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Damn Her
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She was slowly pacing, her words measured, her tone serious and her voice calm and controlled. She had them captivated, hanging on to her every word. This trial was in her pocket. There was no reasonable doubt left for them to cling to. I should have been listening. I should have been paying attention.

She said something about the defendant's only intention was to take advantage of the situation and the victim, not help her as he had claimed. Truth be told, the only thing that had my attention were her legs. I know it's chauvinistic and down right lewd of me, but I couldn't help it. Whenever she wore that baby blue suit with the skirt that ended above her knee and those black Jimmy Choo heels, my attention always seemed to stray where it wasn't supposed to, like the first time she ever wore that suit into our bull pen.

I was coming out of one of the interrogation rooms with Elliot and she was leaning her backside on the edge of my desk, talking to Fin and Munch. Elliot was saying something, but all I heard was white noise as my eyes locked in on her legs which were crossed at the ankles. Her calves were slender yet I imagined they were strong, and her porcelain skin, in my mind, was flawless and soft as a newborn's bottom.

"Try not to drool," I finally heard my partner whisper in my ear. Then and only then did I realize I had been gaping at her.

That moment was the beginning of my downfall. Thankfully Elliot had been the only one to notice, and unfortunately, he used it mercilessly against me every time she wore that same suit. I tried to play it cool, and over time, had even managed to force myself to stop gawking at her legs, especially whenever she was talking to me. The trick I learned was that if she was standing, I would stand beside her - thus eliminating any vantage points to sneak a glimpse of her limbs. If she sat down, I'd sit down somewhere that would place an object like a desk or table between us.

Furthermore, I had created a mantra for myself that I would mentally recite every time we were in the same room and her legs were on display - "Look at her eyes. Look at her eyes. Look at her eyes." And it served me well...for awhile.

One day, we were sitting in the bull pen and I heard the unmistakable sound of her Jimmy Choos click-clacking against the tiles in the hall. I tried to stay focused on the paperwork on my desk and knew, without looking, that my partner was smirking his ass off, knowing that I was desperately struggling not to look up as the sound of her approach grew closer.

Her light voice with an aristocratic lilt greeted us and she asked us about a case we were working on. I couldn't continue to bury my nose in the folder I had been transfixed on and forced myself to look up. I was doomed. Not only was she wearing that damn suit, she was now perched on Munch's desk, her legs crossed, one foot slightly moving as if tapping to an imaginary song. The only thought that ran through my mind was how it would feel to have those legs wrapped around my hips.

My mouth went dry; my breath caught in my throat; my heart pounded in my chest; my ears went deaf. I heard my partner's booming voice say something and was broken out of my physiological prison. *Look at her eyes. Look at her eyes. Look at her eyes.*

I looked up and froze. Her cerulean eyes were fixed on mine. I was mortified. She had caught me ogling her legs. I closed my mouth and swallowed hard. Then, the strangest thing happened. It lasted perhaps a tenth of a second but I'd be damned if I didn't see the tiniest smile on the corners of her lips before she looked away and continued to converse with my partner.

From that day forward, I developed a habit of blinking my eyes before I'd look at her, to assure myself that I'd focus on her eyes and her words and away from the rest of her body. She didn't make it any easier because she seemed to have expanded her wardrobe to include more skirt suits, and also developed a habit of sitting on Munch's desk with her legs crossed every time she wore a skirt. And every time, I swore there was a glint in her eyes and a smirk on the edges of her lips.

Damn her.