Page 119 of Flirtasaurus
I’m silent because I have absolutely no idea how to respond to that.
“There’s ambitious, and then there’s selfish,” he continues. “They don’t have to go hand in hand. Or actually, you know what? Maybe with you, they do.”
“Ralph, can I please just—?”
“What you can do is shut the door on your way out.”
He heads fully into his room this time.
I hear the soft sound of his lock turning.
I’m left standing alone in his living room, wondering how in the world I’m going to to fix this.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
It’s been eleven days.
Eleven days since I ruined the best thing that’s happened to me in… well, ever.
He won’t see me. Won’t accept my calls. Won’t text me back.
The first few days after everything went down, I showed up daily at his apartment and rang his bell over and over. Somehow, he must have known it was me, though, because he managed to ignore those too. I finally had to stop on the fifth day when his sweet old landlady came out and told me in the kindest way she could that I was making a fool of myself, and I needed to stop harassing her residents right that minute or she’d call the cops.
Yup, I’ve definitely hit a new low.
Everything at the museum reminds me of him. Every little thing that happens during my day, I wish I could share with him.
Like right now, for example. I wish I could tell him how nervous I am as I head toward Dr. Knowles’ office for my weekly performance review. We had to postpone last week’s meeting since she had an out of town conference to attend. I thought that was a lucky break at first, but all it really did was give my nerves lots of extra time to fester before seeing her face-to-face for the first time since what I’m now calling “the event.” I’ve seen her daily at our group Trix and Monty meetings. And I could be crazy, but the looks she’s been giving me seem more intense and scrutinizing than ever before.
Like always, when I am a few feet from her closed door, I hear her say, “Enter.”
Her awareness both amazes and terrifies me.
“Good morning, Dr. Knowles!” I say in the most upbeat tone I can muster. But even I can hear that it falls flat.
“Shoes off. Bag down. Body in chair,” she responds.
“Yes. Okay. Of course.”
I follow her commands like the good little intern I am. Or was. Good little interns don’t screw their secret boyfriend on museum property, then refuse to admit it and watch him take the full blame himself and be fired, do they?
No. They don’t.
We sit in silence a moment while she stares at me. I’ve come to expect this approach from her, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t still unnerving every time.
“New glasses?” she finally asks.
Not at all what I was expecting her to say.
My hands immediately go up to my face. I almost forgot I was wearing them.
“Oh. Yes. I was long overdue for an eye exam and ended up getting some new frames.”
What I don’t tell her is that I prefer my contacts, but with the amount of crying I’ve been doing lately, the frames are just way more practical right now.
“They look nice on you.”
“Thank you. I—” Compliments from Dr. Knowles always fluster me. “Thank you.”
