Chapter Twelve
TWELVE
Aidan
It doesn’t matter how many times I make myself look at the screen at the front of the conference room. I can’t focus.
Yeah, I see words and pictures, but trying to comprehend what I’m looking at just isn’t happening.
I focus on Dr. Wauncho standing at the front, gesturing through his presentation during this staff lunch meeting. But again, nothing registers.
My brain is too distracted.
I think back to this morning when I saw Micah again…when I stared at her chest. Again.
I press my eyes shut, the burn of shame roasting me from the inside out. I tug at the collar of my shirt. I’m tempted to rip it off, I’m so uncomfortable.
I can’t believe I did that.
I let out a slow, heavy sigh. Thankfully, none of my coworkers sitting around me seem to notice how distracted and uncomfortable I am.
I didn’t mean to stare at Micah’s chest again. I know that’s such a cop-out, but it’s the truth.
When she walked into the conference room this morning, I had every intention of ignoring her. And I did at first.
But while she was leaning over and grabbing a bagel, I dropped my napkin and bent over to pick it up, and as I looked up, I was at eye level with her chest again.
And then, because I’m the most fucking awkward human on the planet, I froze. And that’s when she saw me looking at her.
I blink and see the death glare she aimed at me.
I didn’t even apologize or explain myself in the moment because we were surrounded by the entire English department, and I didn’t want to draw even more attention to that fucking awkward moment.
Even if I had, I doubt she would have believed me. And I don’t blame her. The last two times we’ve seen each other, she’s caught me looking at her boobs. I have zero doubt she hates me with every cell in her body.
I let out a quiet sigh when I think about how this is going to make things worse between us. How awkward and uncomfortable will things be when she observes another one of my classes or needs to meet one-on-one with me?
I sigh and force myself to focus on what Dr. Wauncho is saying.
“…and with that, I’ll wrap things up. Any questions?”
A pang of guilt hits me when I realize I missed all of his presentation. He was so excited to tell us about the conference he attended, and I spent the entire time thinking about Micah.
A handful of people ask Dr. Wauncho some questions. I ask if he can send me a copy of his presentation so I can read it over again later. He says of course.
The department secretary pops into the doorway and tells everyone that our lunch delivery has arrived.
Dr. Wauncho claps his hands. “Fantastic! Why don’t we hand out everyone’s orders, and then I can finish up answering questions.”
Two food-delivery people walk in with bags of food in both hands. I stand up and help collect the bags and start handing them out to people. When he grabs his wallet to tip the delivery people, I stop him and grab cash from my pocket.
Dr. Wauncho starts to tell me that it’s not necessary, that it’s his treat for us attending the presentation, but I insist and hand the cash to the delivery people.
He pats my shoulder. “That’s quite generous of you,” he says.
I say it’s my pleasure. It’s the least I can do for not paying attention during his presentation.
I grab the turkey club I ordered and take my seat at the table while things continue.
I grab one half of the sandwich, nodding along with Jason as he asks another question.
“So with that new grading software, will the tech support be twenty-four-seven? Because that would be really helpful,” he says. “In the past whenever I had a problem with our current grading software and Tech Support isn’t available, Aidan’s been my go-to guy. He’s gonna be thrilled I won’t be bothering him as much.”
He looks at me and chuckles. I flash a thumbs-up. “Always here for you, buddy.”
Everyone chuckles. I take a bite of my sandwich and chew. A second later, my tongue starts to burn.
I stop chewing. A second after that, it feels like my mouth is on fire. I swallow, and the fire spreads down my throat and slowly down my chest.
I start to cough. After a few seconds, I can’t stop. The more I cough, the more raw my mouth and throat feel. I try to stop, but I can’t. It’s like my body is trying to hack through the sudden burn.
My eyes burn with hot tears, blurring my vision.
I press my eyes shut for a second, but that just makes it burn worse. I open my eyes, blinking furiously.
Jason turns to look at me. “Are you okay?”
I nod, even though it still sounds like I’m hacking up a lung. I grab my water bottle and chug some water, but that doesn’t even dull the burning.
“Are you choking?” Jason asks.
I shake my head. “Spice…” I hiss between coughs. “Too spicy…”
He frowns at me, then looks at my sandwich. “Why’d you order a spicy sandwich?”
