“Really great work, Gary.” Kline patted him on the back, not giving him an inch. “I think we can officially say, successful meeting adjourned.”
My coworkers scattered faster than roaches when light flooded the room. I followed their lead when I realized Kline would be tied up with Gary for a few more minutes. My stomach couldn’t wait. I damn near sprinted to the break room, all kinds of ready to dig into my snacks. Would I start with my yogurt and then move on to the cheesecake? Or would I just go for it and dig into the cherry cheesecake first?
The world was my oyster, baby.
“Uh oh,” Dean announced, walking out of the break room. “It’s a quarter after three and Georgia isn’t eating?” he teased, making a show of glancing between my face and his watch.
“Yeah, GoodTime Gary gave a go at murder by numbers in our quarterly marketing meeting. If Kline hadn’t cut it short, I think I would’ve staged a riot.”
“Well, I’m sorry to tell ya, cupcake, but inside there isn’t any better. Ivanna Swallow is on her selfie break and she has blowregard for anyone but the spoon she’s currently sucking yogurt off of for Instagram’s sake.”
I groaned.
“Head down, don’t make eye contact, and you should be fine.” He grinned, slapping my ass as he walked past me and down the hall.
Leslie was sitting at one of the break room tables, doing exactly what Dean said she was doing—taking a selfie of a spoon in her mouth. She could probably describe her life in a series of hashtags.
Hashtag, my spoon is so sexy.
Hashtag, my lips bring all the boys to the yard.
Hashtag, my life’s goal is to be a walking bonertime.
“Hey, Leslie,” I tossed over my shoulder as I headed for the most important thing in the room. The fridge.
“O-M-G. You’re, like, never going to believe how adorable people are.”
My phone buzzed in my hand. Thinking it might be Kline begging for a rescue, I let my heart overpower my stomach and paused to look. No message from Kline, but the TapNext icon was aglow with a message from Ruck. He’d been messaging me in a steady stream ever since Monday night, and I had to admit, he never failed to amuse me.
BAD_Ruck (3:11PM): Lizards or Birds?
Lizards or fucking birds? Jesus.
The sadistic bastard had talked me into this little game by starting it with normal choices. Pillows or blankets, candy or pizza—he’d been getting a real kick out of asking me which thing I’d rather have in bed with me. You can only have one, he’d say. With this kind of choice, the decision was a struggle for a different reason.
TAPRoseNEXT (3:11PM): Neither, you lunatic.
My stomach growled, reminding me that I didn’t have time for Ruck and his random get-to-know-you choices right now.
Opening the fridge, I started searching for my snack-time loot. I didn’t respond to Leslie, knowing full well she’d just prattle on. If Gary was the prime example of not understanding social cues, Leslie was the girl who didn’t care about those cues. In her hashtag and selfie-driven mind, everyone wanted to know what she had to say.
For fuck’s sake, where is my food?
“Seriously,” she called, completely oblivious that I’d left a two-minute pause for a reason. “People are, like, so cute. I just ate a turkey sandwich named Gary, and now I’m eating a yogurt named Georgia.”
I stopped mid-rummage and slowly stood, glowering at Leslie over the fridge door.
Her answering grin told me that my eyes weren’t actually shooting out death rays.
“How cute is that?” She held up the half-eaten cup of yogurt. My half-eaten cup of yogurt.
“People are naming the food in the break room. I just can’t even. It’s totes adorbs.” She went back to wrapping her crazy-huge lips around the spoon that was feeding her my fucking yogurt.
It had to be severely unhealthy to want to kill two of your coworkers in the same day.
I took a deep breath, counting to ten in my head.
One-Don’t-Kill-Leslie
Two-Don’t-Kill-Leslie
Three-Don’t-Kill-Leslie…
By the time I reached ten, my hands felt less stabby.
“Hey, Leslie?” I asked through gritted teeth.
“Uh-huh?” she responded, mouth full of yogurt.
“So, that turkey sandwich named Gary was actually just Gary’s turkey sandwich. He wrote his name on it so no one else would eat it.”
She cocked her head to the side like a confused puppy. “But what about the yogurt named Georgia?”
I fought the urge to shout, inhaling and exhaling another cleansing breath. “The yogurt wasn’t named Georgia. I wrote my name on that yogurt because I brought it in. It’s my yogurt and I planned on eating it today.”
She stared back at me, her pea-sized brain visibly processing my words.
The wheels were turning; slowly but surely, they were turning.
“Ohhh, my bad.” She held out the half-eaten yogurt container. “Here, you can have the rest of it. I’m already so full from eating that turkey sandwich and piece of cherry cheesecake.”
Wait a minute…
Piece of cherry cheesecake?