Doomed

It was weird at the office, just as Artie knew it would be. Whenever Suze was near him (or in the same meeting), she would lock eyes and grin ... and, once, she winked at him slyly. "I am so doomed," he whispered to himself in the confines of his cubicle. That they had been as drunk as anyone else at the party was not the problem; that they had made out like teen rager runaways was not the problem; the problem was all of the secrets you involuntarily agreed to keep because you were dumb enough to greet, swarm, and then french them like a B movie starlet until the lunacy wore off. Artie could still feel Suze's forked serpent tongue in his mouth and he didn't know what to do; it was not the kind of thing you could take to HR. Suze came into the break room and looked over at him; she made sure that no one else could see and then stuck her tongue out - gave him a little air flick. He was horrified; never in his life did he expect to find another weresnake (they were so rare) and a female at that. The attraction was immediate and unshakable, the call to make a billion baby weresnakes was roaring through his blood, but the females ... the females ate their mates when they were done brooding and Artie wanted to live.