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When I asked if you wanted to "ride along", you probably noticed my cheeks turn bright red, I didn't mean to sound so perverted. Your simple "sure" confirmed the self-conscious alarm going off in my head. You should expect another scandalous slip-up or awkward babble on our next chance meeting. I'm clumsy when I get nervous.

If I don't smile, and keep my head down, or look through my purse too much, it just means, "I'm anxiously happy to see you again. It makes my day so much better".

My bitchiness is hiding the butterflies in my stomach.

You couldn't possibly understand my horrible habit of over-analyzing your every move, after our encounters. I've decided your "You too.", was just your coy way of telling me you think I'm as beautiful as a young Audrey Hepburn with the sex appeal of a Victoria's Secret model, that drives you crazier than that final level of Halo you just can't seem to beat.

It's probably best that you don't, I have a tendency to misinterpret crazy for cutesy.

I always notice you pass by my office on the way to the bathroom. I'm glad you haven't discovered the restroom on your floor because the best part of my day is when I look up and we share that momentary smile. When this happens, things don't seem to suck.

I suppose this is my love letter. Redeemable at any closing elevator door, should I slide in at the last second one day and you feel an overwhelming urge to kiss me.

You look like a boy who holds the door open for every one and honestly enjoys doing it. I thought I saw those manners in others before only to realize how foolish I can be, but I still...

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GIRL, mid 20's, pretty, dressed in young, yet professional business attire steps into the elevator door. She turns, presses the button for her office floor and...

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