15. The Present
The Present
Carla
It’s half-pasteight and I’m calling it a night. I’m supposed to help TJ with something on his computer before I leave, but his office door has been closed since he locked the gym doors at seven.
A client is in his office with him. At least, I think she’s a client. Her eyes were red and swollen when she walked in. She looked no older than sixteen. TJ didn’t turn her away, even though gym hours had ended. He ushered her into his office without hesitation.
That’s TJ. He never seems inconvenienced when people ask him for help. He never says no. He just helps.
Over the past few weeks, I’ve stayed late each night. I converted almost every stack of paper to electronic files, but TJ needed help understanding how to use the computer. I didn’t mind doing extra work after hours. TJ lets me study and do homework while I’m there, so I’m grateful. I’m burning the candle at both ends between classes, work, and studying for classes at work, but it’s keeping me busy. Busy means I don’t have time to think about much else.
Like the texts and calls I keep getting from Joe. It pains me to hear his sad voice in the messages he leaves, and that only makes me mad. Mad at him for ruining us. Mad at myself for still loving someone who hurt me so much.
I wonder if he’ll stop calling, or if I’ll eventually cave and answer. Not sure which scenario I’d rather.
I sling my purse on my shoulder, keys in hand, when TJ’s office door swings open. The girl is no longer crying as she follows him out, a wad of tissues balled in her fist.
“You did good coming to me tonight.” TJ wraps his arm around her shoulders. “I’m proud of you.”
She shrugs and looks at the floor. “Thanks.”
TJ lets her out and turns to me with an apologetic look. “You didn’t have to wait this long.”
I hold my hand up. “I was in the middle of something. Don’t worry about it.”
“Why don’t you head home? You can help my computer-illiterate ass tomorrow.”
“I don’t mind staying a few extra minutes.”
TJ smiles. A soft one—one I haven’t yet seen. It does things to my insides.
In his office, we wait for his computer to power up. “Was everything okay with that girl?” I ask. “She looked really upset when she got here.”
“Yeah, she’ll be okay. She’s a recovering addict.”
“Oh. Are you her sponsor?”
“No, but the people who come here know my door is always open if they’re having a hard time.”
I know nothing about alcohol addiction, so I don’t ask the questions I have. I point to the computer instead. “Click on the folder that says Clients.”
I show him how to alphabetize his client list using an Excel spreadsheet. He catches on quickly, so it doesn’t take too long. “Now you click File. Then click Save.”
“Where does it go when you save it? How do I find it when I need it?”
I bite my bottom lip. “You saved it to the Clients folder. Look at your desktop and you’ll see it.”
TJ’s eyes narrow as he side-eyes me. “Don’t laugh.”
I hold my hands up on either side of my head. “I’m not laughing.”
“You bite your lip whenever you want to laugh but know you shouldn’t. It’s a thing you do.”
Busted. “I’m sorry. I just can’t get over the fact that you own a business and have no idea how to make a spreadsheet. It’s like you’ve never used a computer before.”
“I didn’t grow up with a computer. Never had the need for one.”
“Well, now you know how to make a spreadsheet and save it.” I stifle a yawn and glance at the time on the computer screen. “Tomorrow, we’re getting crazy. I’ll show you how to print something.”
“I’m sorry for keeping you here so late.”
“Stop apologizing. It’s fine.”
“What are you doing tonight?” he asks.
“Taking a bath. Reading.”
“You should go out. It’s Friday night. You’re young.”
“You say it like you’re old.”
“I am old.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re not that old. You’re twenty-five, not seventy-five.”
“And you’re nineteen. You should be going to college parties and dancing with boys.”
“Is that what you did?”
“Yeah, I danced with all the boys.”
I laugh and nudge him with my elbow. “You know what I mean.”
“I didn’t go to college.” He brushes lint off his shorts. “Couldn’t afford it.”
“Oh.” I should just insert my foot in my mouth any time I feel the urge to ask him anything. “Well, I’d rather be here. There’s so much organizing I can do.”
His eyes flick to my lips for a moment so brief, I wonder if I imagined it. “Is that why you’re here? To organize?”
“That … and I want to help you.”
“Why?”
“Roger said something when I started working here. He said you’d give someone the shirt off your back if he needed it.”
TJ shrugs it off and averts his eyes to his hands as he folds them in his lap. As confident-bordering-arrogant as he can be, there’s another side to him. Modest. Unaware of his greatness. I’m fascinated by this hidden layer.
“I’ve only known you for a short time, but I get the feeling that people don’t do much for you in return.” I laugh, trying to keep it light. “Even Superman needs help sometimes.”
TJ’s eyes close and when they open again, they’re blue flames blazing into mine. They hold me captive, and all I can do is try to remember how to breathe. The memory of his lips on mine, his hands all over my body—the memory I work so hard to push from my mind whenever I’m around him—is now all I see.
Heat spreads over my skin like it’s following a trail of gasoline leading straight between my thighs. I shift in my seat, trying to suppress the ache. The itch I shouldn’t scratch.
When TJ’s gaze falls to my lips again, my breath hitches. He’s going to kiss me.
And I’m going to let him.
He leans in and stops a centimeter from my face. I’m ready to close the gap when he says, “You should probably go.”
“Oh, right.” I stand so fast my chair wobbles behind me.
“Carla, wait.”
“I’m sorry. Good night.” I’m out the door and in my car in the matter of seconds.
I don’t allow myself to dissect what just happened—what I wanted to happen. TJ is my boss and I can’t almost-kiss my boss. It won’t happen again. And that’s the end of that. My ego can’t take anything more.
