Zach
Austin shows up in my truck, which he’s taken good care of. As he drives us to work, he keeps flashing me an annoying grin.
“What?” I finally ask, irritable. I don’t want to interrupt my constant thoughts of Abby and our time in bed together.
“I haven’t seen you this gone in a while.” Austin gives me a satisfied glance. “I like it.”
“Gone? What kind of bullshit is that?”
But I know he’s right. I’m out the other side of gone and off over the horizon. I still feel Abby beneath me, her body moving with mine—one time she was on top, beautiful as she rocked on me. I stifle a groan, and Austin laughs louder.
“Oh man, your face. So are you and Abby together now, or what?”
“Two dates,” I growl. “And they weren’t really dates. Mind your own business, little bro.”
Austin lays off, but he’s still laughing under his breath.
We arrive at the office and he slams out of the truck and inside, me on his heels. I don’t want him announcing in the middle of the showroom that I slept with Abby last night.
Austin stops short when we walk inside, and I nearly run into him.
Mom is at the reception desk with a young woman who has light brown hair pulled back into a bun. She’s slender but not skinny, athletic but not muscle-bound. She wears glasses with light blue rims that match her eyes.
Mom turns around when we come in. “Good morning. I want you to meet Erin Dixon. The temp agency sent her. She’s going to be filling in at reception for a while.”
Erin smiles and says hello. Austin checks her out, but she doesn’t appear to notice him beyond politeness. Interesting.
And a relief. Erin is pretty, and if Mom hired her, even as a temp, it means she’s good. We don’t need Austin breaking her heart.
“Glad to have you on board,” I say neutrally.
“Likewise,” Austin says.
Mom gives Austin a look. He touches two fingers to his forehead in salute and moves to his office.
Ben emerges from his dark den, head bent over the tablet in his hand. He moves purposefully toward the front desk, eyes on whatever the hell is so important on his device.
“Ben will set up your computer,” Mom says to Erin. “He’ll get you logged in and explain our phone and message system. Ben, this is Erin.”
Ben drags his attention from his fascinating tablet and lands it on Erin. She smiles.
He stops. He goes so completely still his fingers are arrested in mid-tap. Mouth open, eyes fixed. Erin widens her smile.
“Uh,” Ben says.
“Hi.” Erin gives him a shy look, wrinkling her nose in an adorable way. Ben turns the shade of a clay brick.
If Mom notices, she says nothing. “Our system is pretty simple. Ben should be able to show you everything by lunch. If you have questions after that you can ask me, or Ben. I’ll leave you to it for now.”
She bustles away, scooping up her mail as she goes.
I linger, picking through the rest of the mail. Ben remains motionless. I deliberately bump into him.
“Uh …”
“Guess I’d better get to work,” I say. “Nice to meet you, Erin. If I get any calls, just put them through. I never hide. You should get started, Ben, before Mom cracks the whip.”
Erin sits down, fingers resting lightly on the mouse. “So, Ben, how do I log in?”
Ben gulps and finally scuttles around the reception desk to her. I walk off to find coffee, chuckling to myself, letting Ben suffer on his own.
Abby
I answer the phone after one ring.
“You on the toilet?” Zach asks cautiously.
“No, eating lunch.” I stab at the lettuce on my leafy-green salad, my penance for the eggs and bacon at breakfast and the chicken last night. “I wouldn’t have answered, remember?”
“Just thought I’d check. How are you?”
“Me? Great.” I don’t tell him Mr. Beale yelled at me for twenty minutes for being ten minutes late. Result, I’m taking a short lunch and will be staying after work.
“I’m great too.” His voice is low, sultry, holding notes of what we shared last night.
I forget all about my salad, Mr. Beale’s stinging reprimands, my painful workload. I remember Zach, his hands on my body, the heat of his lips, the way his face smooths out when he comes.
I wonder what he’s called about, what he wants to ask. But Zach asks nothing. He just talks. Tells me about the new temp and how Ben nearly swallowed his tongue when he saw her. How his charity house is coming. He then asks about my mom, my work, what I’m doing. Like he’s interested.
We talk, we laugh. I stretch out my legs under the table in the empty lunchroom and give myself over to conversation. I haven’t done that, especially not with a guy, in a long time. Well, with a guy, never.
