Page 62 of A Ticking Time Boss

It’s not the first time we’ve touched, but it feels like it. “I’ve thought about it,” I say.

Carter goes still. “Ah. About what I asked you?”

“Yes,” I say. “I’d very, very much like it if you asked me out, I mean.”

His thumb moves in a slow arc over mine. “I’d be happier about this if you weren’t drugged. When we spoke on the phone you were drunk, too.”

I don’t smile—I’ve learned my lesson—but I want to. “This isn’t the anaesthesia speaking.”

He looks down at my hand in his, but there’s no hiding the brilliant smile spreading across his face. “I’ll ask you tomorrow, then. When I’m sure you’re not under the influence.”

My heart stutters in my chest. “I’ll say yes.”

THIRTEEN

It wasn’t a dream. That’s the first thing I realize the next day, when I wake up clear-headed. The second thing is that my mouth really, really, hurts. I take care of the second thing right away by way of aspirin and orange juice. He’d bought the fancy, organic kind.

Carter had been here. In my apartment.

I look at my jacket, thrown on the floor. My shoes spilling out from the too-small closet. There’s a grim-looking avocado that’s, inexplicably, resting on an old copy of the Globe like a sad paperweight.

He’d been here. I smile down at my orange juice, ignoring the tug in my cheeks. He’d showed up to my dentist appointment. He’d called me when he was out of town. And somehow, some way, I’m not nervous about going on a date with him.

Correction—I’m nervous as hell. But it’s the excited kind, the one that makes me feel so alive it’s like my soul is abuzz. I spend most of the day working lazily from bed and watching old re-runs at the same time. Try as I may, concentrating is difficult, and the double dose of painkillers knocks me out every so often.

He texts me after lunch to ask how I’m feeling. The conversation is quick as usual, texts that make me smile down at my phone.

Until it includes the thing we’d spoken about.

Carter: Is your head clear today?

Audrey: Yes. Clear enough to know that I meant what I said yesterday. Before you left.

He calls me a few seconds after I send my answering text.

“Hi,” I say.

“Hey. Sleep well?”

“Surprisingly, yes. I guess being knocked out does that to you.”

“Hurting today?”

“A bit. Feeling significantly less wise, too,” I say.

Carter’s voice warms. “Listen to you, joking. You’re in a good mood.”

“I am, yeah.”

“A definitely clear-headed one?”

“Exceedingly so. I’ve never been more in my right mind than I am right now, this very second.”

“That’s good,” he says. “Exactly what I want to hear.”

“Oh?”

“Mhm. So, kid. Would you let me take you out this weekend?”

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