Tanner Casey
That’s right.
People aren’t yourthing.Numbers are.
Real big numbers guy,
Crazy that you can even figure out how to text!
Lance Kingsley
That’s right.
Numbers guy. That’s what all my exes call me.
What’s yourthing,then.
Tanner stared at Lance’s question. A sharp pain hit him squarely in the chest as he thought about his former life as a helicopter pilot. Flying. Rescuing. Those had been histhing.Everything that mattered. Or used to, anyway. But now? He answered emails and talked to people about lawn care.
Tanner Casey
Dunno,
Trying to figure it out, tbh.
Lance Kingsley
Oh! Sounds like a challenge,
I’m down with that.
I’ll make you a spreadsheet.
And just like that, the pain in his chest was gone. In his mind’s eye, Tanner could see Lance bent over his desk, glasses low on his nose—he wasn’t sure if Lance wore glasses, but it upped the intelligence quotient of the image—pen clenched between his teeth as he worked furiously to complete a huge spreadsheet of all the possible career options for Tanner.
Tanner Casey
You’re a closet nerd,
The jocks you played ball with
would wedgie you if they knew.
Lance Kingsley
Wedgie? What is this, 2002?...
Nothing closeted about it. They knew.
How do you think all those jokers
passed their math classes? Duh!
Tanner chuckled and shook his head, then he glanced at the time. Yikes, he’d just killed 40 minutes texting. He was set to meet with a client in 30 minutes and needed to get moving or he was going to be late.
Tanner Casey
Gotta go sell a premium lawn care contract…
