Oh God. It’s happening. No, no, no, Bailey thought, but she couldn’t stop herself from glancing at the pens lined up in a neat, little row. Red, blue, black, green. Red goes first. Always. It always goes first. I use red the most. That makes sense. If I use it the most, then it has to come first. That’s not OCD. That’s common sense. I am in control of my OCD. If I want to move the red pen, I can. I have the power to move it . . .
Reece watched the contortions of her face, realization dawning that this chick may, in fact, like him. She was certainly growing more flustered by the moment. His chest swelled, and he found his footing.
Well, well, well, he thought smugly. The tables sure have turned quickly. Look who’s making who nervous now?
He cleared his throat and watched Bailey snap her head up, staring at him with the most helpless expression. He couldn’t know that it had nothing to do with him anymore. Once her anxiety set in, her sole focus was on her pens.
“Sooo,” Reece said, basking in his newfound confidence. He whipped out his hand and leaned to his left, certain of catching himself against her cubicle wall. That was his goal: to go for an effortless, casual lean. Maybe throw in a smoldering smile. But he missed the wall altogether and dropped like a sandbag to the floor.
“Oh my God!” Bailey cried, stifling a laugh. “Are you okay?” She jumped up from her chair and offered her hand.
Reece, mortified, nodded and scrambled to his feet. He chuckled and shrugged, adjusting his collar for something to do to avoid her eyes.
“Yeah, so that just happened,” he said.
Bailey burst out laughing. It was the sweetest laugh he’d ever heard. Barring his complete humiliation, he was happy his mishap evoked that laugh. It was a singsong laugh. A bright melody. He realized she was the perfect person to go to when he had a bad day. She could laugh away his irritation.
“I’m sorry,” she wheezed. “I’m not laughing at you . . .”
“Yes, you are,” he countered, grinning.
“I just . . . how on earth did that happen?”
“Obviously my peripheral vision blows,” he explained.
“Obviously,” she agreed, giggling.
He sauntered into her workspace and leaned against her desk. Her laughter ceased abruptly when he scattered her pens with his hand.
He didn’t do it on purpose, Bailey.
I know, she thought.
Don’t. Freak. Out.
I’m freaking out slightly.
Don’t reach for the pens. His ass is right there.
But I think I can get to them without accidentally touching his ass, she argued.
And what if you can’t? Huh? Then you’ve touched his ass. You realize how weird that’d be?
Bailey took a deep breath.
“Are you okay?” Reece asked.
“Sure!” Oh my God. I just screamed.
Reece raised his eyebrows and nodded. “I don’t think I introduced myself.”
I don’t care, I don’t care, I don’t care. My pens are out of order . . .
“I’m Reece.”
“Like the candy?”
He rolled his eyes. “Never heard that one before.”
I can be careful. If I just reach out . . . Oh, fuck! You had to move?!
“Sorry for the sarcasm,” he said when she didn’t reply.
“No, no,” she said. “I don’t know why I asked you that. It was stupid. I’m sure you hear it all the time.”
“It would have been nice if my parents just named me ‘John,’ but what are you gonna do, right?”
“You can always change your name,” Bailey suggested. I’m going for it. I have to. I’ll die if I can’t fix them!
She swiped her hand as quickly as possible over the pens, grazing his ass in the process.
“That’s a peculiar thing to . . . Hey, now!” Reece exclaimed, looking over his shoulder. “Shouldn’t you buy me a drink first?”
“I’m so sorry!” Bailey replied, gripping the pens in her sweat-slicked hand.
“I mean, not that I’m not flattered or anything,” Reece went on.
She cracked a smile.
“I could have just handed them to you.”
She didn’t think about that.
“You needed all of your pens this instant?” he asked.
She grimaced. Her mind split in two—two voices demanding polar opposites. Her OCD voice wanted those pens lined up. Her reasonable voice begged her to let it go. The OCD voice was stronger, louder, and it compelled her to place the pens on her desk, each end lined up perfectly with the edge of the table. Red, blue, black, green, purple. Evenly spaced. Just so. She had a sudden urge to listen to Radiohead’s “Everything In Its Right Place.”
She kept her eyes glued to her desk, particularly the red pen that screamed at her to get back to work. She was on a schedule. She wrote out a list, and she had to complete her tasks before she could leave for the day. And she had to—had to—leave the office at exactly 6:00 P.M.
You’re a jerk, Bailey!
She looked up at Reece. “Oh my God. I’m so sorry.”
“My ass is all right,” he replied.
“No no. What I said about your name. It was so . . . flippant.”
“It’s okay. I hear it all the time. I’m used to it,” Reece replied.
“No,” Bailey said. “I don’t care what other people say. I care what I said to you. And I’m sorry. You should never change your name. People . . . people should never change, never change who they . . . I meant they should never change their names,” she finished. It was the clumsiest thing she’d ever said.
Reece studied her for a moment. “Okay. I see where you’re going with that.”
She nodded solemnly.
“But what if their name was Shithead?”
Bailey laughed all over again. “Point taken.”
“The phablet,” Reece said suddenly, remembering his reason for popping by her cubicle.
She tried to compose herself. “Yes?”
“You corrected the spelling of ‘fablous.’”
“Because it was misspelled,” she explained.
The side of his mouth quirked up. “It was supposed to be.”
She blinked.
“’The phablet. It’s fablous,’” he quoted.
She thought for a moment, and then she grinned. How did she miss that? “That’s cute.”
He nodded. “Thanks.”
“Doesn’t really translate on the page, though.”
“What do you mean?”
“It just looks like you misspelled ‘fabulous,’” she said. “Look.” She pulled a clean sheet of notebook paper from the second drawer of her desk and wrote out Reece’s slogan. “See?”
He nodded.