Jada
I get in early the next day and Jack is there, surprisingly.
I’m passing right by his cubicle, trying not to look at him, but then I do, and he’s so smug and relaxed with that stupid knowing twinkle that I find myself standing over him, clutching the cute messenger bag that I use as a briefcase.
“Look who’s early to work,” I say. “Just in case anybody needs help from the world’s worst worker.”
He lowers his voice. “Or if anybody needs another one of the world’s hottest kisses.”
“That’s it, I’m officially changing your name to Don Juan the Deluded Delivery Driver.”
Jack, of course, is entirely unperturbed. “And I even punched in.”
“Good, when you get your paycheck, you can find the most messed-up thing to purchase.”
“I was thinking about upgrading my wardrobe a bit,” he says. “I think working here has inspired me on the fashion thing.”
“Really?” Is my tone too hopeful?
“I was thinking about a T-shirt that says, ‘Jada is the butt-dialer.’ What do you think?”
I move in closer and lower my voice. “You better not.”
He snorts. “Maybe I’ll have them made for the whole shipping team.”
I grab the back of his chair and turn him to face me. I’m tempting fate, getting right up close to him. I tell myself I’m immune to him. So immune.
But I’m not immune. Our proximity renders me breathless. Just that.
I say, “You’ll never last that long. You’ll get fired any day, and it won’t be soon enough.”
“You so want a repeat of the kiss.”
