Текст книги "The Job "
Автор книги: Claire Adams
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She lets out an exaggerated series of giggles and says, “Maybe it’s just wishful thinking. I want it so much that I can’t help but see it every time I look at you.”
“Oh,” I say. “Well, that’s a relief.”
I told you, I’m bad at this.
I manage to get almost dry before Linda moves down between my legs. I’m drying my face when she does, so it takes me by surprise when I feel her hand wrapping around me.
By the time the towel’s out of the way, she’s looking up at me with my tip in her mouth.
“Do you like that?” she asks, patting the end of me against her bottom lip.
“Yeah,” I answer.
This is what I’m good at when it comes to sex talk: yes and no questions. I can nail those every time.
“What about this?” she asks and takes me all the way into her mouth.
I wasn’t completely hard when she started, but I can feel myself pulsing as her lips wrap around my base and her tongue moves over the underside of my cock.
“Holy shit,” I mutter and she pulls back, jerking me with her hand and smiling now.
“Good,” she says. “Follow me.”
She walks about a step ahead of me, leading me with her hand around my erection.
We get into her bedroom and she stops and turns around, lifting herself just enough to let me feel how wet she is against my dick.
I bend down and kiss her on the mouth and, wrapping my arms around her lower back, I lift her off the ground and carry her over to the bed.
As I slip one finger into her, curling it to massage her g-spot, she starts rocking her hips, moaning softly.
“That’s it,” she says, “right there. Don’t stop.”
I wasn’t planning on it.
Her legs part a little farther and I kiss her knees to her inner thigh to the sensitive curve at the base of her leg and run my tongue smoothly over her lips, settling on her clit.
She’s breathing so hard already. With my finger still inside of her, I play my tongue over her pink ruby like a paintbrush over canvas.
Her skin is so hot and she grows ever wetter as I continue to pleasure her, her legs moving back and forth against the sides of my head, in a perfect, gentle rhythm.
One hand moves through my hair, her fingers toying with my locks, while with the other, she grasps her breast, her legs starting to quiver and she’s begging me to put myself inside her.
I raise myself up on the bed and I quickly move over her, sliding myself easily between her folds, kissing her mouth and pulling her close.
My mouth is over hers as she comes, shaking beneath me, her fingernails biting into my back and her pleasured screams muffled by the cradle of my mouth.
Her orgasm begins to die down and I move my lips to kiss her forehead and she breathes, “Holy fuck.”
My only response is a smile.
She pulls herself up and kisses me ravenously and puts her ankles against my ass, pushing me deeper and deeper inside of her.
“I want you to come,” she chants, her breath heavy and warm against the side of my face. “I want you to come.”
I work my hands underneath her body and pull her upright, and we both sit cross-legged as she pumps her body over mine, working to bring the warmth out of me.
“Are you close?” she asks.
“Yeah,” I breathe, kissing her neck, and she rides me so fast, so deep.
“Come for me,” she says. “I want you to come hard.”
“Where?” I ask.
“In my mouth,” she moans. “I want to taste you.”
I lift her off of me and set her gently on the bed.
Raising myself to my knees, her mouth is hot, inviting, and my muscles contract in a beautiful release, and I’m reminded of what I’ve been missing for too long.
I brush the hair out of her face as she sucks me down and by the time I’m done, my muscles are gelatin. She laughs as I fall backward onto the bed, saying, “Shit. Holy shit!”
* * *
Spending the night wasn’t exactly what I had planned, but it was nice, just for a little while, to feel connected to someone else the way I’m finally willing to recognize that I hadn’t been with Amy for a long, long time.
She makes coffee and, filling up two capped mugs, she asks if she can get a ride to work.
“Of course,” I tell her.
“We can’t walk in together, though,” she says. “In fact, you should probably get in there first so you can meet up with your crew. I’ll come in a few minutes later.”
“All right,” I shrug.
