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I nod slowly. “I do.” I drink some more margarita, hoping it’ll numb the ache in my chest.
“Is there a reason why you can’t be together?” Lucy asks.
“I don’t know if there’s a rule that states we can’t be or if it’s just that ethically it’s the wrong thing to do. I didn’t pay attention when I signed my paperwork when I got hired. I wanted a job so badly, I would’ve signed my life away.” I take another sip. “I can’t very well contact human resources and ask them what their stance is on me fucking my boss.”
Sheryl and Lucy laugh, but I can’t. There’s nothing remotely funny about this situation.
“I think you need a game plan for how you’re going to handle seeing him every day,” Lucy says.
“Okay, do you have any ideas?” I ask.
Lucy holds up her thumb. “One. Try to keep at least four feet of distance between the two of you at all times.” She raises her index finger. “Two. Avoid looking at him whenever possible.”
“I’ve got number three,” Sheryl says, holding up her middle finger. “Keep your meetings with him as short as possible.”
Lucy’s ring finger raises. “Four. Only talk about work-related topics.”
“Five.” Sheryl adds her pinky. “Don’t wear sexy clothes.”
My nose wrinkles. “I never do.”
“Okay, let me clarify that. Don’t wear dresses or skirts. Or fitted pants. Your legs look too sexy. I’m a heterosexual woman and even I’ve noticed how long they are.”
“Jesus, Sheryl. What am I supposed to wear?”
“Baggy clothing. We can go shopping after work tomorrow,” she says.
“I don’t have the money for a new wardrobe, and I don’t think I should have to change what I wear. Maybe he should be the one to buy new clothes. Then I wouldn’t have to look at his muscular ass or how his dress shirts hug his torso.”
“I think you should suggest it to him,” Sheryl says. “Men never get criticized for how they dress; it’s always the women’s fault. Our skirts are too short, our shirts are too low cut.”
“I don’t know about mentioning this to Trey. I think number five can be used as a last resort. Try the other four options out first,” Lucy says, doing her best to be the voice of reason.
Usually, I don’t need someone else to be that for me, but these margaritas are strong, and I’m currently on my third one.
“Okay,” I agree.
“Do you mind if I call Niall?” Lucy asks. “I told him we’d talk when I got home and I still haven’t contacted him.”
“Go for it. Where is he anyway?”
“Out with the guys,” Lucy says.
“I’d like to be out with all the guys he hangs out with,” Sheryl says.
I laugh. “Let’s get comfortable. Grab the pitcher,” I say as I head to the living room.
“Got it,” Sheryl calls out.
The two of us get situated on the couch with the margaritas on the coffee table in front of us.
Lucy enters the room and turns on the TV.
“Wow, that was a quick call,” I say.
She smiles. “He and the guys are busy watching a replay of the final championship game.” She changes the channel. “Here it is.”
“Oooh, yeah, hockey players,” Sheryl says, shimmying her shoulders. She pokes my arm. “You need to introduce me to one of those fine-ass men.”