My lunch comes to an end and I regretfully say good-bye. We don’t make any plans to see each other again. Or to talk again.
But it doesn’t matter. With Zach I feel like I don’t have to be desperate. I don’t have to have a plan, a schedule, reassurance that I’ll see him. I know I will. What we have is just …
I give up trying to explain it to myself and return to my sterile cubicle. But the call has changed my attitude. The stress of trying to figure out how to sell a plastic thing that holds another plastic thing, to a business that makes bigger plastic things, lifts. It’s fun, like it used to be.
I stay my extra ten minutes after work to make Mr. Beale happy, and twenty minutes after that—I’m so absorbed in my projects.
Then I go home to my empty apartment and fill it with thoughts of Zach.
Am I heading for a crash? Heartache that will be worse than my bored loneliness?
I don’t know, and for this moment, I don’t care. Zach doesn’t call tonight though I leave the phone next to me wherever I am. Still, I don’t care. This afterglow is going to last a long, long time.
Zach
Austin says I’m stalking her, but I can’t help it. I call Abby at least once every day. I don’t give a shit what we talk about—I just want to hear her voice.
I stop calling her during lunch because I figure she’ll want to eat her lunch. I wait until she’s home, in casual shorts and tank top, relaxing with a glass of wine, and then I call. I know that’s where she’ll be, because I’ve asked her to tell me what she likes to do after work, how she unwinds, what she’s wearing ...
Okay, maybe I am stalking her.
I start texting her after I think this, warning her I’ll call, so she has the chance not to answer.
She always texts back saying she’s looking forward to it.
We don’t make any plans. No dates or hook-ups. I don’t know what we’re doing, but we keep doing it. One day I’m going to drive over and show up at her door. She can slam it in my face or invite me in for talking or … whatever happens.
I’ve never had a relationship that I played by ear. Always there was Where is this going? Are we exclusive? No, Zach, I can’t go out for drinks right now, because I’m in bed with another guy.
That last one could only happen to me.
For some reason I don’t worry Abby will be with another guy when I call. I should be worried—she’s attractive, funny, and has her own life. Guys ought to be beating down her door.
Austin thinks my sort-of relationship with Abby is highly amusing. At the family dinner on Sunday, Mom asks why Abby hasn’t come with me. I scan the table, taking in my two brothers and my parents and their interested faces, and shake my head. Because they’d grill her, that’s why. And assume she’s staying in my life forever.
“Didn’t you used to go with her before?” Ben asks. “In high school?”
“Junior high,” Austin answers with glee. “He was in love. He’d sing dopey songs into his hairbrush.”
“I was thirteen,” I say with heat. “Doesn’t explain why you still do it.”
Ben busts up laughing. Austin gives him the eye, and I know he’s going to start teasing Ben about Erin. Ben can barely talk to the woman, though he’s been at her desk every day, explaining the software and fixing little things that go wrong. We’ve never had so many glitches.
“I talked to Brooke day after the wedding,” I slide in, pretending I’m going for neutral conversation. “She’s doing good.”
Austin gives me a that’s-below-the-belt scowl.
“I like Brooke,” Mom says, taking another helping of roasted potatoes. “I remember her when she was younger—I always said she’d do well. She manages an auto business, did you know that?”
Abby has mentioned it. Brooke sells luxury cars—she’d originally been hired to attract men to buy cars they didn’t need, but she’d turned that around and been so good at the business she’d become manager in no time at all. Now she’s talking about buying the business when its owner retires.
Austin retreats, suddenly absorbed in his food. Ben shoots me a look of gratitude.
Talk turns to Ryan and Calandra. They’ll be home next week.
“We’ll have a big dinner to celebrate,” Mom says. “Zach, why don’t you invite Abby?”
I choke on the bite of steak I’ve shoved into my mouth. I cough, drink water. “I’m not sure she’ll be interested,” I manage.
“Why not? Calandra’s her best friend. We can welcome her into the family.” Mom doesn’t specify whether she means Calandra or Abby, and I don’t ask.
Austin doesn’t either, because he’s sitting there terrified Mom will suggest we invite Brooke too.
