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Nosegasm

He stands over my desk, smiling, as he shows me early runs for a campaign he's passionate about. His hair is a bit floppy today, but the thick mass of healthy black follicles still frames his face in the most flattering of ways. I try my hardest not to think of the close encounter in his office months ago. We don't speak of it.

He takes his leave when my Greek salad arrives. He offers to buy me a Snapple before he departs. I decline. I'm having an Evian.

As I unpack my salad of feta, olives, red onions and romaine lettuce, I smell his cologne. He's long gone, but his scent -- unmistakably male and crisp -- still lingers at my desk, making my nose climax repeatedly.

He did this on purpose.
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