Damn the Unisex
Summary: Amanda never realized how hot Henry was with his shirt off. One-shot, drabble.
Rating: K+
A/N: Anyone who's seen Jake 2.0 knows that under his nerdy argyle sweater, Christopher Gorham is 100 percent smokin' hot! I would therefore like to credit Chris's buff body with inspiring this fic.
Amanda was thankful that the Mode office had unisex restrooms. It proved convenient for quickies with hot photographers, interns, and the many male models who walked in and out of the studio. This particular restroom, the one only a few steps away from her receptionist's desk, was special. It held many steamy memories for her; she'd most likely christened every stall with a random hunk.
She runs her hands under the cold tap water, washing off the doughnut powder (it was a particularly stressful day), when she hears the restroom door open. She silently hopes that a hot, single guy would walk in. A new conquest was exactly what Amanda needed. She hadn't gotten any since splitting up with Tavares, and at this point, "sexually frustrated" was rapidly becoming an understatement.
Through the mirror, she can see who walks in -- and much to her disappointment, it was only Henry, the nerdy accountant.
He waves and flashes his usual cheery grin. "Hi, Amanda!"
"Grubstick," she mumbles in response. It was the dumbest surname in the world. Grubstick. It was also the source of many dirty jokes she and Marc shared between each other. She would have felt sorry for him being laden with such an unfortunate name, but Amanda wasn't the type to feel sympathy for anyone.
Like she does with most people, Amanda begins to mentally criticize Henry's poor choice of wardrobe: the ridiculous red-framed glasses, that heinous Wal-Mart sweater...
Her critique is cut short, however, when Henry whips off said sweater. In fact, his sudden state of undress sends Amanda's train of thought wildly off-track, and her mind practically stalls as it tries to process the sight of Henry's unexpectedly...chiseled torso.
Oh my God, she thinks, is that a six-pack?!
"I'm sorry, do I make you uncomfortable?" Henry asks innocently. "One of the guys spilled water on my sweater, so I figured I'd make use of the hand-dryer here."
Amanda clenches her jaw and tries to will away the stray thoughts unraveling in her head at present, one of which involves how much she would like to shove Henry into one of the bathroom stalls, lock the door behind her, and -- Oh, stop it, Amanda!
"You're fine," she stammers. Then she realizes what she's just said. "Crap! I mean, it's fine, it is fine, go ahead and dry your sweater, I'll be on my way now buh-bye."
"Wait, your hands are still wet." He steps away from the dryer. "You can use it first," he says, because Henry is just that kind of guy.
And in a perfectly awkward moment for the both of them, she walks to the hand-dryer while simultaneously averting her eyes from the temptation that is Henry's upper body. Even as she dries her hands, her body is still fully aware of his proximity. And when she's done, she keeps her gaze down, turns around and accidentally bumps right into him.
"Oops, sorry!" she mumbles and rushes out the door before things could get any worse.
She hears Henry's chirp of "Bye, Amanda!" before the sound of the restroom door slamming shut.
Okay, I officially hate the unisex.
Amanda spends the rest of the day tearing into copious amounts of food and trying not to think about naughty activities involving Henry. (The latter was considerably more difficult.) If Marc ever knew about this, he would never let her hear the end of it.
By 4 p.m., she finds herself idly scribbling "Amanda Grubstick" onto a sheet of paper. In moments, she breaks out of her reverie and nearly gags in horror at the sight of the paper. She immediately crumples it and tosses it into the wastebasket.
"Grubstick" was a stupid last name.
FIN.