4. Malcolm #3
We’ve been in the internship for two weeks now, and Ryan and I haven’t spoken since that second morning at the deli.
I haven’t gone a single day without having to tell Isla no multiple times, whether it’s an offer to grab lunch, coffee, drinks after work—I even turned down concert tickets.
I’m not sure which part of “I have a girlfriend” she’s not understanding, but I feel the mask of politeness I wear around her slipping.
There’s this other annoying fact nagging at me that I might not be cut out for this kind of work.
While I’ve listened to the other interns rattle on about how much they’re learning or gushing over a compliment from their mentors about some idea they had, I have to acknowledge I don’t feel prepared, and Isla’s constant personal questions and comments truly mess with my concentration.
Let’s also forget for a moment that if someone asked me to list them, I could write down all of Ryan’s outfits from the day we started the internship to the brand of shoe he’s got on today.
I could also rate how well he wore each one on a scale of one to ten.
He’s not flashy like Miguel, but clothes look good on him.
It’s the only excuse I’ve got for noticing his ass on a daily basis. Well-cut pants.
I probably only pay attention because his jeans used to practically fall off of him, and I assumed he didn’t have the equipment to fill them out. But in retrospect, maybe they were just too big for him, and he didn’t care. Now that it matters what he looks like, he’s dressing the part.
I pinch my eyes shut and nearly take Isla up on her offer.
This fixation I have on Ryan’s outfits and his body isn’t like me.
I’m going fucking nuts in this place. I blame the failure of my brain to make sense of the spreadsheets and the absolute lack of ideas I’ve had on what to do with my remaining fifty dollars.
Meanwhile, the group of five leaves work together half the days of the week, and more than once I’ve watched them all go into a nearby bar for happy hour while I feel fucking lost.
I wish I would have just gotten over myself and said yes to Miguel that day in the elevator, but at the same time, I feel useless and stupid. What good would I do the project they’re working on?
It’s annoying how every single one of them seems to be thriving in this environment. Even Ryan—a guy who’s never fit in anywhere that I know of—seems to have made himself at home with his new bestie Charlie.
I hate them. I hate listening to him laugh and the way he keeps turning my head. It’s fucked up.
I think I might also hate this job. Worse, I might not get it.
So far, I’ve kept those thoughts to myself, but it might be time to sit down and have a talk with Georgie.
Not necessarily about whether I’m a good fit or that I’m having trouble finding my footing, but maybe about Isla.
It could be that her desire to get me alone is interfering with her ability to be a good mentor .
Fuck, when did I turn into such a pussy? I should be able to do this. It’s driving me nuts that I apparently can’t .
“Are you beefing with that other intern? Ryan?” Isla asks. “I’ve never seen you talk to him.”
“No,” I mutter.
“It’s just…” Here, she reaches out and gives my shoulder a squeeze without letting go. “You seem tense.”
I shrug away from her and excuse myself from our workspace. “Be back in a few,” I tell her, unable to tolerate her suffocating presence a moment longer.
I take the elevators to the lobby and step outside. The smog is thick today, so I can’t say I’m getting fresh air, but I need out of the office. Away from Isla and her gardenia perfume. When I told my buddy Jake about her, he’d asked if she was hot.
I told him that wasn’t the point, but the truth is, Isla is sort of hot.
Under different circumstances, I might be attracted to her, if not her personality, at least physically.
She’s nothing if not extremely physical.
I’ve never been with anyone other than Kaylin, and I do feel a certain sense of loyalty to my longtime girlfriend, but she’s seen other people since we’ve been together.
While I was at Stanford, she was at UCLA, and we were sort of “open.”
I made do with meeting up with her once or twice a month, but I know she saw other guys while she was in school—nothing serious.
I wasn’t jealous exactly. It felt like a natural evolution—like what would normally happen when high school sweethearts go their separate ways for college.
The fact that we wound up back together also felt normal and easy.
We never even fight. We’re really fucking boring.
My point is, there’s a reality in which I could be excited that Isla seems to want in my pants so bad.
Like I said, I’ve been considering asking Kaylin for a break.
On the break, or if we broke up—a messy affair with my mentor would probably appeal to my chaotic side, but in this case— this reality—I feel like I’m spinning out, and I don’t know what my fucking problem is.
As I sit on a bench across the street from the Marks & Baker building, a thought occurs, as clear as today isn’t.
The only thing that’s changed—besides starting a new job—is the reemergence of Ryan in my day to day life.
If history is any indicator— he’s my fucking problem.
As much as I try to avoid looking at him or thinking about him, the urge to mess him up lies just beneath the surface of my skin.
Hearing him laugh, seeing him thrive while I’m barely treading water must be some kind of trigger.
Embers of an old rage flare hot in my chest. It’s the urge to prove him wrong. The urge to make his words meaningless. It’s enough to push my ass up off the bench and charge across the street, determined to take action.
When I pass him and Charlie on the couches, I look down at Ryan only to see his slightly dimpled smile fade from his face. I need to shove him the fuck out of my head. My rage burns bright enough for me to slide my thigh alongside Isla’s as I take my seat next to her.
She glances at me with an intrigued smile. “Feeling better?”
“Yep,” I say, double clicking my screen to bring the financial report back up.
“Then maybe you’ll finally let me buy you a drink tonight.”
“I think I might.”
Because fuck him .