Shit. Now I’m thinking about Wysdom’s vagina.
I scrub my eyes, trying to get the idea out of my brain.
Nope. Pretty sure I’ll need some brain bleach after this.
“Mi Amor,” Papa calls from the other room. “Where is the vacuum?”
“Where we always keep it! In the utility closet,” Mama shouts back.
Grumbling and a loud crash ring through the house. “I’m not finding it!”
Mama sighs, walks into the other room, and yells at Papa. “It’s right here. Right in front of your face. How did you not see this vacuum staring right at you?”
I fall back onto the bed and look at the ceiling.
Oh yeah. Finding my soulmate sounds like so much fun.
Chapter 14
“I look so good. They’ll probably put me on the cover ofScience Nerd Monthly!”
-Rand
The last 48-hours have been torture. Working at Saber Security means I drive through the Legacy Lakes neighborhood every day. Legacy Lakes, where Carolina Saber has been staying with her parents.
Just because I drove past their house doesn’t mean I’m stalking the woman. It simply means I wanted to see how much time it would take to get there and pick her up for our lunch date.
And, so what if I set a countdown timer for the right time to leave. Punctuality is something I struggle with when I’m in the lab. I didn’t want to leave her hanging.
“How’s it hanging,numbnuts?”
Gotta hand it to him. Flint didn’t crash into the lab like he usually does.
“That’s my line,” I look at him over my laptop screen.
Flint moseys into the lab, picks up a stack of paperwork, then sets it on a nearby table. “You getting excited about your date?”
Sweat breaks out on my forehead. Damn it. This fucker knows all my tells. There’s no way he won’t notice the flop sweat on my forehead. I turn away from him and wipe off the sweat with my lab coat sleeve.
Flint’s laughter alerts me that I was not as subtle as I thought I was.
“Damn, it’s good to be on the other side of this,” Flint snorts.
“Other side of what?”
Flint gestures to my forehead and my clothing. “That.”
I look down at my outfit. That’s right. I said, “outfit.” Well, that’s what Faylor called it when she picked it out for me last night.
“Rand, you need an outfit for your date.”Then proceeded to tear everything out of my closet to find somethingappropriate.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I turn back to my computer, hoping Flint will go away.
“You’re wearing ironed khakis and a clean, non-wrinkled button-down shirt,” Flint snorts. “And I haven’t seen shoes that shiny since I was in the Marines. It looks like they were spit-polished within an inch of their lives.”
I scoff at his description. I didn’t spit-polish my shoes. I went to the guy outside the barbershop, where I also got a shave and a haircut this morning.
What? I needed a trim.
