Chapter 8 #2
“Really?” I say, not giving her the satisfaction of her decent wordplay as I push back my chair. The coffee machine whirls. A dog barks in the distance. It appears I’ve unlocked superpowers in which I can hear all sounds, near and far.
I drag my body slowly over to Xander, every muscle willing me to turn around, but I’ve made it halfway across the warehouse now and there’s no turning back.
He hasn’t taken his eyes off me. I resist the urge to run my fingers through my hair as a makeshift comb.
To try and pick the unidentifiable stain off my top.
And yep, that’s the feeling of my leggings riding up my crotch and giving me camel toe.
I breathe out and clasp my hands together to appear put together.
When I finally reach Xander’s table, a Cuban sandwich is halfway to his mouth. I stop in front of him, and he pauses midbite, then looks me up and down. His gaze stops on my stain. And then my hair. And finally lands on my face. Ugh.
“The Cuban sandwich is good here,” I say, initiating the chitchat Em told me was supposed to be better than staring from a safe distance. Xander takes a bite and chews. This is getting more awkward by the second. I take a deep breath, ready to apologize.
I can’t believe he caught me playing the penis game with his name. In all the cafés in all the Valley, he had to eat a Cuban sandwich in mine. I am internally screaming.
“So, about what you heard—” I say just as his phone rings.
Xander looks down and studies the incoming call with brows furrowed, all serious. “I have to take this,” he says, then wipes his mouth with his napkin. He stands and I step to the side, giving him space to walk past me.
“Yeah, of course. Okay. So, um, see you tonight?” I stammer.
Not answering me, he swipes his phone and walks straight past me, leaving a trail of his signature fresh scent, which short-circuits my brain. I’ve been dismissed.
Awesome. Now I’ve got five hours and forty-five minutes to think—also known as worry, stress, catastrophize, and have an ongoing anxiety attack—about how I’m going to handle Wankgate and Fuckgate.
How did my drama-free life turn into a scandal worthy of a reality show?
The first thing I questioned over the following five hours and forty-five minutes was: Will I see him tonight? Will he show up?
That’s spiral number one. It’s the most important spiral because if he doesn’t show, then we’re not in the sleep study, and if we’re not in the sleep study then I don’t have a job, and if I don’t have a job, then I have no money. Money that’s supposed to pay the rent.
The good news here is that I was able to pull myself out of this spiral by constantly reminding myself that Xander is an insomniac and needs this study more than the money. Which is saying something.
I concluded that I would see him tonight.
This made way for my second spiral: the confrontation spiral.
Also known as, what the actual fuck is he going to say to me?
And what am I going to say to him in response?
This spiral required the most spiraling.
Do you know how productive the brain can get when its only job is to conjure up fifty different scenarios in which Xander could confront me, and me coming up with fifty different responses where I don’t come off as some depraved sexual deviant?
So productive.
I thought about it as I watched Derek Morgan kick down doors in Criminal Minds. I thought about it while playing Mario Kart with Em. I thought about it while sticking my head in the freezer in attempts to cool down in this chronic heat wave.
In all my thinking, the biggest thing that stood out was that Xander is a lawyer. He confronts people for a living. And so he will, without a doubt, confront me.
And this is why, as I’m pulling up into the parking lot this evening, I am completely on edge.
A nervous wreck.
I take a deep breath. It does absolutely nothing.
I get out of the car, ready to see Xander in the parking lot—but Xander’s not standing at the trunk of his car with his leg kicked back, rubbing his neck. Xander’s car is not here at all.
I search the parking lot as the late afternoon sun attempts to blind me, and nope. No car. No Xander. The one scenario I stopped myself from spiraling over is what’s happening right now.
After hearing himself the butt of our joke, Xander decided he didn’t have the energy to spend the next four weeks with me.
Fuck.
I cannot twerk, swing around a pole, or drop into an aggressive squat and pop back up again like I’m some athletic stripper gymnast. I have zero core strength. I need this job.
Maybe I can go in and pretend Xander is running late from a case. Maybe when Ben asks where Xander is, I can check my phone and it says there’s a voice mail from Xander. There’s been an accident. Xander’s at the hospital. In a coma …
“Hey, Ash,” I hear someone say. Turning and shielding my eyes from the sun, I see Ben pop his head up from one of the parked cars.
With its rusted roof, chipped paint job, and what looks like the remnants of a fender bender that didn’t get fixed, I don’t have a shadow of a doubt it’s Ben’s pride and joy. He slams the door three times to get it to lock and walks over to me, wrangling a stack of papers.
My stomach drops. I’ll have to start talking. The jig is up. I’ll be jobless and homeless, all because I lost a game of penis.
Ben moves past me and walks toward the front door. I don’t join him. My right foot won’t lift off the ground. I stand there for a moment, my brain and body paralyzed.
“Ben, I …” I look around as if the parking lot will magically give me the words I need right now. He turns and smiles.
“Come on, Xander’s already inside,” he says, gesturing to the building.
What? I don’t need to kill Xander off? I don’t need to make up another story to explain his absence? Xander showed up?
“Something about his case wrapping early. He’s so cool,” Ben says to me, a look of approval on his face.
I nod and begin to follow him inside. Wait. Is Xander cool?
I shake it off. No way. Not in this universe.