I wasn’t particularly looking forward to finding out how news of yesterday, even implied, would go over with Jessica. This sort of thing can make a professional relationship go pear-shaped really fucking fast.
The guys, they might tease me or prod me for details which, as a gentleman, however self-professed that title may be, I’m not going to give. I could handle that part of things, but I can’t very well hold onto my new apartment if I lose this job.
It’s a quiet drive. Linda and I really don’t know what to say to each other now that the heat of passion has started to cool.
We get to the building and I park around the block, telling Linda she can go in first if she wants.
“No,” Linda answers, “I’ve gotten there later than you every day since you’ve been working there. I like to think that in a case like this, it’s best not to do anything to interrupt the normal run of things.”
“All right,” I tell her. “I’ll see you in there.”
“Eric,” she says.
“Yeah?”
“I don’t know what you’re looking for, and I probably should have told you this before we hooked up, but I’m in a place where I’m just looking to have fun right now. I hope that doesn’t disappoint you,” she says.
“I’m in about the same place,” I tell her. “We’re good.”
“Great,” she says. “That being the case, what are you doing tonight?”
I laugh and tell her that I have to finish packing. The statement’s partially true, as I do have to get everything ready to move tomorrow, but everything’s already boxed up. It’s just a matter of getting my clothes and toiletries put away. Really, I’m simply looking forward to a nice night alone before the hassle of getting everything moved tomorrow.
“I’ll see you in a minute, then,” she says.
“See you in there,” I say and get out of the truck.
The morning air is bracing, and I walk with calm and confidence around the corner toward the store.
Ian’s standing outside having a cigarette, and as I walk up, he says, “Mornin’ boss. How’s tricks?”
“Doing all right,” I tell him. “You know, just to stay on the boss’s good side, you might want to smoke in the alleyway away from the front of the store.”
“All right,” he says, “but she isn’t in yet.”
“She’s not?” I ask.
“Nope,” he says. “Nobody’s here. Did she give you a key or what? It’s been open every other day we’ve been here.”
“No, she just told me that she’d be here well before we show up.”
“Maybe you should give her a call and see if we’re going to be working today.”
“I don’t have her number,” I tell him. “All I have is the store’s number.”
“She’s pretty closed-off, isn’t she?” Ian asks. “Why doesn’t she want us to work at night? All the noise we’re making has to be what’s driving away all her customers.”
“I don’t know,” I tell him. “I think it’s a trust thing. If we’re here at night, you and Alec would probably end up stretching out all the lingerie.”
Ian smiles and, in as jovial a way as a person can say it, he says, “Fuck you, boss.”
“Hey guys!” Linda says. “What are you doing out here?”
“The store’s locked,” Ian says. “You got a key?”
“No,” Linda says. “Jessica’s always here, so I never needed one.”
“Does anyone else have a key?” Ian asks.
“I really couldn’t tell you,” she answers. “I’m going to give her a quick call.”
She pulls the phone out of her purse and walks away.
“You fucking dog,” Ian says.
“What?”
“You slept with her, didn’t you?”
I can feel my face growing warm, but my only real option here is denial. Of all the people on my crew, Ian has got to be the least discreet.
“Of course not,” I tell him. “I wouldn’t jeopardize the job like that. You should know better.”
“Then why do you have that stupid fucking grin on your face?” he asks.
“Because I think it’s hilarious just how much you think about what I do with my dick,” I tell him.
He doesn’t have a comeback.
“Where’s everyone else?” I ask, looking at my watch. “They’re running late.”
“José’s looking for another entrance to the store,” Ian says. “I don’t know what he thinks he’s going to find, but you gotta respect the guy’s work ethic. Alec called a few minutes before you showed up, asking if you’d gotten here yet. I told him that the store was still locked and you hadn’t shown, so he told me to call him when one of those changes.”
“Have you called him?” I ask.
“No,” he says. “Why the fuck should I cover for that lazy asshole?”
