Page 35 of Babies for the Big Shot
Because saggy socks are a cry for help.
“Honestly,I’ma cry for help,” I mutter, stabbing the delete key and sighing so hard Meatball looks mildly alarmed.
My phone buzzes on the coffee table.
Laura: I know you’re ignoring me, and I’m letting you have your sad spiral moment, but I will appear outside your window with a boom box if you don’t answer in the next 30 seconds.
I stare at it.
Then sigh and answer.
Her voice comes through instantly. “There she is. My emotionally repressed corporate sexpot.”
“I hate you,” I mutter, but the corner of my mouth twitches anyway.
“Mmhmm. Are you still pretending that kiss didn’t turn your brain into confetti?”
“I’mfine.”
“You’renotfine. You’re using your dog as a security blanket and your emotional support coping mechanism is sock-related wordplay.”
I glance at Meatball. He barks.
“That’s uncalled for,” I say.
“So is pretending like you didn’t make out with your boss like it was the last scene in a Nicholas Sparks movie and now you’re both avoiding each other like you caught feelings in a gas station.”
I groan and flop backward, phone pressed to my ear. “I can’t stop thinking about it, Lo. About him.”
“I know.”
“Like… my body is still buzzing. It’s been over a week. What the hell is wrong with me?”
“Nothing,” she says gently. “You want him. And you care. That’s not wrong.”
I cover my eyes with one arm. “Itiswhen he’s my boss. When I have to see him every day and pretend like I’m not mentally replaying the way he sounded when I kissed him like I was on fire.”
There’s a beat of silence. Then Laura says, “He soundedlikesomething?”
“Don’t make me say it.”
“Oh, I will absolutely make you say it.”
I groan louder. “Like he was falling. Like he couldn’t stop.”
There it is. The truth of it. Out loud. And it’s like stepping into traffic.
“Damn,” she whispers.
“Yeah.”
“And since then…?”
“He’s been distant. Professional. Like it never happened.”
“And you?”
“Same. Obviously.” I pick at a loose thread on the couch cushion. “Except for the part where I’m not sleeping, can’t concentrate, and keep getting hot every time someone says the word ‘spreadsheet.’”
