So productive.
I thought about it as I watched Derek Morgan kick down doors inCriminal Minds. I thought about it while playingMario Kartwith Em. I thought about it while sticking my head in the freezer in attempts to cool down in this chronic heat wave.
In all my thinking, the biggest thing that stood out was that Xander is a lawyer. He confronts peoplefor a living. And so he will, without a doubt, confront me.
And this is why, as I’m pulling up into the parking lot this evening, I am completely on edge.
A nervous wreck.
I take a deep breath. It does absolutely nothing.
I get out of the car, ready to see Xander in the parking lot—but Xander’s not standing at the trunk of his car with his leg kicked back, rubbing his neck. Xander’s car is not here at all.
I search the parking lot as the late afternoon sun attempts to blind me, and nope. No car. No Xander. The one scenario I stopped myself from spiraling over is what’s happening right now.
After hearing himself the butt of our joke, Xander decided he didn’t have the energy to spend the next four weeks withme.
Fuck.
I cannot twerk, swing around a pole, or drop into an aggressive squat and pop back up again like I’m some athletic stripper gymnast. I have zero core strength. I need this job.
Maybe I can go in and pretend Xander is running late from a case. Maybe when Ben asks where Xander is, I can check my phone and it says there’s a voice mail from Xander. There’s been an accident. Xander’s at the hospital. In a coma …
“Hey, Ash,” I hear someone say. Turning and shielding my eyes from the sun, I see Ben pop his head up from one of the parked cars.
With its rusted roof, chipped paint job, and what looks like the remnants of a fender bender that didn’t get fixed, I don’t have a shadow of a doubt it’s Ben’s pride and joy. He slams the door three times to get it to lock and walks over to me, wrangling a stack of papers.
My stomach drops. I’ll have to start talking. The jig is up. I’ll be jobless and homeless, all because I lost a game of penis.
Ben moves past me and walks toward the front door. I don’t join him. My right foot won’t lift off the ground. I stand there for a moment, my brain and body paralyzed.
“Ben, I …” I look around as if the parking lot will magically give me the words I need right now. He turns and smiles.
“Come on, Xander’s already inside,” he says, gesturing to the building.
What? I don’t need to kill Xander off? I don’t need to make up another story to explain his absence? Xander showed up?
“Something about his case wrapping early. He’s so cool,” Ben says to me, a look of approval on his face.
I nod and begin to follow him inside. Wait. Is Xander cool?
I shake it off. No way. Not in this universe.
“Look who I found waiting for you in the parking lot,” Ben says as he opens the door to our tiny sleep study room for two.
Xander stops rubbing his neck and looks up at me from behind furrowed eyebrows. Holy mother of hotness.
In all the spiraling this afternoon, I forgot how ridiculously good-looking Xander is. Blood rushes from my extremities and concentrates itself in the pit of my stomach and forward flops at the sight of him. The sex dream flutters behind my eyelids when I blink. His hands. His lips. His tongue. I’m keenly aware neither of us is smiling at the other. Just staring. Xander gets the memo and breaks the stare by giving me a half smile. You know, minimum-effort style.
“I’ll be back to put on the wires shortly,” Ben says, and closes the door behind him as he leaves.
Xander’s half smile rests on his face, almost morphing into a smirk, and I know it’s coming in three, two—
“Fuck Xander? Tell me how you really feel,” he says.
And there it is. The confrontation.
The smirk on his face makes me think he’s slightly amused, but the tone of the delivery tells me he’s hurt.