“Call him,” I tell him. “What about the new guy, Drake?”
“He quit, boss,” Ian says, “probably because you kept calling him Drake.”
“Shit. Is that not his name?”
Ian laughs. “His name is Charlie.”
“Well that sucks,” I chuckle.
“Eh, I wouldn’t worry about it. I think the guy was just trying to stay on long enough to pay for his next weed shipment.”
“His what?” I ask.
“Yeah, the dude deals the reefer,” Ian says. “I would have gotten some off of him, but he’s been clean out ever since he started working with us.”
“Not on the job,” I warn.
“I’m not stupid, boss,” Ian says.
“That’s debatable.”
“She’s coming in,” Linda says, approaching us, “but it’s going to be another half hour. I guess she got into traffic on the way back from her mom’s.”
“Do you know what happened?” Ian asks.
“That’s really none of our business,” I tell him.
“Yeah, I think this is something she’s going to want to keep to herself,” Linda says. I’m avoiding Ian’s gaze as the young woman smiles seductively at me.
“You fucking dog,” Ian says, laughing.
“Aren’t you supposed to be calling Alec?” I ask. “And while you’re at it, see if you can find José. I appreciate the dedication, but we’re not breaking into the store.”
“Uh, boss?”
“What?” I ask.
Ian taps my shoulder then points through the store window. José’s inside and he’s unlocking the door.
“You know we have an alarm system, right?” Linda asks.
“Shit.” The alarm, for whatever reason, hasn’t gone off yet, so I knock on the window, shouting, “Get out of there!”
José either can’t hear me or assumes that I mean he should get out of there through the front door, so he unlocks it. And that’s when the alarm starts blaring.
Chapter Five
Blind
Jessica
“How’s Mom doing?” Kristin, my sister, asks me as I sit smack in the middle of traffic on my way back to the city.
“I don’t know,” I tell her. “We talked for a while, but you know Mom. The most emotional she ever gets is the use of the word ‘sweetheart.’ If she’s scared, she’s not showing it. Me, on the other hand…”
“I’m with you,” Kristin says. “Do they know anything yet?”
“They’re doing some more tests,” I answer. “It looks like it’s going to be another day or two before they have the hard facts on exactly what’s going on with it.”
“That’s awful,” she says. “I would have been there last night, but I got caught up over at Jed’s house.”
Jed, my sister’s loser boyfriend, is her excuse for everything, but after spending the night crying while my cancer-patient mother had to calm me down, I really don’t have the patience for it. Fortunately for Kristin, my call waiting beeps at me.
“Hey, can I call you right back? I’m getting another call,” I tell Kristin.
“Sure thing,” she says. “Oh, when are you going to call that guy I told you about?”
“I’m getting another call, Kris, bye.”
I answer the other line.
“Hello?”
“Yes, Miss Davis?” a man’s voice speaks.
“Yes?”
“You’re the Miss Davis who owns the store, uh…”
This is part of the reason for the name. It makes so many men so uncomfortable.
“Lady Bits,” I say, “yes, I’m the owner.”
“This is Jacob from Panic Room Security. It looks like there’s an alarm going off in your store. The police are on their way, but I wanted to call and inform you of the situation. Are you in or near the store?” he asks.
“No,” I tell him. “I’m stuck in traffic. Do you know what’s going on?”
“It looks like someone opened the front door without shutting off the alarm and there’s been no attempt to enter your security code,” he says.
“Okay,” I breathe, “okay. What should I do?”
“Right now, I’d just encourage you to stay calm. The police are already on their way, and they’re going to get to the bottom of this, all right? Please call and let us know if you have any further questions.”
“All right,” I say. “Thank—”
The man’s already hung up the phone.
I’m stuck in traffic.
I call Linda.
“Jessica, there’s something I have to tell you, but I promise it’s not as bad as it sounds.”
“What?” I ask. “Did you break into the store?”
