Quench Me
      Chapter 3
 

It's been two days since my encounter with Danny Santos. Two days since his eyes met mine, and held them in a place so intangible that I can't describe it. Two days since I felt the heat of his glare as I walked out of his office.

I look at my watch, and realize that my class will be over in twenty minutes. The wheels already turning in my mind, I decide that I'll go straight to Spaulding. It will be early evening by the time I get there, but if Danny's as ambitious as Phillip says he is, then he'll still be there.

When I pull my Mitsubishi Montero into the Spaulding parking lot, I instinctively pull down the visor and open the mirror. Before I know what I'm doing, I'm powdering my nose, applying lip gloss, and fixing my hair.

"What am I doing?" I ask myself. "I'm not trying to impress him."

Still tying to convince myself of that, I get out of my car and head into the building.

He's there, just like I expected him to be, sitting at his desk, rifling through some sort of computer print-out. He doesn't see me, and so I simply watch him for a moment. He seems completely immersed in his work, something that I suddenly realize is very attractive to me. He's obviously frustrated about something, and I begin to wonder if I've come at a bad time.

"Damn," he mutters under his breath, as he spins around in his chair and catches sight of me.

He doesn't say anything. He just looks at me, and my head starts to swim, exactly the way it did the other day.

"Mr. Santos," I say, as nonchalantly as I possibly can. "Have I come at a bad time?"

He smiles at me, and my pulse quickens. "Not at all. I was just enjoying the view," he says mockingly, reminding me of my words to him. "You can call me Danny if I can call you Michelle."

"Fair enough," I answer. I quickly start in on the speech I've been rehearsing all day. I don't want to let him get the upper hand in this conversation. "Look, I realize that we, uh… didn't start off on the right foot the other day, and I wanted to come by and apologize to you for my part in what happened."

"Apologize?" he says, as if he's surprised. "You are apologizing to me?"

"Well, yes," I say. "It wasn't all your fault."

Now he's smiling again, that devilish smile that is so mysterious. "So, you don't think I'm rude and thoughtless anymore?" He asks, again mocking my remarks from our previous confrontation.

I don't want to admit that he's not rude and thoughtless, so I choose an ambiguous answer to his question. "I think I took you by surprise when you walked into your office and found me here, and I wasn't very nice to you after that. And that's really unlike me. I just didn't want you to think that I was like that all the time."

"Like what?" he asks, as he stands up from behind his desk. "You mean you're not always feisty and independent."

Dammit. Why won't he just accept my apology?

He's leaning on the front side of his desk now, his entire body in plain view. The gray suit and orange tie might have been a strange combination on another man, but on Danny the result is striking.

"I'm not always so blunt and short-tempered," I answer. "I came here to apologize to you, and I've done that, so I'm just going to leave now, and let you get back to your work."

Again, just like the other day, I turn to leave his office and feel his eyes on my body. The last time I invited him to look with my snide remark to him, but this time, I can sense that he's looking because he wants to. I cannot understand why he gets to me this way.

"Michelle," he says, stopping me in my tracks.

As I turn around to look at him, he continues.

"You came here today hoping that I'd apologize to you too, didn't you?"

Anger flares up inside me, but I stifle the urge to yell at him again. "I didn't come here with any expectations, Danny. I just came here to apologize."

"I suppose I should apologize, as well," he says, shocking me.

"Really?" I ask.

"Well, I was rude and thoughtless, as you put it. I was not a gentleman at all, and I'm sorry."

His eyes are locked with mine and I detect a very small hint of kindness. He must know that I've seen it, because he quickly diverts his gaze from mine.

"Apology accepted," I say.

"Are you busy?" he asks.

"Why?"

"Because I need a break from all this paper work, and I'd like to talk to you."

"I'm finished with classes for the day," I answer.

"Well, then have a seat, and let's get to know one another better," he says, gesturing toward one of the chairs sitting in front of his desk.

I sit down, thinking that he'll resume his position behind his desk for the duration of this conversation, but instead, he remains standing, leaned up against the front of his desk, directly in front of me.

"This is one arrogant SOB," I think to myself, as I realize that I'm now at eye level with what medical students would call his "reproductive organs."