“How do you do that?” I ask.
“Do what?”
“Just stand there and calmly ask me if I’d rather be with someone else?”
“Well, it does seem like something that might make things difficult for us in the long run, and if that’s the case, I’d like to be prepared for it. I don’t see any reason to begrudge you your feelings if that’s what they are. Is that what they are?”
“I don’t know, okay?”
That’s probably not the most romantic thing I’ve said to a woman in the morning.
“Okay,” she says. “Are you really ready to have a relationship with me, or are you just trying to run away from the fact that Leila’s with someone else?”
“When did you turn into Dr. Phil?”
She just laughs.
“I don’t know where my mind is, and I don’t know what my feelings for Leila are, but I do know that from the moment you woke up this morning, everything in the world felt so much better.”
“Well, that’s something, I guess,” she says. “Toast?”
Chapter Thirteen
Screening
Leila
Back in the office again, and Annabeth is getting on my last nerve.
I made the stupid mistake of telling her what happened last night with Dane and how he just took off with barely a word. Now, she’s giving me her, “You know what you gotta do?” routine, and after the 12th repetition of the question, I’m starting to boil.
“It’s not that simple,” I tell her. “Dane and I have never really broken the ice. I mean, we have, but something’s always happened to cause it to freeze back over again.”
“You do love your metaphors,” she says, the smoke coming out of her mouth in short puffs.
“I really don’t want to talk about this anymore,” I tell her. “Any news on the job front?”
“Nope,” she says. “One of these days, I’m going to get the phone call from somewhere. I’m just trying to keep my sanity until it happens, ya know?”
Yeah, I know.
This morning, Kidman asked me if I wanted a raise. Stupid me, I said yes.
“Elderly men shouldn’t be allowed to grab their junk in public,” I say, without sharing the context.
Annabeth laughs. “What?”
“Kidman,” I answer. It’s the only answer I need.
“I’ve got that all figured out,” she says, and tosses me a pen.
“What am I supposed to do with this?” I ask.
“Just don’t say anything to get yourself in trouble,” she says vaguely. “So, what are you gonna do about your roommate problem?”
“We’re back on that? Seriously, I don’t even know what happened. For all I know, the phone call could have been his mother saying she’d broken a hip or something.”
“Nah,” Annabeth says. “It sounds to me like he was off his game as soon as he saw you and that friend of yours macking on the couch. You know what you gotta do?”