“I’ll introduce you to the team,” he says over his shoulder when the elevator dings open. “They’re just over here.”
He leads me across the canteen until we come to a halt infront of three guys, all huddled around a laptop. My first assumption—that they’re working on something important—is swiftly corrected when I hear a garbled sound coming through the laptop speakers.
“Isn’t that insane?!” the one in the middle says, while the other two marvel at whatever video or meme it is they’re watching.
“Good news. I found her,” Connor says, calling his teammates to attention.
All three of them push back from their seats and rise, and Connor makes the introductions one by one. Ben, the purveyor of the laptop, a tall, wiry redhead in a striped long-sleeved rugby shirt. John: shorter than Ben by maybe one or two inches, with perfect curly brown hair and glasses that I can only assume were purchased at a Harry Potter gift shop. And finally, Martin: the shortest by several inches, impeccably dressed and sporting a shock of jet-black hair that’s actively fighting the earth’s gravitational pull (and winning).
We all shake hands, and Connor disappears to order some coffees for us while the guys drag a couple of extra chairs over and then carry on with their merriment like I’ve been there the whole time.
Unfortunately, I have done that thing where instead of remembering their names, I focused on remembering myownname, and already have no idea who iswho.
“Sorry,” I say, halting the conversation abruptly. “Can you tell me your names again? More slowly this time.”
I pay better attention second time around—repeating each of their names several times under my breath and quickly developing nicknames to try and tell them apart. From now on they’ll be known as Curly John, Martin Short, and Big RedBen.
Ben, I realize, is the one Martha told me was hotter than Connor, and honestly, I’m surprised; he isn’t. Though I can appreciate he has a certain allure. Of the three, he’s the quietest—so far, anyway—and though I couldn’t exactly say why, it feels like he’s watching me closely. His eyes are the color of what might best be described asseafoam,and give the uncanny sensation of being almost transparent.
Though the shortest, Martin is also the loudest, and very clearly the team’s court jester. Curly John falls somewhere in between. He strikes me as a little sweetie.
“Nice to have a girl on the team,” he says, turning to me with a smile.
Yes,I think. Definitely a sweetie.
“Thank you,” I say, “I’m kind of nervous. It feels like the first day of school.”
“I get it,” Ben says, chiming in from the head of the table. “When I was a kid, my family moved and I had to start fourth grade at a new school. I was so scared I threw up all over my T-shirt when I got there.”
“You did not,” Martin says, amazed.
“I swear,” Ben says. “I had to walk all the way back home with puke all overme.”
“What happened then?” I askhim.
“My mom made me change and walk back.”
John laughs. “That’s savage.”
“How have I never heard that story until now?” Martin asks, visibly suspicious that Ben’s story is some kind of hoax.
“Ask Connor,” he says.
“Ask me what?” Connor materializes at my elbow and drops a coffee in front ofme.
“Ben’s saying he puked all over himself on his first day of school,” Martin tellshim.
“Ah, the great Pennsylvania State Move,” Connor says. “An important story in the Benjamin Canon.”
The guys riff back and forth, Martin interrogating Ben’s story and John interjecting now and again to ask for clarification, while I sip my coffee and catalogue as many details about them and the group’s dynamic as Ican.
It’s clear they’re all close—I’d be willing to wager they hang outside of work—and judging by Connor’s prior knowledge of Ben’s first day of school story, those two go back even further.
After five minutes it’s official: I love them. I will happily live out the rest of my days with this merry band of dorks.
“You should tell us about yourself, Annie,” Martin Short says to me. “Are you ina—”
Connor cuts him off immediately. “No hitting on the new girl on her first day.”
