“How would you like to get out of the office.”
My stomach dropped. “Am I in more trouble than I thought?”
“Oh, no!” He put a warm hand on my shoulder to reassure me; I fought not to cringe away. “Not at all. I was just thinking about how you’re cooped up in this office all the time and that must be frustrating. I thought some fieldwork might be a welcome change of pace.”
My silence became awkward. I wasn’t sure how to answer that question. I felt safe behind a screen and keyboard; there was functionally little difference between my work and that of anyone else who worked as an administrator in an office. If I was feeling so inclined, I could pretend there was nothing illicit at all about my work while I filled out spreadsheets trying to match up scars with the known injuries of superheroes.
“Let’s do it,” I said finally. The sureness in my voice startled us both. “That sounds fun.” To my surprise, I believed what I said. The entire point of making the move to on-site work was owning that I was, in fact, a hench. In for a penny.
E smiled. He held up his hands, palms out. “Nothing dangerous, I promise! We’re having a press conference and could use a second pair of hands.”
“I’m in.”
He slapped his thigh. “Spectacular. We’ll meet in the lobby at nine-fifteen on Friday morning. Thanks, Anna!”
He wandered off, whistling. I could have sworn it was “Sandstorm.”
“Namaste,” I muttered as soon as he was out of earshot.
I took a couple deep breaths and was about to dive back into the spreadsheet in front of me, when a window of my chat client popped open.
Fieldwork!
It was June.
Have you bugged my desk
Nah I just saw your name on the brief
That’s rather presumptuous of E
I’m sure he sensed you’d say yes
What’s the press conference about?
Not sure, some tech unveiling thing. We’re supposed to be a startup, after all. I’ll probably have to sign a billion NDAs
Well that sounds mercifully boring
Also it means E likes you
Well I did just get written up for the pumpkin incident so let’s not get ahead of ourselves
Ha! Nah he probably thinks you’re showing initiative
What?
You know, real villain material
Sure
Karaoke to celebrate?
I can’t tonight
Why the fuck not.
I have a thing
Bullshit
It’s a date
WHAT
Don’t make fun of me
Is it someone from the office?
Jesus no
You’re not seeing you-know-who are you
I made a face even though she couldn’t see me.
God no
Is it Julie? She was okay
Uh, no
Matt?
NO. It’s someone from Tinder, okay
I mean, probably that means they are less likely to murder you than your exes
We’re having sushi
Are they a hench?
No, just a guy
Does he know?
No, and I would like to keep it that way until I get laid at least once this year thank you
Check in when you get home
Yes, mom
Pardon me for wanting to make sure some rando hasn’t made your skin into a lampshade
BRACKEN SMILED. THERE was a black sesame seed caught in his teeth. “I had a really nice time.”
My smile was too wide; my cheeks were beginning to hurt. I reflexively covered my mouth with one of my hands, which I hoped looked demure instead of painfully awkward. “Me too.”
I couldn’t tell if I was actually attracted to the objectively handsome young man sitting next to me in the back of the cab, or if I was just so relieved to be on a date that actually seemed to be going well. But the conversation had been easy, he’d even asked me a question or two about myself, and I’d caught myself laughing for real rather than politeness more than once.
Bracken turned toward me, and his knee brushed against my leg. I didn’t pull back immediately, and decided I didn’t mind this bit of contact. It was a novel feeling. “I’d like to see you again,” he said, perhaps even a little nervously. His dimple was showing.
“I’d like that.” I tucked a wisp of hair behind my ear. My french braid was coming undone.
We were a few minutes away from both of our apartments. We’d discovered we lived only a few blocks apart and decided to split a cab home. It occurred to me, quite suddenly, that in just a few minutes my night was about to be over. That Bracken, this investment banker who played a lot of first-person shooters and still got together on the weekends with his college buddies for Ultimate Frisbee—this nice, ordinary man—was about to see me to the front door of my building, maybe give me a peck on the cheek, and then continue on his way.
To my shock, I found the idea disappointing. Sure, his name was stupid and he’d been a bit rude when the server had forgotten his deep-fried yam roll, but the delicious normalcy of him drew me in.
I glanced at my phone. “You know, it’s kind of early,” I said lightly. “Would you like to come in for a while? We could watch a movie.”
Bracken’s dimple deepened in pleasant surprise, which was a relief. He raised his eyebrows, visibly pleased with himself. “I’d like that, Anna.”
I giggled when he said my name. I suddenly felt too hot, blushing from my chest to the roots of my hair. In the six-month dry spell since the end of my last bad relationship, it seemed I had forgotten all the basics of human interaction. I hoped my fumbling was at least as endearing as it was clumsy.
I glanced nervously up into the rearview mirror, trying to catch a glimpse of my face to see how flushed I was, and accidentally made eye contact with Oscar. I’d called him to pick us up from the sushi restaurant on instinct, even though I probably could have used a civilian cab. He waggled his thick eyebrows at me and I bit my lip hard.
“You’re going to have to excuse my place. It’s about the size of a shoebox.”
Bracken stretched a little, the picture of casual serenity. “No problem. We can go to my condo next time.”
I smiled harder, thrilled that there might be a next time. “So.” I gathered whatever scraps of courage I had and rested my hand on his knee. “What would you like to watch?”
He smiled expansively. “Anything you’d like.”
“I have so many horror movies. What kind of horror do you like? Ghost stories, classic slashers, that kind of thing?”
His smile visibly faltered. “Yeah. I don’t really do horror.”
“Oh, that’s fine!”
“The problem is, I actually get scared.” He put his hand on top of mine. “I’ll be up all night thinking there’s a murderer in the kitchen.”
“I’m sure I have something you’d like.” I tried to remember if one of my exes had left behind any shitty comedy DVDs, or anything to help convince Bracken I was a human person with normal interests. Not that I expected—hoped—we’d be watching anything, given my hyperawareness of the warmth and weight of his hand on top of mine.
“I am sure you do.” It was a terrible line, but I let it work on me all the same. I looked up and he smirked at me. I tried not to stare at The Seed.
A loud, awful squawk went off inside the cab, startling us both badly; our hands leapt apart like we’d been caught. Oscar swore and fumbled at the dashboard, trying to shut the shrill alarm off.