“What? No,” she says. “Well, I didn’t.”
“Who did?” I ask.
“One of the workers,” Linda says, “but he wasn’t trying to steal anything, he was just trying to let us in so we could open up and they could get to work.”
“And he thought that breaking in was going to be the smart way of going about that?” I ask. “I told you that I’m on my way. The store doesn’t open unless I’m in it. Who was it?”
“Jessica, just take a breath. Nothing’s broken, everything’s all right. The guy just—”
“You’re right,” I tell her. “It doesn’t really matter who it was. I’m going to have to have a little talk with Eric when I get there.”
“He had nothing to do with it,” Linda says. “In fact, when he found out what was going on, he tried to stop—”
“Are the police there yet?” I interrupt.
“No,” she says.
I pull onto the shoulder and put the gas pedal to the floor. Yeah, I’m breaking the law, but some construction guy breaking into my store, the place I’ve sunk so much time and money into, is about the last thing I need right now, and I want to make sure to tell whoever it is that he’s fired before the cops have a chance to arrest him.
If Eric won’t get rid of the culprit voluntarily, I’ll just fire all of them and go with the slob from IRP.
I don’t fucking like people in my store when I’m not there. It’s bad enough when I leave my own staff in there when I’m going out to lunch.
I take the first exit which means I have to go through a bit more of the city, but at least the traffic’s not as bad here. Still, it takes me almost half an hour to get from the exit to the lot around the block from the store.
When I come around that corner, the police are already gone. Meanwhile, Eric and a couple of guys from his crew, as well as Linda, Ivanna, and Cheryl from my staff are just standing around talking in front of the store.
It’s not clear who the culprit was, but I know who’s responsible for him, so I walk through everyone else and stick my finger in Eric’s face.
“I don’t know what stupid shit you and your guys are trying to pull, but if you don’t fire whoever broke in, I’m going to fire all of you and tell everyone I know in the business community what happened. Hell, I’ll put out an ad, hold a press conference. Do you understand me? Now, who was it?” I yell.
“Jessica—”
“Miss Davis,” I correct.
“Miss Davis,” Eric says. “It was really just a stupid mistake. Nobody was trying to hurt anything. My guy just got a little ahead of himself and thought he was doing everyone a favor by letting us in so your people could open up and my guys could get to work.”
“He broke into my store,” I fume. “I don’t think that classifies as just a ‘stupid mistake.’ I’d say that classifies as a misdemeanor, maybe a felony.”
“Jessica,” Linda says, trying to butt into my bitch-out session, “it really was totally innocent.”
“You’ve got three seconds to fire whoever it was or you’re out on your ass,” I hiss at Eric.
“Just let me explain,” he says.
“Three,” I start.
“I’m not firing my man for just trying to get to work!”
“Two.”
“It was me,” the stupid-looking one with the goatee says. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean any harm, but I did it. When they found out what was going on, they tried to stop me. They told me to get out of there. You can’t fire them, and I don’t think you should put Eric through firing me. We’ve been working together for years. That said, I know I screwed up and I don’t want to cause any more trouble here than I already have, so boss,” he says, “I quit.”
“Alec, what are you doing?” Eric asks.
“I don’t know how you didn’t get arrested, but if you’re not out of my sight in the next ten seconds, I’m pressing charges.”
This time I don’t have to count. The man Eric called Alec turns and walks away.
“What the hell was that?!” Eric shouts. “I get that a mistake was made here, and I know that it was my team that was at fault, but that man has a family. You owe him an apology!”
“I don’t know where you get off, but that man broke into my store—”
“No, he didn’t!” Eric shouts. “He just took the fall so you wouldn’t end up firing the rest of us from what, I’ll be honest, has been one of the most aggravating jobs I’ve ever had the misfortune to work on!”
“Maybe it wouldn’t be so aggravating if you could get your people to stop screwing around and finish the job!” I retort.
