Page 37 of Electric Blue Love
It was my turn to laugh. “Trust me, that answer is your golden ticket. It’s thoughtful and sincere and says a lot about you knowing your strengths like that.”
She nodded and let out a breath. “Any more questions?” she asked tentatively.
“One more.” I crossed my ankles and leaned back into the cushioned office chair. “What is your biggest weakness?”
Without hesitation she said, “I am good with numbers and details. I love researching and proving theories. I’m a hard worker and I will put in the time and hours necessary to meet deadlines, but I,” she looked down at her laced fingers that laid on her lap. “I can come across as selfish. My focus makes it hard to notice the feelings of those around me. I don’t always catch on to subtleties and nuances. I realize this is something I will need to work on.”
My throat tightened, and my chest burned. How had this girl, this woman, become so self-aware at such a young age?
“No need to be quite so sacrificial in your answer. Just let them know you are prone to tunnel vision when you’re meeting deadlines. They’ll appreciate that quality when phrased a way that benefits them.”
She nodded again, some of that confidence that had been building since she sat down seemed to chip away and I wanted to help her find it again.
“Just remember, the people interviewing you, no matter their title or merits, have weaknesses too. We all do, none of us are perfect. They aren’t looking for perfect.” I scrubbed a hand over my jaw. “I’m not looking for perfect.”
We stared at each other and it felt like our interview had turned too personal. Like we’d both revealed too much about ourselves. Her more than me, but considering I didn’t tell anyone jack shit, I’d given her more than I was comfortable with.
“So, any last words of wisdom?” she asked, standing shakily.
I mirrored her movements and stood, rounding the table. “You could try picturing them naked.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Is that what you did when you were interviewing for jobs?”
“Nah,” I shook my head. “I went with a slightly different approach.”
Her eyebrows drew together, and she waited for me to elaborate.
Leaning in, I brought my lips close to her ear. “I went commando.”
“Seriously?” she asked with a nervous laugh as her eyes drifted down to my crotch.
Was she wondering if I was free-balling it right now? My dick stirred at the thought of her considering the underwear situation, or lack thereof, in my pants. “I can’t even remember if it was intentional or not. Maybe it was so I’d feel like I’d somehow got the better of them without their knowing or maybe I just hadn’t done laundry in a week.”
“And that worked?”
“I got a job. I can’t speak to whether or not my lack of underwear was the cause or just a lucky coincidence.”
Her smile was big and conspiratorial as she leaned in, not as close as I had, but close enough that I was all too aware of her faint floral scent and the light pink gloss that coated her lips. Those full, pink lips parted, and I went rigid. I didn’t trust myself to so much as breathe.
“I think I might try that,” she said in a husky voice that was flirty and sexy, and maybe I was reading too much into every move she made because she had me so tied up, but I was starting to think 8B might be feeling this thing between us too.
Just maybe Bianca was into me for real. Not because I was helping her and not as a fake anything. In fact, I wasn’t even sure my 8B was capable of faking something so good.
As she walked out the door, I was already preparing my next move.
“This is causefor a celebration,” Tasha exclaimed as she clapped her hands together.
“I don’t have the job yet,” I said. Again.
JC Engineering had invited me for a second interview in their New York office and I was trying to stay optimistic without getting my hopes up. Tasha was making that difficult with her assumptions that the job was as good as mine.
“I’m sure they’ve asked a number of candidates to fly out for an onsite interview. Plus, I’m still seriously considering grad school.”
“We’re celebrating,” she said leaving no room to argue. “Unfortunately, all we have on hand is wine.”
Tasha got out the wine glasses and two bottles of wine that had been sitting on our kitchen counter top for most of the semester. We made a picnic in the living room – sitting on the floor and using the coffee table to place the array of snacks we’d pulled from the cabinets.
I let her control the music and we sang and danced to Taylor Swift and Ed Sheeran, wine glasses in hand. Singing, dancing, drinking, laughing. The night couldn’t get any better. Or so I thought.