When I arrive at my apartment, I drag my legs up the stairs. As soon as I turn the key in the door, the smell hits me.
Something’s burning.
I rush into the kitchen to find Mallory waving a towel around like a helicopter while smoke billows out of the oven.
Her eyes go wide when she sees me. “Okay, I know this looks bad. But in my defense, I was left unsupervised.”
I roll my lips together to keep from laughing. “What are you cooking?”
“I was trying to make my mom’s lasagna. I think I left it in for too long.”
“You think?” I grab an oven mitt and take the baking dish out of the oven. Tossing it into the sink, I run the water on top of it.
“We’re going to starve,” she whines.
“No, we won’t.”
“We won’t?”
“Nope. We’re strong independent women, remember?”
“What are we going to eat?”
“I’m going to cook. You’re going to crank up the music.”
“Now that I can do.” Mallory skips out of the kitchen and within thirty seconds, Salt-N-Pepa are booming from my iPod speaker.
“That’s what I’m talking about!” I saunter around the kitchen to the beat, gathering ingredients and mixing them together.
Mallory dances around me, setting the table and singing into a fork.
When I’m finished, I place a heaping pile of pancakes onto the table. “Scrambled eggs are up next.”
“You are the perfect roommate.”
“You bet your ass I am.”
“Carla Evans. Did you just curse?”
I giggle. “I guess TJ’s rubbing off on me.”
“Please, tell me more about how he’s rubbing on you.” She wiggles her eyebrows and shoves a forkful of pancakes into her mouth.
“How is it that you manage to turn everything into a sexual innuendo?”
“It’s a gift.”
I shake my head. “He’s my boss. There’s no rubbing.”
“You’ve been working some late hours. You mean to tell me you’ve actually been working?”
“He needs help. He’s running that gym all by himself, and it’s doing well. I want to help him so that it runs smoothly.” I hold my finger up. “And please—don’t say anything sexual using the word smooth.”
Mallory pretends to zipper her lips. “Have you thought more about the yoga class?”
“I just don’t feel like I’m qualified to teach it. I can follow along and do the moves, but lead a room full of people?” I shake my head. “I don’t think so.”
“But you’re great at it. You taught me how to do that move. What’s it called? Doggy style?”
A laugh bursts from my throat. “Downward-facing dog.”
“Whatever. I need to get laid.”
“You really do.”
“Let’s go find some guys tonight!”
I groan. Walked right into that one. “Let me rephrase that: You need to get laid. I’m perfectly fine.”
She points her fork at me. “You, my friend, are not fine. You’re still hung up on your ex. You need to get over him and under someone else. Or on top. Whichever you prefer.”
“No, thanks. I’m good.”
“Girl! You don’t know what you’re missing. You need to get out there.”
“Out where?”
“I don’t know. Dickland!”
“Is that like the adult version of Disney Land?”
“Yes. So let’s go.”
“That’s just not me.” Well, it was for one night … and God was that incredible. But that cannot happen again.
“Maybe you need to branch out of your comfort zone.”
“I quit my job and moved across the country. I’m well out of my comfort zone, thank you very much.”
Mallory lets out an exaggerated breath. “Fine. I’ll make a deal with you. Tonight, we’ll watch Netflix. But tomorrow night, we go out.”
“Deal.”
Her eyes light up as I stand with our plates. “Really? Wow. You’re easy.”
“That’s what she said.” I wink and head for the kitchen, leaving Mallory cackling at the table.
After a Netflix marathon of You, I fall face-first into my pillow. I’m about to turn off my Wi-Fi for the night when I notice a text.
TJ:I’m sorry about earlier. Didn’t mean to send you running for the hills.
Me: No worries. I’m not on any hills.
TJ: Good. You’d probably end up tripping and rolling down one.
Me: You can’t see me but I’m scowling at you right now.
TJ: How do you know I can’t see you?
TJ: Okay, that sounded way less creepy in my head.
Me: Dude, don’t freak me out. I just watched a show about a stalker on Netflix with Mal.
TJ: Totally not a stalker.
Me: You’d be way too conspicuous. Like King Kong trying to hide behind a bush.
TJ: I’m better looking than King Kong.
Me: I don’t know. You’re definitely not as hairy.
Three dots bounceon my screen while TJ types his response. Then, they stop. I’m flirting with my boss. I know I shouldn’t be. I should say goodnight and go to sleep. Still, I can’t bring myself to end the conversation yet. I hold my breath when the dots reappear.
TJ: Thank you for your help this week. I’m glad I hired you.
Me: Happy to help.
TJ: Have you thought any more about the yoga class?
Me: I’m nervous.
TJ: Don’t be.
Me: Poof! You fixed me. It’s a miracle. ::eye roll::
TJ: You can’t see me but I’m scowling at you right now.
Me: How do you know I can’t see you? ::wink::
Me: OK the wink didn’t make that any less creepy.
TJ: Made it worse, if anything.
Me: I’m getting sleepy. Nighty night.
TJ: See you tomorrow.
TJ: And Carla?
Me: Yeah?
TJ: What you said meant a lot.
TJ: About Superman needing help sometimes.
Me: I meant it.
TJ: Your ex is an idiot for letting you go.
My stomach flops.You cannot get butterflies. He’s your boss. I say thanks and tell him good night. Exhaling, I roll over and drift to sleep.
I have a dream that I’m on top of the Chrysler building and TJ’s climbing it with his bare hands to come rescue me.