Page 21 of The Boyfriend List
Why should I feel so discontent and unmoored, like by the end of each day I’ve lived another twenty-four hours drifting around purposelessly? Keeping busy without any real meaning?
I frown. Maybe it’s because Raina is married and having a baby. So I feel like I’m falling behind in life because I don’t have a relationship. Even my brother is dating someone.
But it’s fine. I take deep, calming breaths. Totally fine. I’ll go on a date with this Lindon guy on Monday, then I’ll see if he suits my criteria for a boyfriend. After being so meticulously hand-selected, he ought to.
Everything is totally under control.
Chapter Eight: London
It’s Monday, so of course I woke up late after my alarm didn’t go off and the French press at work is broken. Instead of making my usual black coffee, I use the Keurig to make a cup of pu’erh tea from the stash in my desk drawer. I take a tentative sip. Fortunately, the water doesn’t taste too strongly of coffee, since most people at work are coffee snobs and usually bring their own drinks.
As I pick up the mug to return to my desk, Reggie corners me in the break room.
I say ‘corners’ because despite being in his sixties, Reggie is physically intimidating. He’s tall and ruddy, built like a pro wrestler, and covered in mysterious tattoos. We also have no idea what his job was before he started here as an IT guy five years ago.
“Hey, London!” He claps me heartily on the back, fortunately after I put my mug down. “It’s good to see you this fine Monday morning.”
“And you, too, Reggie.” I take another sip of tea. “How was your weekend?”
He looks like he spends weekends working as a bruiser for local organized crime groups, which is why his answers are always so hilarious. “About as relaxing as it could be. I went to church with the missus, then had to get my blood drawn for some silly test my doctor’s running on me.”
He makes a face at the mention of getting his blood drawn. Then he leans forward and adds, “Just between you and me, I hate needles.”
I glance at his tattoos. “You don’t say.”
“The tats don’t count. I got them all when I was drunk.”
My eyebrows rise. “You got all your tattoos in one session when you were drunk?”
“No, I just always had to be three sheets to the wind to get them. Oh, hey, Giorgio!” Reggie waves at our coworker, who enters the break room.
“We’re out of coffee,” I say in lieu of a greeting.
“Dreadful news. Morning, Reggie.” Giorgio frowns. “What are you drinking?”
“Tea.” I extend it to him and he sniffs it.
“Hmm. That smells like the terrible stuff Kostas always drinks.” He pulls out a Keurig pod instead. “Did you hear about that position for senior associate opening up?”
“Yeah, Gloria mentioned it to me,” I say.
“Are you going to apply for it?” Giorgio asks, arching an eyebrow.
I shrug. “I’m happy where I am.”
I wouldn’t mind a promotion, but that would mean more work in addition to a higher salary. And frankly, I have enough on my plate without the added responsibilities of being a senior associate.
The conversation changes to what Giorgio did over the weekend. “So there I was at the mini golf course, on a date with the hottest woman you’ve ever seen—“
I nudge Reggie. “Doubtful.”
He snickers. “The hottest woman a blind man’s ever seen.”
“And then, she took a swing and her club hit me in the stomach.”
“Did she apologize?” I ask. Giorgio always has the worst date stories. I have no idea how he gets so many women to go out with him.
“I think she was going to, but I didn’t hear it.”
