Page 10 of Pick-Up
It is too early in the morning to be this pissed. It’s too early to feel this defeated. From the bottom of the stairs, Celeste is staring up at me, eyes wide. I take a moment, weave my fingers together behind my head, look up at the murky sky and exhale. I want to takehis stupid messenger bag and shove it up his ass. Instead, I take the high road.
I growl at him, loud enough that he jumps back. Then, I stomp down to the sidewalk, leaving him standing at the top alone.
“Who’s your friend?” Celeste asks when I reach her.
“Satan,” I say.
“He’s kind of cute.” She toggles her head.
“That’s how they get you.”
“He looks familiar.” She narrows her eyes.
“Let’s go.”
I grab her manicured hand with its stackable rings and drag her away toward the coffee shop to get sustenance for our park walk. If he watches us go, I don’t know. I’m sure if I look back, I’ll turn him to stone.
8 | The Name GameSATAN
I watch her go. Because of course I do, even though she doesn’t look back. And I do the hard work of not noticing her ass.
Mostly.
I get why she’s pissed. But why is shesopissed? Why is shealwaysso pissed? She actually growled at me. Like a rabid raccoon.
It would have been a cute kind of growl, in another context. A context where my reptilian brain automatically goes now. But, in my defense, women don’t usually make that sound in my presence—unless that’s my mission. And then less clothes are involved.
Shit. Why am I thinking about her in bed? Her thick hair tangled around her flushed face?What the hell is wrong with me?
It’s bad enough that I just stole her daughter’s theater slot and wouldn’t give it back. How has this become my life?
I sigh. Shake my head. Adjust the strap of my messenger bag and reset before starting down the steps.
Once on the sidewalk, I stop and text my ex:
Hey. Was able to get a drama spot as you predicted. Didn’t even have to beg. There was actually one slot open.
A mom I know vaguely walks past, shoots me a lascivious look, like I’m edible. I nod in greeting, but can’t bring myself to smile.
I did my job. So why do I feel like such crap?
It’s only when I’m headed down into the subway, running tocatch a train rumbling into the station, that it occurs to me: I knew her name. I should have told her:Sasha. I know your name.
TO-DO
Stop making her hate you more.
Sasha. Stop makingSashahate you more.
Stop noticing the way she bites her lip when she’s mad.
Stop admiring how she advocates for her kids—in your face.
Lunch with new CEO.
Apologize about the after-school drama.
Stop thinking about the after-school drama and get the fuck to work.