“Maybe if you didn’t change the definition of what the job is twice a day, then that might be possible. In the future, figure out what the fuck you want before you hire a crew to work on it, because you’ve been forcing us to spin our wheels for weeks!” he comes back.
“You know what? Everyone go home. We’re closed today. In fact, we’re closed until further notice. And you,” I put my finger back in Eric’s face, “you’d better figure out some way to convince me that you and team are worth a shit or else I’m going to make sure neither you nor any one of your people works in this town again. You got me? You’ll be shoveling asphalt in Kennebunkport—”
“Really?” Eric interrupts, “That’s your go-to ‘terrible place?’ I’ll let you know it’s gorgeous up there in the fall!”
The sharp left turn has everyone else laughing, but it only serves to piss me off more.
“You can take your jokes and shove them up your ass for all I care! Get the fuck out of my way.”
I push through everyone and try to outpace Linda as she follows me down the block, but she’s persistent.
“Jessica,” she says, “I don’t want to get in the middle of all this—”
“That’s smart,” I snap.
“Listen,” she says. “I know you’re upset, but this isn’t you. You never talk to people like that. I’ve seen you pissed off before, but you always manage to keep your head. What’s going on?”
“I told you already,” I seethe. “Now leave me alone.”
“You told me that someone in your family’s sick. It’s none of my business if you don’t want to talk about it, but I’m worried about you.”
“I’m fine,” I lie. “Leave me alone.”
“All right,” Linda says. “But before you fire a crew that’s really been working hard for you, just take some time to think it over, will you?”
I know she’s trying to reach out, but this is not the time.
She stops following me as I round the corner.
* * *
When I get back to my apartment, I’m still furious. I get that the employee didn’t break in to do damage or steal anything, but breaking in is breaking in, and I hardly see how that’s acceptable.
Not knowing what else to do with myself, I just sit down on my couch, break down and cry.
This is a shit day after a shit week, and there are no signs that things are going to get better any time soon.
So, I cry for a while, letting out my anger, frustration, fear and sadness, and when I’m done, I just sit for a while, contemplating the world around me and what the hell I’m supposed to do with it.
Then my phone rings.
I take a moment to collect myself and I answer.
“Yeah?”
“You sound like shit,” Kristin, my sister says. “Are you all right?”
“Bad day,” I tell her. “What’s up?”
“You didn’t call back,” she says. “Are you at work?”
“No,” I answer. “I closed up for the day. I’d really rather not get into it.”
“So you’re home?” she asks.
“Yeah.”
“I’m coming over.”
She hangs up before I can tell her that I’m not really in the mood for company, and I’m certainly not in the mood to hear her go on about how fucking great Jed is supposed to be. Never mind the fact that I know better, I’m sick of her rubbing in the fact that she has someone to go home to, something I haven’t even considered a possibility in years.
Still, I don’t call her back to tell her not to come by.
Whatever the reason, part of me wants someone close by to tell me all kinds of wondrous lies like, “It’s going to be okay,” and “Things will get better.”
The doorbell rings about half an hour after the phone call and, as soon as I open the door and see my sister standing there, I start crying again.
She comes in and gives me a hug, telling me, “It sounds like we need to go out and get drunk.”
“No,” I tell her. “I haven’t been drunk in years, and I’m not about to fall into that now.”
“Well, I know you’ve always got a bottle on hand,” she says, knowing me well enough to know that my gripe isn’t with throwing back a few drinks, but with going out in public when I’m feeling like this. “Why don’t we crack it open and—”
I’m already on my way to the kitchen.
So, we drink and we talk. We talk about our mom mostly, but as the alcohol starts to set in, the conversation shifts.
“You know, Jed and I were talking,” she says.
“Oh god, here it comes.”
“What?” she asks.
“Nothing,” I tell her. “What were you and Jed talking about?”
“Well, we were talking about you, actually, and how much I want to see you find someone that can be there for you when you come home and when things start going to shit. Did you ever send a message to that guy I was telling you about?”
