We sat side-by-side at the conference table in my office, listening as he berated Sam for being short and queer, hurled a few ethnic slurs at Patrick’s assistant, and suggested Shannon wasn’t in her office because she was sucking dicks at City Hall.
Seething with aggravation, I tried to refocus on the ancient bluelines dredged from the depths of the city inspector’s office, comparing them to Riley’s new designs. The lines on the weathered paper blurred together and my mind wandered to Lauren again. I pitched my triangular scale at the drafting table and stalked to the window, shoving my hands in my pockets to prevent myself from throwing anything else. I didn’t want to become the kind of asshole who threw things to express anger. That one trended too close to Angus and his supremely fucked up methods for handling the world around him.
“My guess is that you won’t be able to blow up my designs like Alderaan, and they aren’t worth starting that kind of war,” Riley said, his voice ripe with sarcasm. “Go sit in a corner and call your girl. I’m ordering lunch. What do you want?”
“She’s busy.”
“Yeah,” Riley said. “I think texting might have been invented for that reason. Or making doorbells obsolete.”
Her unresponsiveness confounded me, and within days of her departure, that confusion had edged into fury. My siblings gave me a wide berth after several irrational outbursts about version control on project plans and the shortage of lead for my particular brand of mechanical pencils and the tribe’s wholesale inability to draft stable structures. Iwasbeing a dick, but it felt beyond my control.
Lauren would have had some comment handy about cavemen, and she would have been right.
I stared at the cobblestone streets below without seeing. In the two weeks since her departure, we never once managed to talk. Her texts came in random bursts, responding to my updates about her building and firing back questions, though she completely ignored my inquiries about her.
The last time I touched her was at the airport—two hundred and seventy-three hours ago—and every second without her reminded me that I was a sad, sad fool for not realizing this trip was another disappearance.
“Dude, I can’t get my ass beaten and then watch your moping. Chicks like to be chased. Like, ‘rehab the house where you popped her cherry and wait for her to leave her fiancé then tell her stories about your love when she loses her mind’ chased. Get on that. At least sac up andcallher, but stop your fuckin’ moping.”
I pivoted, gazing at Riley where he leaned back with his feet outstretched on an adjoining chair. “Did you just paraphrase the plot ofThe Notebook?”
“You should watch it and take notes. Ryan Gosling gets them panties dropping every time, and he does some fuckin’ beautiful work on that old house.”
I released a tight, slightly manic laugh and dropped into a seat across from Riley, my phone skating to the center of the table.
“I don’t think she wants to be chased.” I propped my arms on the table and rested my head against my clasped fingers. “I think she’s over it now.”
Riley’s feet hit the floor and he leaned forward. “Unlikely. Miss Honey was totally in your pocket, and I should know. Almost saw some babies made.”
“Yeah, I’m sure that really helped. She’s probably dodging my calls now to avoid pervy little shits like you.” I looked up and pinned Riley with a glare. “Miss Honey?”
“Yeah,” he said. He spoke without tearing his eyes from the phone. “Didn’t you readMatilda? That sweet little teacher?”
I stared at the table and frowned. “I don’t think so.”
“Anyway. Your pussyboy mood is bringing down my college football buzz, and that’s a problem. How can you go through life like this? All moody and shit? She’s out of your league by a couple of pegs. It shouldn’t be a surprise to an old man like you that you gotta work for that ass.”
“Are you sure you can’t bother Sam right now? This seems like a conversation he’d be thrilled to have with you, and if it helps, I’ll pick up the tab for lunch. Just leave me the hell alone.”
I went back to the design I was sketching in my graphing notebook, the one that had been stuck in my head for weeks. I didn’t have time for passion projects—this whole operation was a passion project—but this design was demanding my attention. It kept me up at night, preoccupied my thoughts through traffic, and sent me searching for innovative techniques.
“None of that is going to happen. Just be quiet and I’ll take care of this.”
My ears didn’t register the ringing until Lauren’s voice bloomed over the speaker. I dove across the table to grab my phone from him, but he held up a hand and fired a warning look at me.
“Hey, can I call you back in—”
“Hey girl, it’s Riley,” he said. “How’s it going?”
She laughed stiffly and the stress balling in my shoulders multiplied. “Hi, Riley. I’m doing well. Busy,reallybusy, but good. How are you?”
“I’m fuckin’ fantastic. October is the most wonderful time of the year, especially when the Sox are leading. You still in Chicago?”
“Yep, until Saturday. Then NOLA. So…what’s up? What can I do for you?”
I couldn’t decide whether to kick Riley’s ass for inserting himself—again—or bow at his feet for getting Lauren talking.
“If you only knew. But, baby, the question is what can I do for you?”
