Page 44 of Debugging Love

“Can I tell you something?” he asks.

“Sure.” I look at him cluelessly.

“Your zipper is down.”

I get a full-body brain freeze, panic making me go hot and cold all at once. I look down and gape at my open fly. Only to realize my skirt has no fly.

Chance’s smirk could light a forest fire. It melts me, which makes me angrier than a South Carolina sunburn. Rather than puddle on the concrete, I escape to my apartment and ooze into a pile on my floor.

This could be bad. This could beverybad.

Chapter 10

Chance

I don’t know what came over me, teasing Danni. I should have said, “Thanks for getting me up to speed on the apps and I look forward to coding with you,” but that seemed too formal. It would have sounded dumb. My face wouldn’t have matched my words and she’d know she got under my skin today.

I toss my backpack on the couch and head for the refrigerator for a Coke, but after I pop it open, I stand in the kitchen peering into the open can. When she nudged me with her elbow today, I felt a zing. It nearly blasted me across the room. Ever since then, I’ve felt this weird static all over my arms. Maybe I’ve had too much caffeine. I probably shouldn’t drink this.

I step over to the sink and pour it down the drain. Some of it settles in the pipes, popping and fizzing like my body did when Danni elbowed me. I flip on the faucet to send it along, and then I walk the length of my living room five times, a closed circuit. On the sixth rotation, I pause to grab my gum from my bag, only to find an empty pack stuffed with a few used wrappers. I’ll haveto pick up more from the store, but I need to work off this static first.

I head to my bedroom, dig through the top drawer for a tank top and tight shorts. Can’t have loose shorts on the leg press, then everyone can see my business, not that many people use the gym. The small workout room is a Wild Oaks Apartments perk, accessible by special code only, usually quiet, which is what I need–a private place to destroy my muscles. I gotta break this Danni loop in my head. She’s circling in there, worse than the nested loops I saw today, four of them. If I get a chance, I’m going to rewrite that code. But, yeah. She’s in my head. Danni’s lips. Danni’s frown, Danni’s hair that smelled like soap. A nice smelling soap.

I jog to the workout room, getting my blood pumping to push away my thoughts. My heart rate is already up as I punch the code into the security panel by the door. The room is empty, all the equipment waiting for me. I claim a bench and some free weights and start going to work. Ten reps. Fifteen. I swap out for heavier dumbbells and keep going.

My date on Sunday with the dog groomer didn’t affect me like this. Trish didn’t give me energy. She sucked it. Not her fault. We just didn’t click, so the conversation felt like two hours trying to keep a lead balloon afloat. Nothing like talking code with Danni today. We sparred back and forth about a few things, disagreeing more than we agreed. And it was...

I need heavier weights. I trade my fifty-pounders for sixties and make reps until my muscles feel like they’re ripping apart. And then I do five more until I can’t press the weights over my head anymore. I let them drop to the rubber floor and flap my arms back and forth to shake them out, then I head to the machine that’s like twenty machines in one. I spend the next forty minutes clearheaded, focusing on my mind-muscle connection and nothing else.

I’m about dead when the door opens and two young women walk in wearing tight workout gear that leaves nothing to the imagination. I’m too worn-out to look twice. Even if I wasn’t worn-out, I wouldn’t look. Call me crazy. It’s not about self-control. I have plenty of that. I’m saving my first kiss for someone special, someone I can see myself with for a long time. A couple of pairs of bum-hugging leggings won’t change my mind.

After wiping down the equipment, I head out, averting my gaze even though I can feel their eyes following my every move. Too tired to jog back, I take my time along the tree-lined sidewalk, enjoying the breeze as it parts my hair and cools my scalp. Not enjoying the briny, marshy smell as much, but I’m learning to tolerate it.

When I get home, I jump in the shower, put on some clean clothes, and then I find myself in front of my computer, my JustInCase spreadsheet open like it pulled me over and wants something. I scroll down the page, twenty-five lines filled with dates that lacked the zing and “she’s the one.” None of them warranted a first kiss.

When I reach Danni’s row, my finger stops scrolling. I reconsider her ratings, add a point for personality which brings her to 7. I leave her sense of humor at 1, but I up her appearance score by a point. This raises her total score, but not to 60. She’s still not on my callback list. So, I add another metric, call itMaybe, and drop Danni’s name into the column.

No one else’s name. Just Danni’s. And then I hit save and open Call of Duty, leaving JustInCase.xlsx to simmer in the background.

Danni

I might have sneaked to my window and peeked through my blinds when I heard Chance’s apartment door slam. Just a curious neighbor, that’s all. Where is he going at this hour? Hedoesn’t gallivant around town on a weeknight. He saves that for the weekends. I know because he slams his door so hard it vibrates my walls.

I watch him jog down the stairs, light on his feet, a little peppier than usual like he has some energy to burn off. The tank top and biker’s shorts mean he intends to exert himself, the shirt and shorts hugging his frame without showing too much. I watch him jog across the parking lot, his back sturdy and straight, his stride relaxed and confident. He jogs down the sidewalk and then disappears behind the low-lying tree branches.

Well, that was entertaining.

I spin around and make myself a decaf coffee and a Pop-Tart, warming it in the toaster before buttering it. While the fruity strawberry center of the Pop-Tart cools, I detour to my bedroom and shimmy out of my skirt, ever so thankful that I have nowhere to go and nothing to do but throw on a pair of jammies, pick up a book, and get lost between the pages. Which is exactly what I do until seven o’clock when I heat up a pizza and park myself at my dining room table in front of my laptop.

My sister, Willa, pings me at quarter after seven and we enjoy dinner together, separated by miles but still close in our hearts. We do this every Monday and Wednesday.

“You’re getting a promotion?” Willa says before finishing off her sushi roll.

“Maybe. My boss put me on a high-profile project. He’s going to go to bat for me during annual reviews.”

“That’s awesome,” Willa says excitedly, but her demeanor quickly falls. “Isn’t it?”

“Sure. Awesome,” I answer dully.

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