“I hate being set up,” I tell her. “It’s never worked out for me. The last time someone talked me into meeting someone, I ended up watching a movie, sitting on his futon and neither of us said one damn word to each other after the first five minutes I was there.”
“Yeah, that sounds pretty bleak,” Kristin says.
Now she’s going to try to convince me that all of my problems can be solved by finding Mr. Right-Dick.
“I think the only reason I’ve been able to hold it together is because I have Jed to lean on right now.”
“You should really think before you speak,” I tell her and take another shot.
I’m still just scratching the surface of buzzed, but that’s the way I like to keep it. Getting drunk is annoying.
Maybe I’m in the minority on that one.
“Send him a message,” she says. “If nothing else, he’ll be someone you can talk to. Even if you don’t ever decide to meet him, at least you two can talk. Sometimes getting to know someone, hearing a new perspective on things is just what you need to get through a hard time.”
“Nope,” I tell her. “I’m way too busy to start something, and I’m really not looking for a casual relationship with someone, either. What I want is…”
I don’t know what I want.
“Mind if I use your bathroom?” she asks.
“Go ahead,” I tell her. “You know where it is.”
“Thanks,” she says and gets up.
It should be some kind of signal that she’s asking me if she can use my bathroom, as she hasn’t done that since I moved into my first apartment, but it doesn’t hit me until it’s too late and she’s already running to the back with my phone in her hand.
I chase her, but she locks the bathroom door before I’m even close.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“I’m helping you make that first step,” she answers through the door.
“Whatever you’re doing, stop,” I tell her. “I don’t want to talk to some stranger about the inner workings of my psyche and all the ways in which my life isn’t what I want it to be.”
There’s silence for a minute. The door opens.
“Is that how you really feel?” she asks. “That your life isn’t what you want it to be?”
“Right now, kind of, yeah,” I tell her. “I don’t always feel like this, but you’ve got to admit things are pretty messed up right now and not just for me. Anyway, thanks for not sending him a message.”
“Oh, I sent the message,” she says. “Why do you think I opened the door?”
I glare at her.
“I thought you opened the door because you gave a shit about what I was saying. It didn’t occur to me that you only came out because you’d successfully gotten away with doing exactly what I told you not to do.”
The phone beeps and Kristin jumps excitedly.
“Ooh, he sent you a message!”
“Give me the phone,” I tell her.
“Hold on, I want to see what he said.”
“No, give me the phone,” I tell her and try to grab it from her hand.
She pulls away, but I crowd her so she can’t pull it toward her body.
“Give me the phone,” I tell her again.
“Hold on!” she says. “I just want to see this one message, and then I’ll give it back.”
“That’s it,” I tell her and proceed to do the one thing that I know will work: I start tickling her sides.
“Stop it!” she wheezes through her laughter, her body doubling up. “Stop it!”
“Give me the phone,” I tell her.
“Never!” she shouts.
“Give me the fucking phone!”
Finally, I manage to pry the cellphone from her fingers and I run back to the living room.
Stupid diversion or not, at least I’ve finally got a smile back on my face.
“Fine,” she says. “But I bet you’re going to tell me what he said anyway.”
“I’m not checking it,” I tell her. “I don’t even know this person.”
“Well, he’s already got your phone number, so that’s about the closest you’ve been to a real date in a few years. You’re welcome,” Kristin responds.
“How did you get to be so smug?” I ask her.
“It runs in the family,” she says.
“You know, you’re never going to believe what happened today,” I start and proceed to tell her about the worker who broke into my store and the resulting shouting match I got into with the contractor.
“Huh,” she says. “That guy sounds like a jerk. You should have kicked him in the balls.”
That’s her answer to everything.
“You know, there are other ways to make a point,” I inform her.
“Yeah, but there’s no better way of making a point than that,” she rejoins. “Read the text.”
