Page 69 of Yours to Lose
I give her what I hope passes for a smile. “Totally fine! Just had a late night last night.”
“Are you sure?” She studies me. “You don’t look so good.”
“One hundred percent. I’m just finishing my proof of the first draft of the program gui—” I break off, interrupted by a coughing fit. I hold up my hand, rasping, “Just give me a second,” in between coughs.
“Sorry,” I croak when I’m finally finished.
Monica gives me a concerned look and walks straight to me, laying her hand on my head like she’s my mom and not my sort of boss, whom I adore and also really want to impress. “I think you have a fever. You should take the rest of the day off.”
I shake my head, closing my eyes against the shot of pain across my forehead. “I’m totally fine. I just have to finish up this proof, and then I’ll shoot the draft over to you.” I cough again, and it sounds bad even to myI’m definitely not sickears.
“Uh uh, no way. You’re done here for the day.” Monica opens the bottom drawer where I keep my bag and tucks my phone and water bottle inside. “I’m putting you in a cab, and you’re going home to rest. If you feel like this tomorrow, don’t you dare try and come in. Get well, Jo. The program guide can wait until you feel better.”
“Fine,” I mumble, standing up and gripping the edge of my desk when the room spins. With Monica’s help, I make it outside and into a cab, and then I drag myself up the four flights of stairs, stopping on every landing, my breath wheezing in and out of my lungs.
Stumbling into my apartment, I drop my bag just inside the door and head straight to my bedroom.
“Just an hour,” I mumble, falling face first onto my bed, on top of the covers and fully clothed. All I need is to rest for an hour or so, and then I’ll be good as new.
It’s my last thought before my brain fuzzes and sleep drags me under.
CHAPTERTWENTY
JORDAN
“What are you up to tonight?” Lucas asks me as we walk into the locker room together. I glance over at him, marveling at the fact that even after I’ve kept him and everyone else at arm’s length for the past two years, he still makes an effort with me every single day. I really should be more grateful for it.
“I’m going to that swing dancing thing at Lincoln Center.”
Lucas stops in his tracks, staring at me. “You’re fucking with me.”
I open my locker, shrugging off my white coat and hanging it inside. “I’m not.”
“That is, like, the very last place I would expect you to be.”
I shrug. “A friend wants to go, so I’m going with her.”
“Her, huh?” Lucas flashes me a grin, and I shake my head, turning to my locker.
“It’s not like that,” I mutter.
“But you want it to be.”
I turn, giving him an incredulous look. “How could you possibly know that?”
“I just see what I see.”
I blow out a breath, wondering why I have the sudden urge to unload all my confusing feelings about Jo onto a coworker who is a veritable stranger. “I don’t know. It’s complicated.”
Lucas gives me a sympathetic look. “Look man, I know you lost your fiancée a couple of years ago, and that’s part of the reason you’ve kept us all at a distance, but if you ever need someone to talk to, you can talk to me.”
“Thank you,” I say sincerely. “I appreciate it.” The old me would have taken him up on his offer and gone to get a beer, talking about anything and everything. The me I was a few months ago would have just grunted something and mostly tried to pretend the conversation wasn’t happening. The me of today can appreciate the offer, even though I know I won’t take him up on it. I think that’s progress.
I grab my phone from the top shelf of my locker, already anticipating the string of messages from Jo. Even though she knows I rarely, if ever, have time to check my phone during the day, she still messages me all day with everything from pictures of her snacks, funny little stories about things that go on in the museum, and a running tally of how many Fireballs she eats. They’re fun to see when I’m done working. I like that she takes me along on her day, even though I’m not physically with her.
I click on my phone and navigate to my messages, bypassing the group chats with my brothers and my friends, but when I get to my messages with Jo, the last messages are the ones from this morning about our plans for tonight.
“What the fuck?” I mumble, as unease takes over. I take a deep breath and force myself to stay calm, hitting Jo’s contact to call her. With every ring, my unease deepens, and by the time I get her voicemail and then call her again with the same result, unease has turned to full blown worry. Jo always messages. And she never, ever doesn’t pick up her phone.
