Page 67 of Pick-Up
Ethan smiles. “You meanyoufound a solution.”
“How did you—?”
“I was there. I saw it go down. You should take credit for your own ideas. You took the initiative.”
“Yeah, okay. I know. Fine. Thanks for the tip. What did you do, write a feature about workplace assertiveness too?”
He scrunches up his nose. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“They told me all about how you wrote an article about running and now you can’t stop yourself from dispensing advice. I thought it was regular old mansplaining, but I guess giving tips is kind of your job.”
He narrows his eyes. “Who told you? Who isthey?”
“You know, Jackie, Derek, Stephanie, Charlie…”
“Oh Lord,” he says, running a hand along his stubbled cheek. “What else did they tell you?”
“Nothing,” I say quickly.Certainly not the details of your failed marriage.
I am the world’s worst liar. He is onto me immediately.
“Oh, fuck. Seriously—what did they say? It’s obviously something bad. Look at you! Your cheeks don’t lie.”
I slap a hand to either side of my face. “You don’t know. Maybe it’s an allergy! Alcohol makes me flushed.”
“I watched you down an entire flask of bourbon at Monster’s Ball and nothing.”
“Hey! You drank half of that too!”
“A third, maybe. Maybe a third.”
The reminder of our shared home turf feels somehow comforting, like an inside joke. We are grinning at each other. Why are wegrinning? I take another swig off my beer. It’s sweet and bitter on my tongue. For a moment, I let it sit and fizzle.
“No, seriously. What did they say?” he repeats, dropping his feet to the floor and leaning forward on his thighs.
I try to ignore the hint of a tan line where his shorts ride up on his upper leg. I am in his confidence. He is dangerously close to me. And there go those pheromones again.
“I need to know. It’s only fair.”
“Fair?”
“Yes. I have to know what they told you about me. Otherwise, our conversation is… imbalanced.”
“That’s not a thing.”
“It is actually.”
“Well, then, some would argue the imbalance already exists because you’re kind of, like, my boss.”
“You think I’m yourboss?” He cringes.
“No. I know this is Steph and Derek’s baby. But you’retheirboss!” J’accuse! “So, by the transitive property…”
Ethan tilts his head to one side. “Hey, Sasha,” he says.
Oh, fuck. I wish he’d stop saying my name. It sends something unseemly ping-ponging through me. I cross my legs. Ignore all the tingles.
“Yes?” I manage.
