My brow furrows as he flips open the folder and pulls a pen from somewhere hidden in the depths of his hair.
Um, what? Is this a date or a job interview?
“What exactly would you like to know, Jack?” I raise one eyebrow—a trick I spent many hours in the mirror perfecting—and take a sip of my coffee.
He doesn’t even look at me. “Let’s start with the usual. Job, hobbies, et cetera.”
I should’ve chosen the cocktails option on the dating app, because despite just yesterday swearing off booze forever, I’m going to need a drink to get through this. “Well, I’m a financial analyst.” The words are out before I realize they’re not exactly the truth. But whatever. They’ll be true again soon enough. “Went to Columbia, yada yada yada. But honestly, that’s like the least interesting thing about me.”
“Your job is the least interesting thing about you?” He scratches a note on whatever paper he has in his folder, finally removing his gaze from said paper to glance at me, though he still doesn’t meet my eyes, focusing instead somewhere behind me.
But whoa. Even without direct eye contact, my breath still catches in my chest. Jack might have very little going for him in the presentation department, but his eyes are low-key magic, the greenest I’ve ever seen on a real human being. The color of moss or emeralds or some other poetic shit like that.
He clears his throat when I fail to answer his question.
“I’m sorry, what did you say?” I busy myself with another quick sip of coffee, which I just barely manage not to choke on.
“You said your job is the least interesting thing about you?” His attention returns to the file folder.
I force out a fake laugh. “I mean, isn’t that true for most people?” At least those who have jobs. Unlike me.
He frowns. “I sure hope not.”
Okay, Judgy McJudgerton. “Well, what do you do for a living, Jack?”
A red blush creeps over what I can see of his cheeks. “Nothing.” The word comes out barely audible, and he rushes out his next words before I have a chance to respond. “Hobbies, then?”
“Working, hanging out with my friends, working more, talking to my plants, and working.” I reach over to the small vase of flowers sitting on the side of the table, rearranging the buds to keep me from reaching over and grabbing that stupid file folder.
“And how would you describe your overall temperament?”
My mouth drops open. I cross my arms, leaning on the table, closing the space between us to less than a foot, ready to let this guy know what’s up, because I’ve hada weekand I am so not in the mood for this. “Look. I realize I haven’t been on a date in like far longer than I’d really like to admit, but seriously? Is this what I’ve been missing? Because no thank you. I should’ve just stayed home with my Netflix and my plants, and yeah, I realize how pathetic that makes me sound as I hear those words coming out of my mouth, and yeah, I don’t even care at this point, because that’s how weird this is.”
He leans back in his chair as if he can’t physically stand to share my space. “Whoa. Who said anything about a date?”
“Are you kidding me right now? Am I being punk’d? This cannot be real life.” I start to push my chair back and stand, but Jack places a hand on my forearm. It’s warm, and soft, and his grip is surprisingly gentle.
There’s a beat of silence, during which Jack seems to realize he’s still holding on to my arm. As soon as he does, he drops it like I scalded him.
“Sorry. Don’t leave. I didn’t mean to sound like a dick, I’m just a little confused.” He gestures for me to retake my seat.
I do, but I move it away from the table and cross my arms over my chest. Like the mature adult I am.
“Why’d you think this was a date?” His voice holds no judgment, only curiosity.
Pulling out my phone, I swipe over and click on the app. “I matched with you on a dating app. What else would this be?” I hold up my screen.
He purses his lips as he studies my phone. “That isn’t a dating app.”
“Um, hello? Yes it is. I swiped right, you swiped right, we matched, we set a date.” I turn the phone back to face me, feeling like I’m in some kind of horror movie. And then true horror overtakes me.
ROOMMATEZis splashed over the top of my screen, right there in bright orange letters.
“Oh my god. I’m a complete fucking moron.” And while it’s definitely not the first time I’ve thought those words, it might be the most mortifying. “In my defense, I was completely wasted at the time.”
“I don’t think that’s a defense.”
“I’m so sorry for wasting your time.” I sling my purse over my shoulder, preparing to make a hasty retreat because oh my god, could things get any worse?
