Page 34 of Off Pitch

“Thank goodness,” he says, pretending to sigh in relief. “I don’t think we’re close enough for you to be thinking about my dick yet, Pierce.”

“Yet?” I ask. “I shouldn’t be thinking about your dick at all, Mr. Fake Boyfriend.”

He leans back against the couch, chuckling. “I think that’s enough about my dick for one day. Let’s order some food. How’s Thai sound?”

“Oh my God,” I say, sinking down into the back of the plush sofa. “That’s the best pad see ew I’ve ever had!”

“It’s my favorite Thai place,” Knox says, leaning back and turning to face me. “They have the best food.”

“I’m coming to you for recommendations from now on then.”

“Have at it, Pierce. I’m not much of a cook, so I know all the best takeout on this side of Manhattan.”

“Good to know.”

“Happy to be of service, Freckles.” We both laugh. “You know, I think I still need to know more about you.”

“You need to know, or you want to know?” I ask. “Seems like youwantto know more about me, Spencer.”

He smiles lightly. “You got me all figured out, don’t you?” Knox laughs before continuing. “Turns out you’re fun to be around. I’d consider you a friend at this point, and I like to learn about my friends, Harlow.”

“Lo.”

“What?”

“My friends usually call me Lo.”

“Okay then,” he says, smiling brighter. “Tell me something I don’t know about you yet, Lo.”

I can’t help but smile when he says Lo. Everyone calls me that, so it’s nothing new, but it sounds so much better coming from Knox. We’re very different people, but I think it’s safe to say we hit it off. We’re going to be great friends when this is all over.

“Let’s see… what don’t you know about me yet?” I say aloud as I wrack my brain. “Oh, I’m an ESFJ-A.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“My personality type,” I reply. “I’m considered a Consul—I’m very attentive and social. I’m also very extroverted and take dating and relationships very seriously.”

“How do you even figure that out?”

“You take a test and answer questions on a sliding scale; your responses will tell you your personality type.”

“Why do you need a test to tell you that?” he asks. “I could have told you that you were extroverted without you having to take a test.”

“And I can tell you’re cynical without you having to take a test.” I smile. “Why don’t we figure out your personality type? It could be kind of fun.”

He scrubs a hand over his face. “Fuck it. Why not?”

Knox grabs his laptop, and I help him find the testing page. Ten minutes later, he stares at the screen, confused.

“What the hell does ISTJ-T mean?” he asks, confounded by the string of letters staring back at him from his computer.

“Ah, you’re a Logistician. That makes sense.”

“Doesn’t make sense to me.”

I turn his laptop and point at different parts of the screen. “It says here that you say what you mean, always follow through with something, and are not attention-seeking. That all seems spot-on for you, Spencer.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Knox says, running a hand through his hair, letting it fall messily on his head in a way that shouldn’t be distracting yet distracts me anyway. He looks good in a way that’s soeffortless.

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