“And Erin, if she has time,” Mom goes on relentlessly. “She’s a nice girl, don’t you think? I would like to hire her permanently, but I’m not sure she’d accept. Did you all know she’s a dancer?”
Ben hasn’t mentioned this. He says nothing and takes a careful sip of iced tea.
“A dancer?” I prompt.
“With the West Valley Ballet. They’re not big but very, very good, from what I hear. Hard to get into. When I interviewed her, Erin explained she couldn’t work anything but very set hours, because she has to rehearse and do performances. I said that would be all right.”
Mom sends the rest of us a stern gaze, which means no one had better object. Ben returns to his food, not looking at anyone. Poor guy.
Dad, who long ago decided to sit back and let Mom talk, watches her in his quiet way, a smile on his face. He never says a lot, but when he does speak, we all sit up and listen.
“It’ll be good to have Ryan home,” he says.
He doesn’t mean that to be detrimental to the rest of his sons. We agree. It will be great to see Ryan again.
“Then it’s settled,” Mom says. “I’ll invite Erin, if she’s free, and Zach will call Abby.”
She reaches over and squeezes Dad’s hand, everything all right in her world. Dad gives her a fond look. Everything’s right in his world too.
Abby
It’s the worst Friday of my life. I’ve been given three extra projects this week, because someone on my team quit. Mr. Beale seems to think it’s my fault she quit—and it is, actually. She was so miserable, I encouraged her to find another job, and she did.
The result—I have to take over all her projects. To be done by next Monday. No way. I know I’ll be coming in Saturday to finish.
Sunday, I’m supposed to drive to Zach’s parents’ house for a welcome-home party for Calandra and Ryan. Zach asked me hesitantly, as if the last thing I’d want to do on a Sunday afternoon was spend time with him and his family.
I accepted without question.
Now I fear I’ll have to cancel. If I don’t get these presentations done before Monday morning, we’ll lose the accounts, and it will be on me.
At five-thirty, when I’m supposed to be heading out, Mr. Beale decides to jump on my ass.
“I want that done before you leave today, Warren.”
The projects will take me many hours—I know this from experience.
“I plan to come in over the weekend, Mr. Beale, plus work on the projects at home too. Everything will be done by Monday.”
“No—I want them on my desk tonight.” He glowers at me, towering over my cubicle wall.
Mr. Beale never, ever approaches me closer than six feet, never touches me, never does anything to break any rule about harassment. Never curses, or says a wrong word that could be construed as belittling me because of my gender. He treats us all like faceless robots.
But he finds his own ways, totally within the rules, to be intimidating.
“I can only work so fast.” I try to keep the rage out of my voice.
“You find plenty of time to talk to your friends. Tonight, before you walk out. Or don’t come in on Monday.”
“Mr. Beale …”
“Fine.” He takes two steps back. “But I expect to see you in here all day tomorrow and all day Sunday.”
“Like I said.” I can’t be bothered to be polite. Since I’m a salaried employee, this means no overtime. I draw the same pay whether I work forty hours or eighty.
“Good.” He turns and stalks off.
I refuse to burst into tears, but I want to.
I reach for the phone to call Zach and explain why I can’t be at the party. If I do it quickly, it will hurt less.
The phone rings before I touch it. The readout shows it isn’t Zach.
I snatch up the phone. “Hello?”
“Hey there,” Brent Savidge says. “Bad time?”
“Wonderful time. How are you?”
“I’m great, but you’re about to be better. How’d you like a forty-thousand dollar a year raise? And your own office with a great view?”
“I would love it.” I want to cry again, but in relief. I haven’t heard from Brent since our dinner, and I’d assumed I hadn’t landed the job. “You don’t know how much.”
“Awesome. I’ll be in Phoenix Monday, and we can talk. That okay with you?”
“Perfect.” I wouldn’t be at this job Monday, so I’d have all day. Mr. Beale—I quit! That was going to feel good to say.
“Looking forward to it. Oh, and Abby …”
I listen to what Brent tells me, not sure I’m hearing right. Three weeks ago, his words wouldn’t have mattered, and I’d be dancing on the moon. Today …
Today, I don’t know what to do.