directly in the eye and smiles. "I definitely think that I should be the boss and you should be the assistant."
Oh. She wants to be the boss. That's slightly disappointing. Of course it's not happening. Of course I'm not that lucky. I'll have to examine my use of the word lucky and how much I really wanted to be lucky just then, at a later time. "Maybe someday."
"Really?" She sounds eager, maybe a little too eager. "You think someday I'll be your boss?" Yes, I think she will be my boss. Heck, I think she's my boss now. Oh... she means professionally.
"Well, maybe not my boss, but somebody's boss, yes. Definitely. But you better not do that with your assistant." I glance back to the screen as I motion towards it and I can unequivocally say that if she possesses the flexibility to do that, then I'm a very lucky... I mean, her hypothetical assistant is one very lucky man.
She continues looking at me for a second and then finally looks down. I see the red blush creep over her complexion. Let me get this straight, watching dirty movies with her boss-well, me-- doesn't really affect her at all, but me telling her not to sexually harass her future assistant does?
"You think I'm going to be a boss someday?"
That's why she was blushing? "Yeah... I do." She looks back up at me and we lock eyes. There's still only a bit of space on the couch separating us and suddenly the eye contact is getting a little intense for me. I clear my throat and try changing the subject to something safer, less intimate. Glancing back at the screen, I say offhandedly, "So ya' think those things are real?"
Perhaps that wasn't enough of a subject change. She's staring at me and I can't quite read her emotions at the moment. She might be... angry... insulted... no... yes, amused. She's laughing at me. "You've got to be kidding, right?"
"What?"
"Of course they're not real. How could you even think they are?"
"They might be..." I say for no particular reason. It's not like I've even studied them; I've pretty much kept my eyes on Donna. I don't know why I brought up this topic of conversation. I guess, at the time, it seemed like it would be a good thing to discuss while watching a dirty movie.
"Josh, be serious, they don't move. Real breasts move."
"Yours don't."
"WHAT!?" Okay, she just shrieked at me. Was that the wrong thing to say?
"I mean... I don't... um... what?"
"How would you even know?" She's crossed her arms protectively in front of her.
"I have looked at you before, Donna."
"NAKED!?" There's the shriek again.
Okay, that might have been a mistake. "No, of course, not naked... in clothes, always in clothes, except for right now..." I really don't know what I'm talking about.
"They move!"
"Okay."
"They do. They're just smaller and... and I wear a bra."
"Yes, I've seen your bra." Why? Why did I say that?
Donna's eyes go wide and she turns an even more violent shade of pink than she was before, if that's possible. She opens her mouth and then closes it again before finding her voice. "They're real."
"I never thought they weren't."
"And they're spectacular!"
Spectacular, huh? I bite my lip to keep from grinning at her and her defense of her breasts. A defense which is wholly unnecessary, by the way. Maybe I need to get that point across better. "Donna, I'm sure they're perfect."
"How can you be so sure?" She's eyeing me suspiciously. Answering this question is going to be tricky. I could either seal my newfound reputation as a pervert in one fell swoop or hit one out of the park, depending on the next few words out of my mouth.
"Because everything about you is perfect." Judging by the look on her face, that was the right thing to say. However, now we're having another sort of weird emotional moment. I know it sounds weird that while discussing her breasts, things would get emotional, but they did. This time she breaks the moment by standing and announcing that she should probably put her clothes back on so she can go home and get some sleep. As she heads back to the bathroom, I'm left alone in my living room with two certainties.
Number one, the soft-core porn has to be turned off right now. It's not doing anybody any good.
Number two, I think I'm in love with my assistant. Is that wrong?