Page 85 of Friendshipped
“That’s actually pretty cool.”
Lexi pops her head into my cubicle, letting me know she’s back from lunch.
She wiggles her fingers in a wave and then mouths, “Who are you talking to?”
“Uh,” I mutter. Then I hold up my finger and say into the phone, “Thanks for calling, Mister Smith. I’ll get back to you on that.”
“Mister Smith?” Lexi says with an eye roll. “Sounds like you have plans you don’t want me to know about. No one is actually named Mister Smith. You know if you’re talking to Meg, you can tell me. Goodness knows my dating life has been public record lately.”
“I’m not dating, and especially not Mister Smith, and not Meg either. But thanks.”
Lexi smiles and shakes her head at me.
“And, for your information, Smith is the most common last name in the world. It’s highly likely I could have been talking to Mister. Smith.”
“Okay, Johnny Lexicon,” she says. “Want to grab a salad with me for dinner?”
“Still in love with lettuce?”
“So in love,” she answers with a lift of her brows and a full smile. “I love it better if I eat it with someone, though. You in?”
“Of course. “I’m all yours.”
31
Lexi
You know those rare times in life when the most unthinkable thing happens? That’s me. Right now.
I’m about to make some copies and Chase walks into the copy room. He flashes me his smile—the one I’m sure should be in a toothpaste commercial. And just like the girls in those ads, I swoon a little—okay, maybe more than a little.
I wonder if swirling stars and butterflies can be seen around my head while I stand here staring at him. Obviously not, but I feel all light-headed and overcome by Chase—from only a smile.
My mouth might pop open a little. I imagine Mary Poppins telling me I look like a codfish.
Maybe all my pathetic dates are finally taking a toll on me. I’ve been reduced to a woman who comes undone from a mere a smile from a gorgeous man.
Chase is in another league. If I had my wishes, he’d ask me out, and with any luck I’d fall hard for him and all feelings for Trevor would vanish like toaster ovens at a Black Friday sale.
With an odd look on his face, Chase asks, “Can I get through here?”
He’s been watching me this whole time while I lost my composure over him.
“Sure. Sure,” I say, feeling disoriented and embarrassed.
He glides to the copier like the Greek god he is. I tell my feet to move and take careful steps toward the door like I just took walking lessons and I’m not sure I have the skill mastered quite yet.
I’m almost out of the room when Chase says my name.
“Mm hmm?” I answer, not trusting my voice or words.
“I was thinking we could hook up sometime.”
Hook up? That phrase has so many meanings. Which one does he mean? Not a single one of the meanings implies something you do at work—at least I don’t think they do.
Is he asking to go on a date? Or something else? My brain feels like a wire cut loose from an electrical pole, flipping all around with zips and zaps flying in all directions.
I just stare at Chase.
