Page 78 of Debugging Love

“The pool is haunted. You have to swim.”

“I thought we were watching Temporal Grifter.”

“We might get bored.”

“Okay, I’m back,” Kayla says breathlessly. A swipe of color crosses the screen. Kayla offers me a brief hello and then settles back into her seat.

“Danni’s bringing her swimsuit too,” Morgan says.

“I am?”

“Bye–eee. See you there.”

The call ends.

I contemplate my face in the mirror.

My no-makeup makeup look is flattering, refreshing but not overpowering. If I swim, my no-makeup makeup look will wash away; however, I’ve never swam in an actual haunted pool, and if I’m wearing a swimsuit, Chance might also be wearing a swimsuit.

The blush returns to my cheeks and deepens as my thoughts pause on the memory of Chance shirtless on the beach. Tonight is a team-building exercise. It’s for work, and if work involves me seeing Chance shirtless again, I can’t help that, can I?

Remember what you said on the boat? You said you are not kissing Chance. Ever.

Because kissing leads to a relationship, and a relationship leads to emotional abuse by a code maverick, which leads to a painful break up, which leads to bumping into each other all over town, which leads to awkwardness and regret. Just no.

But catching a glimpse of someone from afar while that person is frolicking in the water and doing cannonballs isn’t a relationship. It’s just part of the professional, team-building experience.

I blink at my reflection.

I hope I don’t regret this.

I turn left onto Benton, a tree-lined street in historic Charleston that’s home to some of the city’s wealthiest residents. Built over a century ago, the homes possess the character of their agewith detailed trim-work, long porches, ample square-footage, especially for the era in which they were built. The front yards are modest but well-kept, anchored by lumbering oaks as old as the houses and immaculate landscaping replete with colorful perennials and flowering bushes. Christopher said Luke’s house would be easy to spot because it’s the only home with a large front yard and a guest house out back.

An impressed, “Whoah,” crosses my lips when I locate it. Luke’s mansion makes the other homes along the street seem small. Broad, heavy oak boughs stretch over the front lawn like giant arms protecting the property. They split in the middle, framing the home’s grand porch, many windows, and rooftop cupola.

Cars line the driveway, their left tires encroaching on the grass, which leaves room to park in front of the detached garage, but I want to be able to make a quick exit if I get bored or annoyed, or both. Probably both.

I opt for a spot along the street and then make my way up the cobbled driveway. The side door is open to a mudroom, its fancy cabinetry visible through the glass storm door.

Since I’ve never met Luke or Cassie, I opt for the front door, feeling awkward as I poke the doorbell with my finger. A minute later, I feel like a full-fledged dweeb, and I almost abort this “team building” mission, but the door finally opens and a tall, handsome man in cargo shorts and a gray polo shirt appears in the gap.

“Hey. You must be one of Christopher’s minions.”

“I think he’s actually the minion,” I say in a friendly jab at Christopher’s short stature.

“Good point.” He motions me in. “Feel free to use the side door to go in and out. We’re all friends here.”

Of course I used the wrong door. I’m a dork. That’s what dorks do. Why is socializing so hard? I enjoy my coworkers at work,but by the end of the day, I’m done people-ing. And yet, here I am being a team player, because…annual reviews. Christopher is nicer than my old boss, but his enthusiasm is exhausting.

“Everyone is in the theater room, down the hall and to your right. There’s plenty of food and snacks to munch on in the kitchen.”

Luke’s house is twice as impressive on the inside: new glossy floors, an open staircase that curves to the top floor, a modern chandelier that probably cost more than my paycheck.

Luke peels off to the right. I head to the left down a long, wood-paneled hallway that’s brightly lit with antique brass sconces. The rumble of conversation greets me before my coworkers do. Actually my coworkers don’t greet me at all. When I enter, Bruce and Juanita are huddled against the wall with Reese. Morgan, Kayla, and Violet are circled up in front of the very large flatscreen TV, and Chance is leaning against the wall by the snack table.

Okay, one person greets me. Chance. We lock eyes. He lifts a finger, the others still wrapped around his plastic cup. His lingering gaze shoots through me like a lawn jart. Stricken, I contemplate turning around and leaving through the side door–because I’m a friend–but Morgan calls my name.

I have to cross in front of Chance to get to her. Right in front of him. Why does his face have to be all angles and shadows in the right places, with highlights where it counts, and that hair? I wonder what it would feel like to thread my fingers through it? Annoying? Because I think I’m annoyed. How am I supposed to act professionally when he looks like that?

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