He takes one look at my face. “Oh, no. Don’t tell me.”
My stomach drops out of my body and I grip the edge of the counter. He knows. He’s a mind reader. My eyes are love-hearts.
“You’re completely freaking out,” he states flatly. I can’t do anything but make awkward eye-slides and lip-nibbles. I look at his front door. I can’t get past him, he’ll be too quick.
“No chance. Get on the couch,” he scolds. “Get. Go on.”
I slip my shoes off and go and scrunch myself in a ball on his couch, hugging the ribbon-cushion.
He’s right, I am completely freaking out. It’s the mother of all freak-outs. I’ve completely lost my voice.
I talk to myself in the privacy of my head.
You love him. You love him. You always have. More than you’ve ever hated him. Every day, staring at this man, knowing every color and expression and nuance.
Every game you’ve ever played has been to engage with him. Talk to him. Feel his eyes on you. To try to make him notice you.
“I’m such an idiot,” I breathe.
I open my eyes and nearly scream. He’s standing over me with a mug and a plate.
“I simply can’t condone this level of freak-out,” he says, and gives me a sandwich. He puts the mug on the coffee table. He disappears for a minute then comes back with my gray fleecy blanket.
It’s like he knows I’ve had some kind of shock. He tucks me in on all sides, brings me an extra pillow. Who knows what my face looks like. I avoided looking at myself in the bathroom.
My teeth begin to chatter and I reach for what is quite a good-looking sandwich. No shoddy workmanship here. It’s even cut in half diagonally; my favorite.
I chew like a chipmunk, using my tiny prehensile paws to rip off the crust. I’ve got bright, shifty button eyes and puffed-up cheeks.
“You have not said a word to me since I woke you up. You look shell-shocked. Your hands are shaking. Low blood sugar? Bad dreams? Carsick?”
He discards his plate, his sandwich untouched.
“You’re still tired. You have stomach pains.” Josh begins to rub my feet through the blanket. When he speaks again, it’s so low I can barely hear.
“You’ve realized what a mistake you’ve made, being with me.”
“No,” I blurt through my mouthful. I close my eyes. The worried line on his brow is killing me.
“No?”
I feel terrible. I’m ruining what was the beautiful bubble of energy from our drive home.
“Today is Sunday,” I respond after a lot of deliberation.
“Tomorrow is Monday,” he returns. We both sip from our mugs. The Staring Game has commenced, and I am welling up with questions I am dying to ask, but I have no idea how to go about it.
“Truth or Dare,” he says. He always knows the exact right thing to say.
“Dare.”
“Coward. Okay, I dare you to eat the entire jar of hot mustard I have in my fridge.”
“I was hoping for a sexy dare.”
“I’ll get you a spoon.”
“Truth.”
“Why are you freaking out?” He takes a bite of sandwich.
I sigh so deeply my lungs hurt. “I wasn’t ready for this, and I am having some scary feelings and thoughts.”
He studies me, looking for any trace of lie. He can’t find any. It’s abbreviated, but it’s the truth.
“Truth or Dare?”
“Truth,” he says, unblinking. There is some low afternoon light coming through the windows and I can see the cobalt facets of his eyes. I have to close mine a moment until the pain of his beauty eases.
“What are the marks in your planner?” It pops into my head. He didn’t answer last time; I doubt he will now.
He smiles and looks at his plate. “It’s a bit juvenile.”
“I’d expect nothing less of you.”
“I record whether you’re wearing a dress or skirt. D, or S. I make a mark when we argue, and I make a mark when I see you smile at someone else. Also, when I wish I could kiss you. The dots are just my lunch break.”
“Oh. Why?” My stomach trills.
He considers. “When you get so little of someone, you take what you can get.”
“How long have you done it?”
“Since the second day of B and G. The first day was a bit of a blur. I’ve always meant to compile some stats. Sorry. Saying it aloud sounds insane.”
“I wish I’d thought of doing it, if it makes you feel better. I’m equally insane.”
“You cracked the shirt code pretty quick.”
“Why do you even wear them in sequence?”
“I wanted to see if you noticed. And once you did notice, it pissed you off.”
“I’ve always noticed.”
“Yeah, I know.” He smiles, and I smile too. I feel him take my foot in his hands and he begins to rub.
“Those days-of-the-week shirts have been oddly comforting.” I lie back and look at the ceiling. “No matter what’s going on, I know I’m going to walk in and see white. Off-white. Cream. Pale yellow. Mustard. Baby blue. Bedroom blue. Dove. Navy. Black.” I’m ticking them off on my fingers.
“You forgot, poor old mustard has been replaced. Anyway, you won’t be seeing my stupid shirts soon. Mr. Bexley has told the interview panel to have a decision by Friday.”
“But that’s only a day after the interview.” I’d thought maybe there would be a week or two of deliberation. I’m going to either be victorious or unemployed next Friday? “I feel sick.”
“He’s told them if they haven’t worked out who’s the right candidate five minutes into the interview, they’re morons.”
“He better not try to sway the interview panel. We need this to be fair. Ugh, I hadn’t thought about reporting to Mr. Bexley directly, without you as the buffer. I tell you, Josh, the man has x-ray eyes.”
“I want to blind him with acid.”
“You keep a vial of acid in your drawer?”
“You should know. You’ve been snooping in my desk and planner.”
There is censure in his tone but his eyes remain friendly as he slides his thumb into my arch and makes me purr.
“You’d resign, if I got the job?” He says it gently.
“Yes. I’m sorry, but I’d have to. At first it was my pride making me say it. But now it’s clearly the only option. I want you to know, that if they decide you’re a better fit for the role, I’ll resign happily. I’ll be happy for you, Josh, I swear. I know more than anyone how hard you’ve worked for it.”
I arch a little and sigh. “You’d be my boss. It’d be hot as hell, making out with the COO every chance I got, but we’d get caught for sure.”
“But if you get it?”
“I can’t expect you to resign, but I can’t be your boss. I’d give you inappropriate tasks and Jeanette would have a stroke.”
“And if I were your boss, I’d work you so fucking hard. So fucking hard.”
“Mmmm. I’d have dirty dreams all night.”
“You told my parents I was probably about to be chief operating officer. Did you mean it, or were you just adding to your long list of brags about me? It’s okay if you didn’t mean it.”
“If I were the recruiting panel, I’d look at our CVs side by side and you’d probably edge me out. You’re so good at what you do. I’ve always admired how well you work.”
I rub my hand on my chest to try to relieve the ache.
“Not necessarily. It’s not just the CVs. There’s the interviews. You’re charming. There’s not a person alive who doesn’t adore you instantly.”
“Says you. I’ve seen you in action, when you’re making an effort. You’re like a 1950s politician. Smoother than smooth.”
He laughs. “But you love B and G. And everyone there hates me. That’s your advantage over me. Plus you have your top-secret weapon Danny is spending his weekends on.”
“Yeah.” I dart my eyes away.
“It’s got to do with ebooks, I’m not an idiot,” Josh says.
“Why can’t you be an idiot for once? Just once, I want to keep a secret from you.”
“You’re keeping a secret from me right now. We haven’t gotten to the root cause of your freak-out.”
“And we’re not going to.” I pull the blanket over my head altogether.