For a moment, her lips move but I hear nothing. The issue is on my end. I’m near fainting. I always lose my hearing right before I pass out. Sweat streams down my sides from my armpits and my hands have crinkled the papers in my fists.
“Lily? Do you have any thoughts?”
I’m pretty sure she’s repeating herself. I left this planet for a blip there. I’m not sure how I got back, and I sort of wish my body could have evaporated out of this situation too, not just my mind.
“Or if you have another idea of a way it might work? I could interview you, too. But I’d really love to see you get the credit for your own story. It only seems right that way.”
It only . . . seems . . . right.
“Can I, uh, can I . . . think about it?”Why didn’t I just say no? Do it now, Lily. Say no. No!
“Of course. We’ll circle back next week. And I’ll think about some ideas for it too. We can really brainstorm.” She puts her entire gut into that word—brainstorm. That means talking aboutme, with other people, and thinking aboutme,andmy story.Putting words to it all—to Anika, my roommates, my failures.
Theo.
I leave Abby’s office in a daze, the energy that fueled me most of the day now on a drip line, barely holding me up. Theo is waiting for me at my cubicle, leaning against my desk while he scrolls through his phone. It was such a good day. It was a good day forus.
I swallow down the bile climbing up my esophagus and squeeze my eyes shut. I can do this. I can erase the last ten minutes from my mind for a little while, to continue this amazing day.
When I open my eyes, Theo has moved to stand. He’s impossibly handsome. His tie is loosened, but I’m shocked it lasted around his neck all day. At school, he usually has it wriggled loose by second hour. He’s been doing that since our first year. Some boys just don’t wear ties well. Not that he doesn’t look incredible dressed in a crisp designer suit tailored to him perfectly. He does, indeed. But I’ve seen him in sweatpants, and in T-shirts and swim trunks. I’ve seen him with his shirt off after football practice. All those times when he barely knew I existed, I was watching.Truthfully, I was crushing.
“I’m pretty sure today calls for a happy hour. You in?” He steps aside so I can close out my computer and gather my things.
“It’s obvious I’m not twenty-one. I’m dressed like a fourteen-year-old,” I respond through nervous laughter.
“First, you do not look like a child. Far from it. And two, of course we’re not going to a bar. Why would we when we have the world’s best speakeasy in the middle of campus?” He holds up the key he had made to keep the prying eyes of faculty out of the archives room.
I chuckle. Maybe a happy hour would do me some good tonight.
“All right. I can message Brooklyn and Morgan on the T.”
“Already done,” he brags, holding up his phone and showcasing a new group chat he created. I squint to see it, mostly because I’m looking for my name.
“You can see the messages on your own phone, silly.” He must know that’s what I was looking for.
“Oh, yeah. Duh.” My face fires, and it only gets hotter as he leans into me. Shoulder to shoulder, arm to arm. I’m overcome with the urge to hug him again.
“We’ll have to do eleven tonight. Some of us have an early morning. New coach wants us to lift at six a.m.” He grimaces.
“I’ll think of you, ya know, when I roll over and go back to sleep.” I smirk and he glares at me with a shocked, open mouth.
“You’re terrible. I’ll remember that. Paybacks and all.” He laughs softly as he leads the way down the corridor toward the sidewalk outside. I avoid looking in the direction of Abby’s office, though the glow of her light spills into the hallway. I refuse to burst my bubble.
It can’t be happy hour if nobody is happy.
Chapter14
Theo
Ihate sales.
Not only do Ihatesales, but sales hates me right back.
My mouth hurts from all the forced smiles I contorted my cheeks and lips into today. Every client who stopped in—smile. Every new sales rep I met—smile. Even when I was on the phone, going down a sheet of cold calls and often getting my ass chewed out—smile.
I appreciate that Todd got me into this company and trusted me with this gig, but I’m not cut out for this. I don’t know how people take the constant rejection. I don’t get the fake interest that fills you with hope just so someone can ultimately say they aren’t interested. Like, I spent fourteen minutes talking about the Kentucky Derby with some guy today to build a report, only to have him call mesportand say his budget is spent for the year.
Professionally, today was a zero.