“Yes!” He agreed. “A moisture alert, in our panties.” His unexpected retort sent me into a fit of giggles and his look of revulsion at the smoothie pouring from my nose only made it worse.
Dabbing my face and regaining some form of composure I shook my head, “You will always take his side.”
“Because he is an Adonis. And unless he begins wearing shorts below the knee, Iamon his side.”
“Oh, that’s where you draw the line?” I said in mock horror.
“What can I say, I’m shallow with my prejudices. And speaking of –”
My phone interrupted whatever he was about to say, and I mouthed an apology before answering.
“Hey Seb, I’m just at brunch can I call you–”
“Sorry, I won’t keep you, I was just calling to see if you were still looking for that block of work you needed?”
“Sadly, yes. Why? Have you found the solution?” I asked, swirling my smoothie with the straw.
“Maybe. Coop needs someone to run his books at the distillery. I’m going to text you his new number. Shoot him an email today because he needs someone as soon as possible and it’s exactly what you need.”
Xavier was staring at me, most likely because I resembled a fish out of water with the way my mouth was opening and closing with no words escaping.
“Evs, you there?” My brother’s voice seized my attention again
“Sorry, yes. That would be amazing,” I croaked, feeling the complete opposite. Not to mention I already had his numberafter the other night, although I wasn't going to be able to tell him that when I could barely speak.
Oh my God, I mouthed to Xav who was staring at me with raised brows and no idea why I was flummoxed.
I garnered every ounce of enthusiasm I could muster when I thanked him again and hung up, despite the strange feeling settling in my stomach.
“Soooooooo, I may have somewhere to do my work experience.”
“Elaborate,” he replied eagerly.
“Seb’s friend owns a business and needs a bookkeeper. Not far from the city, which works out well, I guess.”
“So why does your face look like that?”
“Because his friend is the very last person I want to spend six weeks working with or for.” I explained plainly, tilting my head up to the sky as I blew out an exasperated breath.
“Pleaseeeee tell me it is the feisty, bruised knuckle boxer?” He grinned as if all his Christmases had come at once.
“One and the same.” I responded, not finding his corresponding cackle funny in the slightest.
I re-read my email draft. Deleting and re-writing the samefourlines, now for the eighteenth time.
Formal or colloquial? Friendly or professional?
He would be my boss, so it should have some form of professionalism to the greeting, but he was also the same boy who ate the crusts off my sandwiches because they gave me the ick. What was the protocol for emailing your potential supervisor who was also the only man you’d viciously masturbated over on more occasions than you could count?
I had always been far more confident in writing. A girl in my Statistics class referred to me as acopic, although she also thought the only cows to produce milk were black and white, so her levelof perspective was questionable. Perhaps she was right though. Perhaps I wasn’t up to the task of managing simple social tasks and that was why I gravitated towards bolder, more flamboyant friends because they allowed me to take the passenger seat - to observe rather than lead. I never wanted to be the loudest person in the room, in fact the very thought made my hands clammy.
Mr Dane,
Thank you for the ride home the other night. I am sincerely grateful for your
Too formal.
Yo Coops,
