“Yeah.”
“So, are you at work right now?” she casually asks.
“Yup,” I answer bitterly. “And most likely tomorrow.”
“So the whole damn weekend. Is that even legal?”
“I don’t think the law stands in the way of my boss’s demands.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, well,” I answer, brushing off her sincerity with nothing more than dejection. “Are you still going to watch the movie without me?” I make it to the breakroom and beeline for the vending machines. I wedge my phone between my shoulder and ear and reach for my wallet.
“Of course!” she exclaims. Her voice shifts into indignation, though it’s dripping with playful sarcasm, and it manages to put a smile on my face. “You can’t expect me to put it on hold just because of you.”
“And here I thought you actually cared about me.”
“I’m sorry, Andrew. You thought wrong.” The loud clunk of the Coke can hitting the bottom rings through the phone, and Grace asks, “What’s that noise?”
“I made a trip to the vending machines, and I’m deciding if I should get a bag of Doritos or a small can of Pringles for lunch.”
“That’s your lunch?”
“Yup.”
“No way.”
“Unfortunately, yes way.”
“You have to have real food,” she comments. “Let me bring you something.”
“Here?”
“Yeah,” she answers assertively. “What are you in the mood for?”
“Grace, you don’t have to do that,” I start to argue, though seeing her on a random Saturday when I’m having one of the worst weekends of my life might significantly lift my spirits. “I can just get something when I get off.”
“No, you need real food. Not some vending machine crap,” she argues. “I’m leaving right now, so unless you’re going to make me do some light stalking, just send me the address.”
I sigh. “Okay.”
“And you have two minutes while I put on my shoes to decide what you want. Or else I’m making the final call and bringing you ramen.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Andrew
Grace
I’m coming up.
My nerves start jumping into overdrive. The scatter of crumbs and trash on my desk catches my attention, and I swipe it away. Mainly on the floor with the exception of the few bigger scraps being haphazardly shoved into the small waste bin under my desk. I attempt to straighten the mess on my desk but give up immediately when I realize how hopeless that is.
The second Grace said ramen, my mouth started to pool with saliva. The argument, though it was gratuitous, died on the tip of my tongue. Not only did the craving for ramen start to thicken, but my insides started to churn with hunger and excitement. The second I hung up with her, I laid out a plan. We’ll have lunch, shoot the shit while we eat—pillow-talk style—and then maybe she can just sit next to me while I get some more work done. Nothing romantic or suggestive, just company. Specifically, Grace’s company.
I hear the elevator ding followed by soft footsteps hitting the carpeted floor. I stand from my desk and do one of those half-jogging, half-speed walking motions, attempting to reel in myoverzealous energy but doing a terrible job of it. The rampant beating in my heart picks up as I watch her round the corner. She’s wearing leggings paired with tennis shoes, topped with a chunky open cardigan that looks cozy and warm over some kind of athletic top that stops high above her midsection. She has a plastic bag dangling from her fingers, and the scent of something savory and appetizing hits the air around me.
“Hi.”
