And don’t get clever. That slap was 180° of justified.
– T
His last reply comes slower, like he’s thinking toohard about it.
Subject:Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Copy room
Body:
Fair. But if 180° is a straight line… maybe someday we find the curve again.
– L
I close the laptop before I melt into my chair. He’s impossible. And infuriating. And exactly the kind of math-pun Don Juan who could make me blush just by mentioning geometry.
Once again I am reminded that my vagina is, no doubt, a ridiculously horny mathematician. How did the fuckboy become my personal brand of kryptonite?
I fish my phone out to text Skye and Alis because if anyone can metabolize secondhand embarrassment for sport, it’s Skye, and Alis, because… well because I’m trying really hard not to leave her out of things.
Tori, 1:08 p.m.: Accidentally listened to porn in the copy room and then hip contact happened and I slapped Leo across the face.
Skye, 1:08 p.m.: LMFAOOOOO STOP IT! Also wdym by ‘hip contact’??
Tori, 1:09 p.m.: Hip contact like, he touched my hip and I maybe kinda pressed my ass into his groin before I turned around and slapped him?
Skye, 1:09 p.m.: …
Skye, 1:09 p.m.: You did WHAT?
Skye, 1:09 p.m.: Do I need to bring emergency pastries? Like a croissant that whispers “you are insane and also so fkng hot”
Tori, 1:09 p.m.: It was weird and the book was playing in my ear and … GAH. We established a new rule: No touching unless asked. He apologized. Like FOR REAL apologized.
Skye, 1:10 p.m.: See???? Unhinged yet respectful. Proud of him. Proud of you. Proud of your hip and your ass for trying to get. you. some.
Alis, 1:10 p.m.: I am so confused RN.
Tori, 1:10 p.m.: I’m moving out.
Skye, 1:10 p.m.: Damn babe. That’s super fast for just getting some hip action. Does Leo know ur a stage5 clinger?
Alis, 1:11 p.m.: Still confused.
Skye, 1:11 p.m.: also i’m naming a latte after this. The Copy Room. notes of toner, seduction and regret.
Tori, 1:11 p.m.: absolutely not
Alis, 1:11 p.m.: ARE WE TALKING ABOUT LEO, LEO?! LIKE MY FIANCES BEST FRIEND, LEO?
Skye, 1:11 p.m.: too late it’s printing on the menu LOVE YOU BYEEEEE
Alis, 1:12 p.m.: ONE OF YOU WHORES BETTER ANSWER ME.
I set the phone down, laughing because damn, it feels good to have not just one, but both of my best friends in the know about my life. Alis may feel confused right now, but she’ll catch up.
The pod door is open, and footsteps drift down the hall. Dr. Wallace’s voice filters in, low and precise, as if he’s rehearsing lines before stepping on stage. He appears in the main doorway, holding a stack of papers balanced on the edge of a clipboard.
“Victoria,” he says, tone overly formal. His gaze does a quick, literal up-and-down like he’s scanning for injury to the upper half of my body that is not hidden behind the desk, then latches on to my face. “If you’re planning to go to the supply closet later, I could… accompany you. Carry a box, in case it’s heavy. I don’t want you to… strain anything.”
