The Hating Game
Page 57

Josh fixes his cuff. “Missed each other, did you?”
I am lasering the word SECRET into Danny’s brain. I raise my eyebrows and he nods. Josh watches this exchange.
“Lucy’s talking to me about an . . . opportunity to . . . work with her.” Danny is a genius. Nothing is more believable than the truth.
“That’s right. Danny’s helping me with my . . . presentation.” We couldn’t seem more shady if we tried.
“You’re working on your presentation. Right. Okay.” Josh takes his coffee when his name is called and gives such an accusing look my face nearly melts off. “And were we doing that too, Lucinda? Last night on my couch?”
Danny’s jaw hits the floor. I am not amused. If this got out, my reputation would be in shreds. It’s too juicy. Danny’s still in contact with too many people in design. And he’s also a sticky-nosed gossip hound.
“In your dreams, Templeman. Ignore him, Danny. Walk back with me.”
I tug Danny ahead so he doesn’t get tossed into oncoming traffic. Josh follows at a languid pace, sipping his coffee. I’m holding Danny’s arm so tightly he winces as I drag him across the road.
“Even if he kidnaps and tortures you, don’t tell him what you’re doing for me. He’ll use every bit of information he can to screw me.”
“Wow, you guys really are mortal enemies.”
“Yep, to the death. Pistols and swords at dawn.”
“So he’s doing this to try to find out your interview strategy?” Danny says hi to a colleague and checks his phone.
“Exactly!” I let out a nervous whinny. I think everything is covered up. “I’ll call you after work once I’ve worked out what book I want you to format for me.”
Josh is nearly upon us. I’m beginning to think I might toss Danny into oncoming traffic myself to end this agonizing little tableau.
“Okay, talk to you tonight. Bye, Josh. Good luck in your interview.” Danny continues along the footpath.
Josh and I don’t say a word to each other as we get into the elevator. He’s so livid it’s a visceral thing. Meanwhile, I’m still partially deceased by what Danny said. You know he’s in love with you, right?
“He’s so nice. What a nice guy. I think I get what you see in him.” He speaks so sharply I bump backward. “I must have had a vivid dream last night.”
“Hey, what can I say? I lied. I’m a good actor.” I spread my arms wide and push ahead to my desk.
“So, you’re embarrassed of me?”
“No. Of course not. But no one can know. I think he’s a gossip. Oh, don’t give me that sourpuss face. People will talk about us.”
“Newsflash, people have always talked about us. And you don’t care if people talk about you and him, but not you and me?”
“You and I work ten feet from each other. It’s different. I want to reestablish some level of professionalism in this office.”
Josh pinches the bridge of his nose. “Fine. I’ll play it your way. If this is the last personal conversation we ever have in this building, then I’ll tell you now. Bring your bag on Friday.”
“What? What’s happening on Friday?”
“Bring in your stuff for the wedding. Your dress and stuff.”
At my walleyed stare, he reminds me. “You’re coming to my brother’s wedding. You insisted, remember?”
“Wait, why am I bringing my dress on Friday? The wedding is on Saturday. Is there a rehearsal? I didn’t agree to go to the wedding twice.”
“No. The wedding is at Port Worth and we have to drive there.”
I look at him, doubtful. “That’s not too far away.”
“Far enough away that we need to leave after work. Mom needs my help with a few things the night before.”
I’m filled to the brim with annoyance, terror, hurt feelings, and absolute certainty this is going to be a disaster. We stare into each other’s eyes.
“I knew you wouldn’t be happy but I also wasn’t expecting such complete horror.” Josh leans back in his chair and assesses me. “Don’t freak out.”
“We’ve never even gone to a movie together, or to a restaurant. I was nervous getting a ride in your car. And now you’re telling me I’m driving several hours with you and to bring my pj’s? Where are we staying?”
“Probably a seedy hotel.”
I am close to hyperventilating. I am this close to running down the fire escape. I’ve had a fair idea we’d at some point get around to playing the Or Something Game. I imagined it in his blue bedroom, or while hissing hurtful insults at him in the cleaner’s closet. But too much has happened today.
“I was kidding, Lucy. I have to talk to my mom about where we’re staying.”
“I didn’t properly think about meeting your parents. Look, I’m not coming. You were a real asshole to me just now, remember? You don’t need help beating me, remember? I’d have to be crazy to help you now. Go by yourself like a big loser.”
“You made the commitment. You promised. You never break your word.”
I shrug and my moral fibers strain uncomfortably. “Like I care.”
He decides to play his ace card. “You’re my designated moral support.”
It is the most intriguing thing he could have gone with. I can’t resist.
“Why exactly do you need moral support?” He doesn’t answer, but shifts uncomfortably in his seat.
I raise my eyebrows until he relents.
“I’m not dragging you along as my sex slave. I won’t lay a finger on you. I just can’t walk in without a date. And that’s you. You owe me, remember? I helped you vomit.”
He looks so grim I have a chill of foreboding.
“Moral support? Will it be so bad?”
His cell begins to ring, and he looks between it and me, torn.
“The issue here is timing. I have to take this.”
He walks down the hallway, and I resign myself to looking up the route, because unfortunately it’s true. I promised.
ONCE, A TINY eternity ago, I could lie on my couch like any other person. I could watch TV, eat snacks, and paint my nails. I could call Val and we’d go try on clothes. But now that I’m an addict, I have to hang on to the cushions with my chipped fingernails to stop myself from standing up, putting shoes on, and running to Josh’s building. The effort is making me ache. I weigh myself down with my laptop on my chest and halfheartedly flick between news sites, my interview presentation, Smurf auctions, and my favorite retro-dork clothing site.