Hey, Nancy Drew, wanna make me the happiest bloke in the world and swing by my office later?
A few minutes later, she responds, certifiably sassy just like I knew she’d be.Well, lemme see … you didn’t end the message with a kiss, so probably not, playboy.
Maybe I didn’t end the message with a kiss because I’m pissed off.
I hover my thumb over theSendbutton, and then think better of it. If I play my hand too early, she might not come at all.
All right, Grace, here you go … X
Wow, so you think begrudgingly sending me a single kiss is enough? SMH Harry, SMH.
What does that mean? Suck my … helmet?
Ew! Are you fricking serious right now? It means Shake My Head. Come on, grandpa, get with the lingo.
I sit back, grinning down at my phone like a fool.
Grace has the magical ability to make me go from pissed off to bantering and laughing so fast it gives me whiplash.
I try to hold on to my anger, but it’s an uphill struggle.
I like my version better. But seriously, if you’re gonna be a little prima donna about it, here … XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx
Wow, okay, you’ve won my heart. But only because you went capital X, lowercase x. Heck, that must’ve taken some effort.
And after all that, the ice-queen herself doesn’t even give me a single kiss. SMH
You BETTER have been using that to mean shake my head … and HERE YOU GO xoxoxxoxoxxoxox PS. I’M NOT AN ICE-QUEEN. PPS. I’ll swing by soon, okay? Be a patient boy.
I chuckle, shaking my head ruefully, then close my eyes and try to focus on my anger. I think about Adam and Grace on their lovey-dovey date together, and home in on it, using it like fuel for the bonfire of my outrage.
But it fades.
I open my eyes, sighing.
Why is it so damn difficult to stay angry with her?
As I roll my tennis ball idly around on the desk, catching it in one hand and then tossing it to the other, part of me hopes she she’ll text again, saying she’s changed her mind and doesn’t want to meet.
Because getting close to her is starting to sear me, like I’m a steak way past well-done. I burn up every time she’s close, the tendrils of the past curling around me and tugging me deeper into our way-too-easy repartee.
But Grace has never been one to turn down a conflict.
Except when she ghosted me.
I stand up from the desk and walk past the leather couches to the door, gripping the handle and turning it. Peering through into the adjacent office, I’m glad to see that Adam and Nick have gone back to their dorms for the evening.
The last thing I need is anybody eavesdropping on us, like last time.
I wonder if Adam timed asking Grace out on the date based on our argument, which he no doubt overhead.
I return to the desk and drop into the seat, staring at Grace’s blog. After that thinly-veiled post that was obviously about me, everything else has been fitness-related. When she stormed out the day before yesterday, I checked her blog several times, refreshing the page to see if she’d uploaded any scathing editorials.
But there was nothing, just her usual well-written prose concerning the fitness camp.
Finally, her light knock comes at the door.
“Come in,” I say, pushing my chair back so that the wheels make atsknoise on the hardwood floor.