“Look who I found waiting for you in the parking lot,” Ben says as he opens the door to our tiny sleep study room for two.
Xander stops rubbing his neck and looks up at me from behind furrowed eyebrows. Holy mother of hotness.
In all the spiraling this afternoon, I forgot how ridiculously good-looking Xander is.
Blood rushes from my extremities and concentrates itself in the pit of my stomach and forward flops at the sight of him.
The sex dream flutters behind my eyelids when I blink.
His hands. His lips. His tongue. I’m keenly aware neither of us is smiling at the other.
Just staring. Xander gets the memo and breaks the stare by giving me a half smile. You know, minimum-effort style.
“I’ll be back to put on the wires shortly,” Ben says, and closes the door behind him as he leaves.
Xander’s half smile rests on his face, almost morphing into a smirk, and I know it’s coming in three, two—
“Fuck Xander? Tell me how you really feel,” he says.
And there it is. The confrontation.
The smirk on his face makes me think he’s slightly amused, but the tone of the delivery tells me he’s hurt.
“You don’t even know me,” Xander goes on, before I have time to gather my defense.
“Oh, please. I know you,” I say, quick to react.
Xander laughs. He actually laughs. “Just because you know what I can do with my tongue doesn’t mean you know me,” he says.
“Really?” I snap. “Is that it? You’re pissed because I didn’t thank you for your services eleven years ago? Okay, well, thank you.” I curtsy on the thank-you to really drive home the sarcasm.
Xander rolls his eyes. “Wow,” he says as though it’s a complete sentence.
“Wow what?”
“Forgive me for not having the patience to deal with your childish behavior after a night of exactly zero sleep,” he says.
I swallow because suddenly, my mouth is an ocean of salvia. Does he have a point?
“I’m childish?” I say, opting to fight him instead of understanding where he’s coming from.
“Did I stutter?”
“You’re the one who’s having a tantrum about a one-night stand,” I say, reducing our former friendship down to a decision we could never come back from. And the moment it comes out of my mouth, I know I’m grasping at straws.
“Oh, come on, Ash. I promise I haven’t thought about you in eleven years,” he says, volleying the argument right back into my court.
“You think I’m pathetic that I signed up for the sleep study even though I sleep perfectly fine,” I say, projecting my worst fears onto him.
“The study needs solid sleepers. Why would I think you’re pathetic for helping out?” he says, confused.
“Because I got fired from my job and I’m a broke joke,” I say, practically screaming and simultaneously wishing I hadn’t spoken.
“I don’t think—”
The door swings opens, and we’re both snapped out of our fight.
Ben stands there, his eyes wide. “Do I need to get security?” he says, his voice wobbling a little, but standing his ground.
Oh my god, he heard us fighting.
Xander’s face morphs into a friendly smile that immediately makes Ben smile back. “Not necessary. I was just telling Ash what happened in court today,” he says. “She likes to hear all the dirty stuff.”
Ben raises his eyebrows, interested.
“It was some real Jerry Springer shit,” Xander says.
“I bet,” Ben says, mesmerized by Xander. “But, um, the thing is, everyone can hear you. Like everyone. And your acting is really good. It sounded like a full-on domestic in here. You know?” The warning hangs in the air between us.
“Roger that, Ben. No more courtroom drama at the sleep study,” Xander says, motioning with his hand that he’s zipping his lips shut.
“Thanks, bro,” Ben says, leaving. “I’ll be back soon for the wiring.”
After the door is shut, I wait in silence for five seconds before I spin around to face Xander. I’m ready to go for round two, but I notice his hand has returned to the back of his neck, like he’s trying to rub me out of his life.
“I’m exhausted,” he says, now rubbing his temple.
“Yeah, obviously, because you’re an insomniac,” I say, unable to help myself.
“No. I mean, yes, I am an insomniac. But no, that’s not why I’m exhausted.” He doesn’t explain further, but I know exactly what he means.
I exhaust him.
There’s a momentarily lapse in my desire to fight to the death like we’re two gladiators. I look at him. Like, really look at him. Something in his dark hazel eyes changes. It’s like they’re waving a little white flag.
Before I can process it, Ben knocks again and enters. He’s holding—surprise, surprise—a stack of papers.
“Oh, Ash, I’ve got this for you. Have a read before I come in to wire you up,” Ben says, handing me said papers. “I’ll be back in ten.” He closes the door behind him.
I look down at the papers. The title on the cover sheet says: Cognitive Behavioral Therapy to Reduce Sleep-Interfering Arousal/Activation.
OH MY GOD. He studied the fucking tapes.
I can feel Xander peering over my shoulder, scanning the paper. Well, that’s one way to end a fight.
“Ben studied the tapes,” I say, holding up the paper and turning to face Xander.
“He probably made a spreadsheet about it.” Xander is wearing a full-body smile. It seems the fight is forgotten for now because he’s filled with utter delight.
“Yeah, that’s much better. I’ll for sure be able to look Ben in the eye the next time I see him,” I say, shaking my head.
I head over to the end of the bed, dramatically turn around, and let myself fall backward. I stare up at the ceiling and finally notice how exhausted I am. Sure, I might not be able to do insane maneuvers on a pole, but I can perform mental gymnastics with the best of them.
Only twenty-eight days to go, I remind myself.
I sigh. It’s going to feel like a fucking lifetime.