“No,” I tell her. “I’m serious. I don’t have time to start—”
“Oh, will you just shut up and read the stupid text? We both know it’s going to happen sooner or later, and I don’t have all day to wait around for it.”
“Actually,” I smile, “judging by the way you’re swaying back and forth just standing there, I’d say you’re going to be here for quite a while.”
“Nah,” she says, “I’ll just have Jed pick me up when I get sick of you.”
“You want another shot?” I ask.
I’m not going to have one, but seeing as I don’t want to see, talk to or otherwise encounter Jed, I’m going to get my sister drunk enough that she’ll forget about calling her stupid boyfriend and just stay here until she’s safe to drive.
“Sure,” she says.
In our family, we all have our particular addictions, and we all have more than one. Kristin’s addictions are torrid love affairs, every one of which is with the latest “one and only;” her other addiction is alcohol. When played right, that second addiction wins out almost every time.
So, I pour my sister a shot and I pour one into the shot glass that I was using. I hold up the latter and clink glasses with her.
She immediately takes her shot, but I just set mine back down on the counter.
When she’s done with hers, she wipes her mouth and says, “You know that it’s bad luck to toast and not drink.”
“I think I’m full up on bad luck,” I tell her. “I’m not too worried about it. This one’s for you.”
I pick up the shot glass and hand it to her.
“All right,” she says, “but I know what you’re doing…”
She takes the shot.
“…and it’s not going to work.”
Judging by the increase in her topside lateral motion, I’d say it’s already working pretty well.
I manage to talk her into one more shot, after which, she tries to talk me into letting her have another, but I’m very familiar with her stages of drunkenness and she’s about to cross over into whiny sick girl and I just don’t have the patience for that right now.
A few minutes later, we’re on the couch with a movie on the television and she’s snoring loudly beside me. I hadn’t figured on her passing out so quickly, but those are the breaks.
As I sit here, I find myself feeling a little curious.
I fight the urge at first, but it’s not long before my inebriated state, however slight in comparison to my passed out sibling’s, manages to convince me that it’s all right if I just take a look at what he wrote.
Kristin’s message is, well, exactly what I would expect from her.
It reads, “Hey there! My beautiful, talented sister gave me your number and said we should talk. What’s up?”
All things considered, it could have been worse.
His reply says, “Not much. Having a bit of a day, but I’m glad to hear from you. Sorry I haven’t gotten in touch before now. Work’s crazy.”
Before I even think about what I’m doing, I’m typing a reply.
“I know what that’s like. What do you do?”
I send the message and force myself to watch the movie in order to distract myself from overthinking this whole thing.
My phone beeps and I check the message.
“I’d rather not talk about work right now. I hope that’s not rude of me.”
On most days, I’d find his message shallow: After all, who doesn’t like talking about work? (Okay, work is one of my addictions.)
Luckily for him, he caught me on the right day.
“I totally get that. Things are pretty messed up where I work, too. Do you live in the city?”
There is an odd thrill to being able to have a kind-of conversation with someone I’ve never met and probably never will meet. Obviously the conversation is of little substance, but it’s a nice outlet. Maybe this is why people used to go into chat rooms.
My phone goes off again.
The message says, “Yeah. I’ve lived here all my life. I don’t know if that’s because I actually like it here or just that I don’t have any real basis for comparison. You?”
I respond, “Not the city itself, but I’ve always lived in the state. What are you doing right now?”
Then, realizing that my previous message could easily be misconstrued as some kind of invitation that I’m certainly not offering, I send another one.
I write, “I’m taking care of my drunk-ass sister and watching Goonies.”
If ever there were a text that would convince a guy not to want to invite me anywhere or himself over here, it’d be that one.
My phone beeps a few seconds later.
“Sounds like a blast. I’m getting ready to move.”
“Where are you moving?” I write back.
A minute or so passes and he responds, “Just a few blocks from where I’m at now. New apartment.”
