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“Sorry. Sorry. I’m an excellent driver, honest. It’s just that…” He paused and looked at the navigation display on the dash.
Please don’t ask me out. Please don’t ask me out.
“It’s just, I mean, you’re really hot.” He laughed a very uncomfortable-sounding laugh. “But you know that, right? I mean, shit…look at you, right? I bet you get asked out all the time. Do you have a boyfriend?”
Looking down at my phone, I tried to pretend I didn’t hear him. When he repeated his ridiculous question, I looked up with a huff.
“No. I don’t have a boyfriend. And thank you for the compliment. That’s very kind of you,” I said and faked a quick smile.
“Oh, I totally mean it too. So…” He paused for a long moment, and I dreaded what he was going to say next. “If you don’t have a boyfriend…” Another long pause, and I considered bailing out the back door of the moving car. “You wanna go out sometime? This is a little awkward. I don’t usually do this with my passengers. Really.”
Christ. At least he had the sense to look sheepish after all that.
“No. Thank you, though,” I said without looking up and decided to just leave it there. I didn’t owe this stranger an explanation or a reason why I didn’t want to go on a date with him. Hopefully the silence that ballooned between us in the small car would make him feel uncomfortable enough to forgo ever pulling that stunt again.
There. That was my good deed for the day. I did womankind a favor by gently teaching this clueless boy a lesson. Took one for the team and all that. The silly thought made me grin while I checked my email, and Toby must have caught the change of expression in the rearview.
“Ooooh, you’re thinking about it, aren’t you?” he exclaimed excitedly.
When I met his eyes in the rectangular mirror, I gave him the most incredulous look I could. “No, I’m not.”
Fortunately, the ride was quicker than normal. Thank you, traffic gods, for gifting me that small grace. No way could I get coffee, though, since I drained my account paying Toby’s fare. I’d have to be fine without the java boost. I walked through the door of Professor Chaplin’s stuffy office with one minute to spare. According to my phone, anyway.
“I specifically said don’t be late,” he said without looking up from his laptop.
“I have a minute to spare,” I said before thinking better of it.
Well, that made him instantly raise his eyes from his computer and sit back in his chair. When he whipped his glasses off his nose, I felt a bit of panic swell in my empty stomach.
Slowly, I raised my phone and showed him the display that read 7:59 a.m.
Without another word, he replaced his glasses and waved his hand toward my half of the desk. I took that to mean I should sit, so I cautiously lowered myself into the chair. That’s when I noticed there was a new seat on my side of the desk.
Yesterday I sat in the same stiff, wooden chair I sat in for my noninterview. The furniture was likely older than me. Today, however, there was a very modern chair. It was the type you’d see at any office supply megastore, and it was incredibly comfortable. After wiggling my bottom deeper into the cushiony seat, I looked up to find him studying me intently.
“Thank you,” I said, and my normally confident, strong voice sounded shy and feminine. What the hell was going on here? Over a freaking chair?
But the thing was, I had a feeling this man didn’t go out of his way for anyone. I hadn’t complained about that awful chair yesterday, but he must have known it was uncomfortable. He went the extra mile to make things a little nicer for me, and those were the kind of things that mattered to me. It didn’t have to be a grand, over-the-top gesture or item. It was the little things that counted.
But instead of responding like a person usually would, he just redirected his focus with a quick nod like it never happened. Man, this guy was confusing. So I chose to also not make a big deal out of it and got out my laptop and set up my desk for the day ahead. When I felt his eyes on me again, I looked up and caught him completely staring at me this time.
So I held his gaze and waited. If he had something to say, he was either having second thoughts about saying it or was content just studying me like I was the project.
I finally caved and said, “Is there something wrong?”
“I don’t think so. Do you have something you need to address?”
I slowly shook my head but never looked away. This guy wasn’t going to intimidate me with his directness. I rather preferred it, honestly. Most people my age didn’t have the confidence to be so forthright. Maybe it was one of the things I found attractive about the man.
Wait a minute. One of the things? Was there a list now?
“Today I want you to research these four websites.” He slid a piece of paper closer to me on the desk, then stood and rounded to my side. I studied his hand while it rested on top of the white sheet. His skin was darker than mine, and against the snowy comparison of the paper, the tone looked even richer than I had registered before. Long, straight fingers with impeccably clean, blunt nails spanned the paper from left to right. The man definitely took care of himself, and I inhaled a slow breath to focus.
Websites. Look at the web addresses.
After finally nodding, I asked, “What would you like me to look for on these websites?” When I looked closer, I was familiar with three of the four. These were commonly used sites that databased available grants, had documentation on the funding sources, and detailed the requirements to apply for the available money listed.
“Oh, okay,” I said more to myself than him.
