Elias is saved by the ding of my phone.
“EEK,” I squeal. “It’s him! That was fast.”
“…desperate...” I think I hear Elias mumble.
I pull up my messages.
Hey, beautiful. I’ve been waiting for your text.
“EEK,” I squeal again. “He thinks I’m beautiful!” I say, turning the phone towards Elias, who continues his grumbling. “He’s been waiting for my text! Ugh, and I love when guys use punctuation in text messages.” I swoon.
“…fucking hate this… obviously…”
“What should I say next? Should I say ‘sorry, I just got back a week ago?’ In case he’s upset that I didn’t text him right away?”
“No, don’t say that,” Elias says, resigned. “Never apologize to a guy if his feelings get hurt because of something that was out of your control.”
“True. Then how about ‘wanna grab a drink soon?’”
He nods. “That sounds good.”
“With a smiley emoji?”
“No emojis.”
“Eggplant?”
“Mia.”
“Kidding.” I type out my message and press send.
“Did you learn anything about this guy when you were at the bar?” Elias asks. “How old he is? What he does for a living? If he’s a serial killer?” He scratches absentmindedly at a well-muscled tricep, one likely capable of bench-pressing a small ox.
“No Elias, hence me wanting to ask him questions before meeting up with him!” I say indignantly.
“Hmm. I didn’t really think about it. Yeah, I guess it’s different for women meeting up with men. Less safe.” He thinks about it for a moment. “Maybe you should ask him a few questions. Or maybe we should stalk him or something. Did you get any of his social media accounts?”
“No,” I say sadly. “He’s not a social media guy, or he’s so private that he’s eluded my superior stalking skills. The one thing I didn’t check was LinkedIn, because I don’t have one. Do you have one?”
“Why would I need one?” he asks. “We’re teachers who will work for the NYCDOE until we’re dead or earn our pension. Whichever comes first.”
“Maybe we can borrow Leo’s account?—”
“Hard no,” he says, his fork clattering onto the table. “We will not be telling Leo aboutanyof this.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m helping hislittle sistergetlaid, Mia. Is that a fucking joke? Are you serious?”
“True,” I hum. My phone dings.
Absolutely. When are you free?
Elated, I show the text to Elias. “Can I say tonight?!”
“Whoa, man-eater, slow down,” Elias says, looking alarmed. “One, again, you don’t want to seem too desperate?—”
“Iamdesperate, Elias; I’machingfor it,” I whine breathlessly.
