I swallow hard. “But it wasn’t that?”
“Oh, no. I asked Calla if I needed to apologize or anything, and she said it was fine. Sometimes he just has bad days and can’t even talk to her or anyone. And she was right—the nexttime I saw him, he was talking and joking again.” He shakes his head. “I’d hate to have to deal with that.”
My grunt is entirely involuntary, and I’m too caught up in my thoughts to turn it into a cough or something. I don’t know how I finish my conversation with Kane, but I must pull it off, because when he leaves a couple minutes later, his goodbye is cheerful.
I probably wouldn’t have cared if it wasn’t, though. All I can think is how much I want to hear Phil’s voice talking and joking. What does he sound like?
What if the next time I see him, he still can’t talk to me? What if it wasn’t just a bad day… it was me? My chest feels empty and echoey at the thought. I don’t want to be the reason that sweet guy who texted me isn’t comfortable.
I guess that means I need to make sure he knows I’m a safe space… and I need to accept that he might not be able to talk to me.
It takes me a while to scroll through my Vivi photos until I find the right one—I have a lot of pics of my dog. Sue me—but even then, I have doubts. It seemed like the perfect photo at first, but maybe it’s too obvious. I don’t want to be that guy who’s trying too hard that everyone just feels sorry for.
The squeak of Adam’s chair as he returns to his desk is actually a relief. I could do with a new perspective, and since he’s the most social person I know, his would be a good one.
“Adam, look at this,” I demand, thrusting my phone toward him.
He pulls back so he can see it clearly. “Cute? You know I think Vivi’s adorable.”
“What message does that photo send?”
Surprise is quickly replaced by glee, and he takes the handset so he can see it properly. “That you’re a man who loves his dog,” he says. “And you’re secure enough in your masculinity to own a dog that toxic people would call girly. Especially with that pinkheadband she’s wearing. Does that bow have glitter on it? It’s hard to see with her head turned to lick you.”
“Rhinestones,” I correct. There’s too much chance of glitter coming off if she licks it, and I’d never risk my baby’s health like that. “Does it say I’m nonthreatening and safe to be around?”
Adam’s head turns toward me as though in slow motion, his eyes widening with pure delight and manic fascination. “Oh mygod! You’re into someone! Who is it? Who are you sending this to and—” His own gasp cuts him off. “Did they call you threatening? Tell me who they are, and I’ll set them straight.”
For a split second, his righteous indignation on my behalf warms my heart, but then he dissolves into giggles. “Hee… like I could set anyonestraight. And you wouldn’t want him if he was.”
Why was I so worried about professionalism before? My pinky toe is more professional than most of my coworkers.
“Never mind.” I reach out to grab my phone, but Adam dances back out of reach, clutching it to his chest.
“No! Sorry, I’ll behave. Promise. You’re worried this person is intimidated by you and want them to see you’re really just a teddy bear at heart?”
I grunt. That’s not exactly right, but it’s close enough. Mostly I’m regretting that I ever asked for his opinion and want to end this fast.
“Then, yeah, for sure. I challenge anyone to be scared of you after looking at this photo of your gooey smile as your princess dog licks your face. Not. Possible. Plus the pink sparkly headband bow proves that you’re a pushover dog dad who loves to spoil his baby.Andeven though it’s a selfie, that glimpse of naked shoulder announces that you’re shirtless and invites them to ask to see more. This is a panty-dropping photo.” He nods once to punctuate the statement, then hands me back my phone.
I stare at the photo, second-guessing. Panty-dropping? I don’t want to give Phil the impression that I’m hitting on him. Not yet, anyway. This is supposed to be about assuring him that I’m a safe person and building trust.
Although… I wouldn’t be opposed to making him ask to see more. And he did inadvertently come on to me first. I feel like we now have the kind of connection where we let “accidental” flirting slide.
Before I can change my mind, I open my message app, attach the photo, and send it without a caption, as though we’re old friends who do shit like that. Then I close out and shove my phone in my pocket where I can’t see it.
Adam is still watching me with that gossip-hungry light in his eyes. “Sooooo,” he says. “Something you wanna share?”
I sit back in my chair and shake my head. “No.”
His pout is immediate. “Oh, come on! I gave you advice free of charge. You gotta give me something in return.”
I scoff.
His eyes narrow. “I can make your life hell, Griffin. Do you really want that?”
Dammit. With anyone else, I’d laugh the threat off, but Adam has a special talent for petty vengeance. I’ve heard the tales of what he’s done to ex-boyfriends who crossed him, and honestly, I’d rather go through boot camp a few dozen times in a row.
“There’s nothing to tell.” There really isn’t. “I want this guy to trust me so I can hear his voice” is only going to convince Adam that I need a mental health day.
