LoveLines (7 page)

“Well, I don’t know what those guys could have done. I knew t
he safest thing was to remove ourselves from the situation altogether,” Erica explained. “And then laugh about it later in the shower.”

I giggled, then reached inside the cooler for another drink.

“Food,” Erica ordered, and I grabbed the bag of chips she wanted. “You’re impossible,” she whined.

Wasn’t that the
truth.

I rounded the corner and slammed into him.
And
was subsequently distracted from counting my steps. My OCD was in overdrive today. Why? Because my anxiety was somewhere up in space. I was terrified of running into him. And I’m talking in the figurative sense. I actually, literally, ran into him! Well, technically he ran into me.

“Gosh, I’m sorry, Bailey!” he said, helping me to my feet. Yes, I forgot to mention that I fell on the floor, the papers I was delivering strewn about the hallway in a disorganized mess.

“It’s okay,” I replied. I was so frazzled that I didn’t even take note of the way my hand felt in his. I’d have to imagine it was perfect. “Seems we have a knack for falling in front of each other.”

He smiled down at me and adjusted his collar.
“Yeah, but the difference here is that I bulldozed you. Are you sure you’re okay?”

I nodded, and he sighed relief.

“You helped me up and left the papers on the floor,” I pointed out. I worried it came out accusatory instead of playful. So I grinned, and he seemed to like it.

We knelt on the floor together and collected the pages. He even helped me organize them before taking my hand and pulling me to my feet once more.
This time I paid attention. He had a warm, solid grip. Protective. It sent a rush of fiery orange all the way up my arm and into my heart, making it beat faster and stronger.

And then came the really awkward part—that weird silent
moment of smiling and shuffling feet because we weren’t sure what else to say. I mean, there was certainly something that
could
be said, but I didn’t take Reece for the type of guy who would embarrass me by bringing it up. “It” as in my highly-sexualized exhibition last Thursday.

“I think I saw you at The Reel Café,” he said
after a moment.

Okay. Apparently Reece is the kind of guy who brings shit up to embarrass you.

“Really?” I asked, furrowing my brow. “I don’t know that I was there Thursday night.”

“You were dancing with your friend.
You had on a little blue dress,” he said. I guess he felt the need to jog my memory.

“
Ohhhh,” I replied, smacking my forehead with the heel of my palm. “That’s right! I was there. I had a lot to drink. Hard to remember where I was or what I did.” I giggled nervously.

He affected disappointment. “Oh, so that whole show wasn’t really about me.”

I couldn’t believe he actually said it! Yes, he went there.
Went there
.

“What are you talking about?” I asked. I knew the jig was up, but I wasn’t ready to admit I flirted with him so blatantly. And anyway, I didn’t know it was him at the time.

“The dancing,” he said. “When you danced for me.”

He stared directly at my face, just like he did when he visited me at my cubicle for the first time. This guy had balls. Well, I mean,
obviously he had balls. I hope he had balls.
Bailey, stop thinking about his balls.

“I . . .” What could I s
ay? I didn’t know if I should feel aggravated that he was so clearly embarrassing me or jump his bones because he looked really hot in that tailored striped button-up.

He leaned over to get eye level with me. “I’m just
messin’ with you,” he said softly.

I smiled and relaxed a little. “My friend, Erica.”

“What about her?” he asked. He was still bent over, inches from my face.

“She put me up to it. She said there was a hot guy looking at me.” I couldn’t believe my boldness. I also couldn’
t believe that my statement came out as a question. On purpose. I wanted to know if he’d been looking at me all night.

He stood up and inhaled deeply. “Well, that’s awfully flattering
of your friend. And yes, I was looking at you. You caught me.”

“Well, I shook my ass for you, so I guess we can both be a little embarrassed,” I said lightly.

Reece chuckled.

“That won’t make things weird here at work, right?” I asked.

“Not at all,” he replied. “I do wish you wouldn’t have run out of the bar, though.”

I hung my head. “That was really immature, I know. But I was humiliated. You don’t understand. I’m talking instantly sober.
And everything looks different when you’re instantly sober.”

“Yuck. I hate
instant sobriety. My friend got punched in a bar once. Bam! I went from drunk to splitting the atom in three seconds flat.” He winked at me.

I blushed.

“Hope it didn’t ruin your night,” he said. “Your instant sobriety.”

Brian f
lashed in my brain. “No,” I muttered. “Something else took care of that.”

“Oh?”

“It’s nothing,” I said quickly.

He had the good sense not to press me for details.

“So, are we cool?” he asked.

“Completely.”

“Then I’ll see you later for lunch?”

I gulped. “Lunch?”

“Yeah. I thought we could eat together,” Reece said.

I didn’t know what this meant. I knew my female brain was already reading way to
o much into it, but I didn’t care. And here’s why: He had the best head of hair on any man I’d ever seen.

“I eat at noon,” I said.

“I know.”

He gen
tly pushed me aside and started down the hallway. I opened my mouth to ask him how he knew I ate at noon, but another question came out instead.

“How did Haute Digital like your campaign?” I asked.

He paused and turned around. “They . . . dig it.” He stood there buzzing with suppressed excitement. Something big was about to happen. I felt it. I felt it from him. The current escaped through his feet, traveled under the carpeted hallway, and zapped me.

