Okay. Fine. You get points for commitment. And rhinestones.
But I’m still mad at you.
I expect nothing less.
I might be slightly less mad than I was before the glitter.
So... am I forgiven?
No. You’re on parole.
Do I get visitation hours? Possible conjugal visits?
Don’t push your luck, Picasso.
Understood. But so we’re clear—I would have worn it in Central Park. Alone. With snacks.
Carl…
Yes?
If you ever wear that shirt in public… I’m gonna need proof.
Challenge accepted.
You are insufferable. Effective. But insufferable.
I”ll try again. Forgiven?
Apology accepted. Pending further review.
Tough crowd.
So what was the reason for your dickness the other day?
Something at work. My bossthreatened my job.
I was pissed. Came in hot and took it out on the wrong person. That’s on me.
I stare at the screen for a second too long. The honesty is unexpected. And kind of disarming.
That sucks. But thanks for the truth. And the apology. I respect it.
Easier to be honest when I can’t see you judging me.
Who says I’m judging? Maybe I’m impressed.
You’re flirting.
Don’t flatter yourself, Carl. You still owe me for the emotional whiplash.
I’ll add it to the glitter debt. Speaking of which—What’s the big news you were dying to tell me before I acted like a complete dick?
I chew on my bottom lip, debating how much to share. I don’t know why I care what he thinks. But I do. But I also want to keep our mystery thing in tact.
Let’s just say…
A career-making opportunity landed in my lap. It’s huge. Terrifying. The kind of thing that either launches you or buries you.
