Sadly, the weekend sped by too quickly in a haze brought about by overindulging in pizza, brownies, and Netflix.
My mother continued to pester me about accepting a date with Jeffrey, but I dodged those texts like a pro.
And sure, I should probably be a lot more proactive about the dating scene, but dammit, I’m still all kinds of hung up on Simon and his stupid, muscular forearms…
Not that I’m admitting that publicly.
I’m days away from finishing the Spring catalog, and Daryl, my boss, messaged me that he wants to meet and discuss my next big undertaking, so that’s something to get excited about. I can only assume it’s the big deal Molly mentioned in passing the other day, but she didn’t have the full scoop, and Daryl does love some drama, so I’m sure all will be revealed at some point.
And, unexpectedly, I’m having one of those gloriously productive days, a day I’m surely due, given my lack of productivity last week. But this week? I’m getting shit done. And yes, it’s 9 a.m. on a Monday, but still. My To-Do list is only three items long, my inbox is gloriously empty, and my computer is free of sticky drinks and working well. And to celebrate, I’m taking a snack break.
The staff room is empty, save for the hum of the photocopier as I deposit my money into the vending machine and make my selection. My Snickers bar falls into the little drawer, and I lift it out. And then a possibly brilliant idea strikes. Going with it, I grab a Twix for Simon and take the stairs up to IT to drop it off. This awkwardness between us is silly. And really, I miss him. And not just his hands and mouth and dick, although… Yes, well. Anyway, beyond the physical, I miss my friend. I miss his ridiculous jokes. I miss the way he taps his fingers on any available surface when he’s nervous. I miss our conversations. So, armed with an unfamiliar bravado, I ascend the stairs, Twix in hand. I round the corner and am about to push the door open, when I spot Simon through the glass, his head tossed back in laughter. Hmmmm….I was sort of hoping he’d be gone, and I could drop it off on his desk like a peace offering. Or maybe he’d be there and we’d share a quick conversation. I never really thought I’d have to fully interrupt him. In fact, I never really thought this through at all. I take a few steps forward to see him standing right in front of the new marketing intern. I hear the deep rumble of his laughter and see her cheeks blush before she erupts into a fit of high-pitched giggles. And that’s it. That’s all the cue I need to turn and run blindly in the direction of the stairwell, stopping only to avoid running over the innocent colleague ascending the stairs.
“Whoa, there, Elaine! Slow down, honey. Is your ass on fire?” Eric from accounting attempts to be charming and fails spectacularly, as usual.
“Sorry, Eric. I wasn’t looking where I was going.”
“I’ll say you weren’t. Did you get lost?” he laughs uproariously at his own lame joke. “You’re far too pretty to be in the IT department!” He punctuates that sexist claim with a wink. A fucking wink.
Unable to respond without kicking him in the shin, I make my way down the stairs and back to my floor, slinking into my office before I’m forced to make small talk with any more co-workers.
I slump into my desk chair, lamenting the fact that I didn’t treat myself to a latte this morning, a fact I’d been proud of just fifteen minutes ago.
Ugh! Why am I upset? It makes no sense—no sense at all. This was exactly what I wanted for him—precisely what I encouraged him to do. He deserves to flirt with a hot dish from marketing. But Christ, it hurts to watch.
IT’S MONDAY NIGHT ANDI’m back with Bets and Dunc, but this time, we’re at their house. I usually crash for dinner at least a few times a week, but tonight, Nick has decided to grace us with his presence. So, the gang is back together, or at least we will be once Nick shows up.
I stare at the text on my phone, effectively tuning out Bets and Duncan, who are undoubtedly arguing about whose turn it is to feed the cat or unload the dishwasher or take out the trash. And honestly? The answer is always Dunc. Bets gets her shit done without reminders. Still, their playful bickering sounds in the background as I continue to read and reread the words on the screen.
Drew: It’s time.
My impulse is to shoot backtime for what?But that would be a dick move. I know thewhat. We’ve been talking about thewhatfor months now.
But is it really time? Probably. Maybe. No. Possibly?
Fucking Fuck.
“Fucking what?” asks Dunc.
So, apparently, I said that last part out loud…
“Is that text from your chickie?”
“What? No.” I shake my head “No, because she’s a woman, not a baby farm animal, and she’s not remotely mine, but thanks for rubbing that in.” I’m just in an all-around pissy mood tonight, and Drew’s text isn’t helping.
“Christ, you’re grumpy.”
“I thought there’d be pie. You said there’d be pie.” And now I’m sulking like a petulant child.
“There is, and it’s cherry, so quit your bitchin’,” my sister scolds, and rightfully so. “I figured we’d wait for Nick, and actually eat dinner first, but he’s late, and you’re pissy, so help yourself.”
That’s all the invitation I need, so I walk into the kitchen and pour myself a cup of coffee before helping myself to a face-sized piece of pie. Dunc has followed me and he’s staring longingly at the pie server in my hand. “You want any?”
“Hell, yes” is his reply.
I oblige and resume my seat in their dining room. A quick glance at my phone tells me that the text from Drew is still there, still waiting for my response. I ignore it and dig into my pie as Dunc reaches across the table and swipes my phone. Dammit. “Give that back, asshole.”
“Screw you. Who’ve you been texting?”
