Page 21 of Someone Just Like You

Conveniently not answering my question, he flopped back onto the couch. “It’s settled then.” He dropped a paper on my lap. “Was this supposed to be with the others?”

I glanced at the document and groaned before aggressively tossing it across the room where it landed, instead, at our feet. I was never good at throwing paper airplanes or frisbees either.

“Gerrit Cole you’re not. He’s a—”

I finished the sentence. “Pitcher.”

Jude laughed. “Did you memorize the Yankees roster to impress your ex or something?”

“Or something,” I said with a snort. “I’ve been following the sport since I was a kid.”

“Ah, yes. You came to a lot of the games, but I assumed it was to watch the boys.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Seth had quite the curveball.”

“It was not for the boys!” Under my dad’s tutelage, I’d watched every season of professional baseball since grade school. I’d also attended all the games in high school until Jude’s accident. Seeing our classmate Matty Torres in what used to be Jude’s position at first base would have been a painful reminder that when I failed to think through my decisions, people got hurt. I shifted my position on the couch.No regrets.“Anyway…”

Jude picked the paper off the floor and read out loud. “Tips for reaching out to potential applicants. Lead with a personal greeting. Make them feel special by complimenting their résumé and solid experience. Mention exclusive opportunities and openings available only through us. Promise to connect them to law firms with sign-on bonuses, generous lifestyle concessions, and fast partnership tracks. Keep it low pressure by asking them to refer others who might be qualified and seeking employment.” He looked up. “What about this makes you want to toss it across the room? Emphasis on thewant to,” he added with a chuckle.

I slouched against the couch cushion. “Cold-calling people makes me feel gross.”

Jude narrowed his eyes. “Isn’t that your job?”

I gave a noncommittal shrug. “I feel guilty sometimes.”

“Again…it’s your job.”

“Stop it with the eye rolls,” I said, pointing at his face. “My company works for the law firms and corporations, not the individuals. I hate the idea of approaching someone who’s happy in their present position to dangle another one…a potentially worse one…in their face only for them to take it and wind up miserable when they didn’t want to quit in the first place!” I shuddered at the scenario.

I was aware of my privilege and understood that not everyone in need of a job could afford to be picky, but I couldn’t turn off the desire to connect the right person to therightjob—not justanyjob. “Obviously, cold-calling candidates is one of my responsibilities, but my manager’s practices don’t always sit well with me.” I told him about Michael’s “pep talk” and the Triple-A method.

Jude sighed. “You’re not forcing people to interview, Mole. They have free will and can say no. Michael sounds like an asshole, but who says you have to listen to him? What he doesn’t know can’t get you in trouble. I’m well aware you have a latent rebellious streak. Just pretend you’re dealing with me.” He smiled sheepishly.

“Hmmm.” As always, Jude made things sound so simple, but I packed it away to consider later. “Will you call George or shall I?”Meeting adjourned.

“I shall,” he parroted.

This timemyeyes rolled.

“Speaking of George, most people say their favorite Beatle is George, John, Paul, or Ringo, but I like Pete best.”

I froze in confusion. “You’ve lost…”Oh. I burst out laughing. “Oh, my God. You are such a massive dork! How were you so popular in high school?”

Jude shrugged, biting back a grin. “Just because you can’t appreciate a good Beatles pun doesn’t make me a dork.”

“If you say so.” If we continued this dialogue, my rolling eyes might get stuck in the back of my head like my parents warned me back in the day.

We stood and said, “Where’s Yogi?” at the same time.

We quickly determined he wasn’t in the living room or kitchen, hiding under a chair, or behind a bookcase.

Our next stop was my pint-sized bedroom.

Jude studied the room—the bed, the blue stained-wood nightstand, space-saving wall-mounted sconces, built-in bookshelves,the bed. Why did my face feel so hot all of a sudden?Get a grip, Molly. It’s a bed, for heaven’s sake.

“It’s a good thing my parents haven’t seen this room or they’d compare it to mine. It would be 2010 all over again,” Jude said.

I lifted my bright floral-printed comforter and checked under the queen-size bed, happy for an excuse to hide the weird flush on my cheeks, confirmed by a glance in the mirror hanging on my door. “Yogi?” I rose to a standing position. “Not here.”

Which left the bathroom. “Mystery solved,” I said, spotting the dog’s wagging curl tail at the foot of the cabinet. Completely oblivious to our search mission, he didn’t even look up when we entered the room.

---