Logan

-Emory-

Beep, beep, beep, beep… Beep, beep, beep, beep… Beep, beep, beep, beep. I slammed the “dismiss” button on my phone to end the aural torture. Most people set their morning alarm to some kind of preset music that could gently awaken them. Me, I have to have the most obnoxious racket to get me out of bed on time or I just end up having dreams of elevators.

I don’t want to get out of bed. It’s cozy and warm, for one thing. For another thing, I had worked out through a hangover yesterday and I was feeling it today. When I say “feeling it,” I mean I was three painkillers away from being able to stand back up from the toilet. But I will not fail! I can’t be that person that loses out on the New Year’s resolutions on freaking day three. I take a look at the clock- shit, 7:15 AM already- and quickly revise my plan for the morning.

As much as I want to call in sick, I need this job. I need it like I need to eat. Well, I need it because I need to eat. I knew better than to get an interior design degree, but I so loved all the fun textures and colors, and being able to transform a space is possibly my favorite feeling in the world. I’m not sure how old I was when I realized it, but ever since I can remember I've loved to change and rearrange spaces. That being said, I knew going in that jobs didn't grow on trees… not this kind, anyway. So when I finally, finally got hired into the design wing of Úlfur industries, I knew I had to excel or I might as well change my name to McBoned.

It was my determination to be the best that fueled this year's over-ambitious list of resolutions: be the best at my job, find myself a boyfriend that I would like more than a quiet night alone, and lose 15 pounds. Hopefully, only two of these would be impossible. In my determination to have it all, I decide that I'll just take a walk instead of a cab, and the stairs instead of the elevator at work. I work on the 8th floor so I feel pretty confident about counting stairs as my workout. Five times a week, baby! January 3rd, I'm coming into work with my brand new workout plan, I start my journey with the first step.

Nine city blocks- in a heavy coat, business casual clothes, and a pair of Louboutin shoes, no less- and five floors later, I'm a red, sweaty, mess and I'm going to be late to work. I have absolutely resigned myself to this fact. I am dragging myself up the stairs by the rail in a token resistance to finding an elevator and I don't think I'll last much longer. I've also resigned myself to the embarrassment of being caught up with and passed by the fittest man I've ever seen in person. Seriously, he looks like an anatomical model in a textbook, but with a chiseled jaw and dark wavy hair and, oh God, naturally swarthy skin that has that delicious tan all year long. Not that I truly notice him coming up behind me because my vision is tunneling. Maybe he's an angel, here to tell me my heart exploded and I'm not going to Hell, after all. Maybe I should lay down here and accept my afterlife. Maybe the angel will carry me to Heaven and I'll get to lay my head on his massive shoulder and see if he smells heavenly, too. I slide my ass to the concrete floor of the stairwell in total acceptance. I'm ready.

-Logan-

I don't know how much longer I can walk behind this woman without going postal. Usually, I run hard up all fifteen flights of these stairs just to burn off the extra energy enough to make it through a day at my desk. This was after I ran here from my condo and that was after a quick run in the park nearby in my wolf form at 5 a.m. The more I can put myself through my paces, the better control I have of my wolf. After all these years alone, he's becoming less like a wolf in temperament and more like a Siberian husky- nice to look at, but high strung, mouthy, and liable to destroy everything without careful management.

While I'm chafing at the pace so much I feel like I'm breaking out in hives, I keep catching myself noticing the… assets of my obstruction. She's got a pleasant glow to her skin, presumably from exercise. She must not know how to pace herself for cardio. That glow lights even the cleavage showing from her top. Obviously, it's been too long for me if I can't stop noticing. It's a relief when she finally stops to lean and catch her breath so I can stop staring at her ass. I'm sure I have some kind of rule logged with HR against feeling this way about anyone in this building- hopefully she doesn't notice where my mind has gone.

Trying to recover my equanimity, I stand like an idiot for a moment before I think to offer her a hand up. I clear my throat to try and get her attention, or at least get her to open her eyes. I hope she didn’t pass out. I’m not sure I could take that kind of excitement today with how my wolf is acting right now.

-Emory-

After a minute, I realize I'm not dead. I wish I was, because Mr. Anatomy only looks like an angel and he's staring at me like he's two seconds away from calling an ambulance. No way I can afford that, in my wallet or my pride. Attempting to think fast, I say “Can I help you?” The only reply is a raised eyebrow, because what the hell does that mean?

“Can I... Help you? You alright?” No. No I’m not. I wish I could melt into the floor, through the foundation of the building, the center of the Earth, and out the other side to a place where no one has ever met me before and I can disappear. Forever.

“Yeah, I’m good. Just taking a minute- I was running the stairs for an hour or two before work and I guess I overdid it. I’ll cut back on the cardio in the future.” That was believable, right? It sounded believable to me.

“I imagine you wouldn’t usually do cardio in a blouse or heels. Perhaps you’re used to working out in better clothes for it and underestimated the difference they would make?” God, that was way more believable than what I said. I don’t want to confirm or deny so I just say something like “Probably!”

Mr. Anatomy- I should probably get his name sometime soon before that slips out in conversation- smirks at me and makes a faintly disbelieving grunt before holding out a hand to help me up. “If you’re ready? We should probably both get to our desks.” Oh shit, I am so late. This is not the way to be the best at my job. I grab his hand and try to ignore how nice it feels in mine. There’s a jolt of… recognition, almost. Like our hands belong together, getting married in a hand church and having hand babies and getting age spots and wrinkles together, but that’s crazy.

My mind is wandering again, so I tune back in just in time to see Mr. Anatomy’s dark eyes widen and his nostrils flare, like he just smelled the beach, or maybe chocolate chip cookies fresh from the oven, while standing in the middle of a garbage dump. He looked like he thought I was a ghost and I surprised him by being corporeal. I’ve never been mistaken for anything other than sturdy before- I’m not, like, heavy, but I could stand to lose fifteen pounds.Okay, twenty. Add that to my wavy red hair and penchant for heels even though I’m 5’8” and it all ensures that I’ve never faded into the background, no matter how much I want to sometimes. Maybe it was my perfume? Or, more embarrassingly, my sweaty hands? Unfortunately, they only get sweatier as he pulls me back to my feet and I realize he’s still taller than me in my three inch Louies.

To try and take his mind off of the possible sweat levels of my skin, I use the moment to introduce myself. “I’m Emory, by the way. Thanks for the hand up.” I get one slow blink before he replies “Logan. Anytime,” and walks around me to sprint up the stairs ahead of me. Well, the way he moved looked like a jog but he was way faster than anything I could’ve pulled off, even before my “hours of cardio in heels.” I can’t believe I tried to play off something that stupid. He probably wanted to get out of the stairwell and behind the desk before he caught the crazy from me. Now that I've been hoisted back to my feet, I make the last three flights fueled by mortification alone.