***

Reece paid attention. He watched her for an entire week, arriving to work at exactly 7:58 every morning. Eating lunch at noon on the dot. He found excuses to visit her cubicle just to see if her pens would be in the same order in which she lined them up the first time he met her. Without fail, they lay on her desk in their red-blue-black-green-purple order of importance.

Another week
passed, and he thought they were actually becoming friends. He didn’t need excuses to visit her anymore. It became habitual to stop by and ask about her weekend, see if she wanted a soda from the vending machine, find out where her favorite restaurants were. After all, he was still new to Wilmington, and there was a lot to discover. And he wanted to discover it with her.

“I’m in love with a co
worker,” Reece confessed to his friend, Camden, on trivia night at a local bar.

“Not wise,” Camden replied, and chugged his beer.

“And I’m pretty sure she’s OCD,” Reece went on.

Camden stared at his friend. “Dude. No.”

“I find it uncomfortably sexy,” Reece admitted.

“That you like a co
worker or that she’s OCD?”

“The second one. There’s something strangely erotic about it. What the hell is wrong with me?” Reece shoved a cheese fry in his mouth.

“Look Reece, I’m your best friend. And as your best friend, it’s my job to give it to you straight. So here’s the deal: Don’t even think about going there. Do you have any idea what those people are like? I mean, what? Is she your age?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Okay. So she’s maybe thirty, thirty-one. And single.” He paused for effect. “For a
reason
.” He shot Reece a “Hello? Don’t be a moron” look.

“But I’m single, too.”

“By choice, man.”

Reece grunted. “That’s debatable.”

“People with OCD are not single by choice. They’re single because no one can deal with their bullshit.”

“But I like her bullshit,” Reece argued, then shook his head. “I mean, the way she acts. It’s not bullshit. It’s cute.”

“You’re seeing it from a distance. Imagine dating it. Living with it. Fucking it. Totally different ballgame.”

They listened for the answers to Round 3. Camden slammed his hand on the table.

“I knew it was iambic pentameter! Why do I listen to you?” he grumbled.

“Have you ever dated someone with OCD?” Reece asked, ignoring the question.

“Never. Because I’m not crazy.” Camden grabbed the plate of cheese fries and pulled it across the table. “No more cheese fries for you. If my calculations are correct, you just cost us the lead, you dumb fuck.”

Reece rolled his eyes. “Then how do you know if they’re difficult or not?”

“Go read up on the disorder,” Camden said.

“Disorder,” Reece echoed with an eye roll.

“It
is
a disorder. It’s a mental disorder. And it’s fucking crazy. I knew a guy in high school with OCD. He had this weird ass compulsion or ritual or whatever you wanna call it where he had to tap all the desks three times before the start of each class. He told me once that he felt like he’d die if he couldn’t do it. Literally die. Not like how we say, ‘Oh God, I’ll die if I can’t have sex tonight.’ He meant for real. That’s how fucking crazy they are.”

“That’s a flat-out lie,” Reece said.

Camden threw up his hands. “I swear to God. He would walk around the room and tap each desk so he wouldn’t ‘die.’ Everyone knew he was nuts, so they just ignored him and let him do it. And if he was late to class, which was seldom because, well, people like that are scheduled, the teacher would pause and let him tap the desks before she resumed her lecture.”

Reece took a long swig of beer before he replied.

“She’s not going around the office tapping people’s desks,” he said quietly.

“Maybe not, but I’m sure there’s a bunch of other weird
ass shit she does. Things she keeps hidden.” Camden leaned across the table and whispered conspiratorially, “I bet she has all kinds of rituals she does at home. Checking locks. Turning lights on and off for no reason.” He grinned maliciously. “Masturbating at 8:37 P.M. every evening.”

“Shut up,” Reece said.

“Counting her steps . . .”

Reece ordered another beer and plate of cheese fries.

“Changing her panties five times a day . . .”

“You’re a jerk.”

“Look, I’m saving you a lot of heartache. Wouldn’t you rather know this stuff now? And anyway, isn’t it against company policy to date your coworker? Why risk your job? Didn’t you tell me it’s the best job you’ve ever had?”

“It’s all right,” Reece said nonchalantly.

Camden smirked. “I recall you telling me it was ‘brilliant.’ And by the way, you aren’t from England.”

Reece half-lis
tened as Camden expounded all the reasons his current job wasn’t worth risking for a “fucking crazy ass girl.”

“Sounds like you’re jealous and
you wanna date her,” Reece said.

“Oh, yeah,” Camden replied, his voice laced with sarcasm. “You figured me out, Re
ece. I want to date your OCD coworker whom I’ve never met because I just
loooove
the idea of fucking a girl who counts the number of times she bounces up and down on my dick.”

“Camden!” Reece scanned the bar for offended patrons, but no one heard. “Stop being an asshole, okay?”

“Fine. I’m sorry. I’m still sore over iambic pentameter,” Camden muttered.

“I’ll do better,” Reece said. “Just try to be a nice friend for the rest of the night.” It came out as more of a question than statement.

“Hey, I’m not trying to bust your balls, man,” Camden said. “I just know you’re all about these ‘projects,’ and I can’t quite figure out why you’re attracted to women with issues. I mean, remind me again what happened in your past that compels you to go after nut jobs?”

Reece
rolled his eyes. “I’m not looking for a challenge. I’m not looking for a problem to solve. I’m not looking for someone to save. I get the coincidence, okay?”

“Coincidence?” Camden echoed. “Um, Reece. Let’s reminisce for a second.”