Page 92 of Mr. Big Shot

“Now hang on. Sorry, was reading the wrong thing.” She pushes her sunglasses on top of her head and looks around my computer at me. “Have you gone swimming in fresh water lately? You might have one of those slithery parasite things, the ones that crawl up your—”

I wince. “No. I haven’t.”

She shrugs. “Just trying to be thorough.”

I throw my arm over my eyes and heave a deep, worry-filled sigh. This is worse than I imagined.

“Let’s go back to the start. There has to be something we’re missing. Maybe I need to have my pancreas removed.”

There’s a hum on her end, and then I hear the telltale sound of latex squelching as Lucy yanks off her gloves. To her, the worry has subsided, but I’m in the exact opposite camp. WebMD couldn’t diagnose me; this must be extremely serious indeed.

“You ever consider maybe these symptoms aren’t related to an illness?”

I furrow my brows and slide my arm up enough on my forehead that I can look over at her. I’m confused by her question.

Lucy pushes away from my desk and stands up. She pulls her mask down as she continues, “It could be emotional pain.”

I bark out a laugh and sit up. “I don’t endure emotional pain. I inflict it. Big difference.”

She comes to stand in front of me, looking down with a cheeky expression.

“Just…thinking over your symptoms, it really only points to one thing.”

“What?” I ask, suddenly on the edge of my seat. Did she find the answer and I missed it? Was it GERD after all?

She points her finger out at me. “You, Mr. Big Shot…are feeling. Maybe for the very first time.”

I rub my chest. “Not possible. Go back to your post. Let’s keep searching. I did drink water straight from the tap the other day—could that have given me that weird parasite thing?”

She barks out a laugh. It’s obvious she pities me. I hate this—her thinking she knows better than I do. I’m the one living in this body, having to endure this torture. It’s one thing to acknowledge my enduring crush on Scarlett, but to go beyond that, to contemplate—

I can’t go there.

Lucy’s about to leave my office. She’s whistling a peppy little tune, having completely moved on from my troublesome woes. She’s that confident she’s right about what I have.

“What’s it supposed to feel like?” I call out just before she takes her first step out the door.

She looks back and smiles, happy for me. “Like the best and worst thing you’ve ever endured. Butterflies one second, shittin’ bricks the next.”

Great.

I’m fucked.

My morning with Lucy has only made matters worse. Acknowledging the elephant in the room has now made it so I no longer know how to act around Scarlett. I feel like I’m a bumbling buffoon.

I see her in the break room just after lunch.

“Hey. Hi. Coffee?”

She already has a mug in her hand. She furrows her brows, smiling. “Yup. Got some right here.”

“Cool. Yeah. Love the stuff.”

I turn away and cringe. Love the stuff? It’s like I’ve never conversed in the English language before.

“Same. Yup.” She laughs and looks at me funny. “Word on the street is you’re sick.”

I force a cough for some reason. Then I clear my throat. “Yeah, it’s…a developing condition.” I sound like a local newscaster with a breaking story.

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