“I didn’t,” I rasp, then cough some more.
By now the entire room has gone quiet. Everyone is gawking at me with concerned expressions as I hack and cough.
I grip the base of my neck, as if that’s going to soothe my coughing. It doesn’t.
Still hacking, I glance down at my sandwich half. I ordered a plain turkey club. It shouldn’t be spicy at all.
When I peel away the bread from the sandwich, my eyes go wide. It’s covered in hot sauce.
“I think you got the wrong order,” Jason says.
I glare at him. “You think?” I sputter before pushing my chair from the table and hunching over as I continue hacking. My chest aches, I’m coughing so hard. I manage a deep breath between coughs, but then I swallow some saliva, and that only makes me cough harder.
Everyone around me gets up and starts to freak out.
“Get him some water!”
“He already drank water. It didn’t even help.”
“Water doesn’t alleviate spice. It spreads it to other parts of your mouth, making it worse.”
“What alleviates spice, then?”
“Dairy! Any kind of dairy!”
“Does anyone have milk or yogurt or—”
I look up just in time to see Dr. Wauncho barreling toward me.
“Here, drink this!” He cracks open a small container of skim milk and shoves it into my hand.
I grab it and chug it. I close my eyes as the cool liquid coats my throat. I hum as I swallow. Fuck, that’s soothing.
I drain the container and set it on the table. Then I rest my elbows on my knees and take a second to catch my breath. Snot is dripping from my nose. My entire face is covered in sweat. Even the lenses of my glasses are wet. I glance down, horrified when I see a sweat spot in the center of my chest and under both armpits.
When I look up, the entire conference room is standing around me, staring.
A wave of embarrassment crashes through me.
When I clear my throat, I wince, it’s so raw.
“Sorry, everyone. I, uh, I’m kind of a wuss when it comes to spicy food,” I manage to say, my voice soft and watery.
Jason pats my shoulder. “For a second there I thought we were gonna have to call paramedics.” He lets out a nervous chuckle.
I try to smile, but my throat and chest ache so much that even that small movement kills.
I glance up at Dr. Wauncho. A worried frown is etched in his skin as he looks down at me.
“Thanks for the milk,” I rasp.
“Of course. Goodness, you gave us quite a scare.” He looks at the destroyed half of my sandwich still sitting in its to-go container. “You didn’t order your sandwich spicy?”
“Nope.” Someone hands me a napkin, and I whisper a thanks as I dab at my face and mouth.
Dr. Wauncho removes his glasses and bites the earpiece as he studies my sandwich, deep in thought. “What an unfortunate mix-up,” he says.
“You’re telling me,” I mutter. My mouth is still on fire.
“I should call the bistro and complain,” he says.
I shake my head. “No, don’t do that. It was just a mix-up. I don’t want anyone to get into…”
The soothing feeling from the dairy fades, and I start to cough again. I cover my mouth with my hand as I struggle to swallow back the fiery burn creeping up my chest and throat.
Is this what it’s like to eat spicy food? How the hell do people enjoy this?
I stand up and jog out of the conference room toward the bathrooms down the hall so I can cough and hack without an audience. Everyone jumps away from me, clearing a path from me to the doorway instantly. I’d be impressed at the spontaneous synchronicity if my mouth, throat, and chest weren’t currently on fire.
Micah rounds the corner, and I nearly run her over as I hit the men’s bathroom.
She lets out a shriek as she jumps out of the way, bumping into the wall.
I hunch over the nearest sink and rinse my mouth with cold water. I gargle and spit icy water over and over. After a solid minute, the fiery burn starts to dial back.
I rip a paper towel from the nearby dispenser and wipe my nose and mouth, then take off my glasses. For a few seconds, I just stand there and catch my breath between coughs. I’m breathing like I just did hockey suicide drills.
I take off my glasses and splash cold water onto my face before rinsing out my mouth yet again. I almost gag at the sour taste of hot sauce lingering in my mouth. I hack for a few seconds, then glance up at my reflection in the mirror. Jesus. My face is red, my eyes are watery, and my cheeks are hollowed out. I look like hell.
And then I hear something. I have to strain for a few seconds to make out what I’m hearing. And when I do, I’m fucking livid.
Because that’s the sound of Micah laughing at me behind the door.