3. Sebastian
THREE
SEBASTIAN
Well, that didn’t go as planned.
I sit at my desk at the small workshare office that Seth and I rent and put my head in my hands.
I slipped out of Ashley’s apartment while she pretended to sleep, and raced home to change. Seth still beat me in. He gave me a knowing look when I entered, like he can tell I didn’t spend the night at my condo.
Fifteen minutes go by in peace and quiet until he strikes. I have a sense he’s been waiting for my coffee to set in, but I’ve neglected the travel mug sitting in front of me, so he can’t resist any longer.
“So, what did you get up to last night?” Seth looks over with an eyebrow raised. His scruffy brown hair is hanging over his eyes. He leans his lanky frame back in his desk chair as he stares at me. “Obviously it wasn’t a quiet night at home.”
“Why are you assuming it was something wild?”
“You’ve got that look.”
“What look?” Now I’m intrigued.
“The one you get whenever you didn’t go home the night before. Like you rushed home, changed quickly, and didn’t get all your shit together like you usually do.”
Damn, he’s good. I usually wake up with my clothes picked out and my bag already packed, the pour-over coffee apparatus ready on the counter.
Today I threw something on and grabbed Tim Hortons en route to the subway, then realized when I arrived that I forgot my charger.
Hopefully I can borrow Seth’s. If he finds out I slept with Ashley, he’ll lose it.
He needs the next step of our marketing strategy to go well so he can set aside more money for the wedding he and his long-time girlfriend have been talking about for ages.
“You’re imagining things,” I reply. “I went out for drinks with Ashley, that’s all. I just slept in this morning.”
One side of his mouth quirks up. “Not sure I believe that. Knowing you, it could be some spontaneous hookup in the elevator on your way home.”
I don’t reply, just turn to scroll through my inbox. He’s aware that despite my active dating life, I don’t kiss and tell. No one likes a guy who pontificates about his sex life.
Seth drops the line of questioning. “How did it go with Ashley? Is she interested?”
She did say she was in, but that was before everything else.
Before I brushed the hair off her face when she was mixing up our second round of mojitos.
Before she kissed me on the couch because I had lime juice on the corner of my lip.
Before I said “We probably shouldn’t keep doing this,” and then we kept on doing it.
I don’t know if she’s going to be in now or run the other way.
What was I thinking? Honestly, my brain was not the one calling the shots.
If I ruin this, Seth will kill me and his girlfriend Diana will have my head on a platter.
“She said she’d think about it,” I say diplomatically. “She’s potentially interested but has to make sure she can balance all her commitments. She liked the idea.”
I look at my watch. It’s already ten, not too early to shoot her a text to check in. I quickly type a message, then re-read my draft half a dozen times, wondering if last night messed things up too much for this to work. I send the text anyway.
Hey Ashley, thanks for everything last night and for considering my proposal. I hope all is good between us. I’ll send the paperwork for Single In The Six to your email today.
How do you end a text like that? I’m very familiar with the “slinking out at dawn” routine and the associated “thanks for last night” follow-up, but I’m typically never going to see the woman again, let alone work together.
I consider adding “Cheers!” but that’s too much enthusiasm.
Would a smiley face soften the message? She’d read through that in an instant; I’m not a smiley face guy.
Have a great day!
Was the exclamation point too much? I draft an email and review the papers that I had planned to send her, but I wait for some confirmation that she’s not going to bail.
I spend the morning reaching out to other potential influencers on my list and reviewing numbers with our social media associate Cleo, whom we hired a few months ago when Seth and I realized that at thirty and change, we’re too out of touch to do this on our own.
Cleo is excited about Ashley coming on, so I keep checking my phone, afraid I’ll receive a message saying she never wants to see me again.
Right before noon, as I’m considering whether to get more coffee to drown my anxiety, she writes back.
Ashley:
NP. I had fun. Send me the paperwork and I’ll review.
Relief floods me. She hasn’t backed out, at least not officially, and she said she had fun. I certainly hope so. I’d probably use a more descriptive word than that, but this isn’t the time to think on those lines.
I skim the message again, however, and worry about whether the lack of enthusiasm is intentional.
Ashley’s messages are usually full of emojis and goofy jokes.
This is work-related, but maybe she’s intentionally being curt, like she’s offended about how last night went down.
God, I’m turning into my younger sisters, doing critical analysis of a few sentences in a text.
I shake my head and I resist the urge to passive-aggressively send a thumbs up like we’re playing a game of who can be less enthused.
Thanks. Looking forward to working together.
I realize when I write it that I’m excited to spend more time with her, to see what she does with this platform and where it takes her. I close my phone before I can be tempted to say all that in response.
Then I lean back and close my eyes—in truth, neither of us got much sleep last night—and wonder what the hell I’ve gotten myself into.