Page 4 of FWB
Tiegan
T he rest of the morning goes by smoothly, but I can’t help thinking of him.
Kenny. Was he flirting with me earlier? No, surely not.
A man like that wouldn’t be interested in a woman like me.
I’m not slim. I’ve got curves. I know I’m not ugly, per se.
But my weight has always been a touchy subject.
I feel like I have to overcompensate for my size in every other aspect of my life.
It’s exhausting having this little voice inside my head constantly saying, No one will ever love you because you’re fat.
Whatever. I don’t need to focus on guys right now anyway.
This new job is very different from the veterinary world that I left, and I’m going to need all my brain cells to comprehend this new law lingo I have to learn.
Lunchtime can’t come fast enough. I’m looking forward to seeing Jerome again and finding out how his first day is going. I enter the lobby and see him waiting by a pillar, checking his phone.
“Hey!” I say as I approach. “How’s your first day going? Ready to get some lunch?”
He perks up at the sound of my voice. “Hey! It’s going great so far, and yes. I’m starving. I hear Chile Burrito on Fourth Avenue is good.”
“I’m always down for nachos. Lead the way!”
As we walk out of the high-rise building into the warm summer afternoon, Jerome asks, “Did you get a weird vibe from the husband and wife duo this morning?”
“Oh, my god. Yes! I’ve been silently calling them Mr. Potato Head and Ice Queen in my head all day.”
“Dude, you’re spot on! I didn’t even know the firm allowed married couples to work together. I thought there was a rule about relationships in the workplace.”
“I guess not. Besides, if she’s head of HR, who is going to say anything?”
“True. I guess it pays to have a C in front of your title.”
“Welcome to Corporate America,” I groan.
We approach the restaurant and Jerome holds the door open for me. Nineties country music is playing from the speakers, and a colorful mural of a crowd on Broadway fills one wall. The faces of the crowd are painted to look like sugar skulls.
As I pass through the doors, I see that Jerome is wearing a wedding ring. “Are you married?”
“I am. Seven years strong.” He holds out his phone to show me his lock screen. His background is a picture of a beautiful woman with almost iridescent skin holding two caramel-kissed kids, a boy and a girl.
“You have a beautiful family,” I say, genuinely. His family seems picture-perfect.
“Thank you. They’re my world. What about you? Any family?”
“Just cats for me. I actually live with my aunt right now. She was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer earlier this year, so I’ve been helping her out around the house.”
“Damn, that’s rough. I’m sorry to hear that,” he says as we approach the counter.
“Thanks, but she’s actually doing pretty well. She still gets around like before, just with a few more setbacks. Chemo is rough, but her spirits stay up, though.”
“That’s really good to hear.”
We place our orders. Jerome orders a burrito with carne asada, and I get the chicken nachos. We take our food and find our seats.
As we begin to eat, he asks, “So cats, huh? I’ve always loved animals. I actually used to do IT work for my uncle who is a vet.”
“No way! That’s so funny. I just left the vet field. And yeah, just cats for me. No kids, ever.”
“Oh, really? Why’s that?” He takes a bite of his burrito.
“I would need a lot more alcohol and courage to spill my whole sob story to you on our first day,” I say, laughing.
“But for now, I just have always known I didn’t want my own kids.
Pregnancy scares the shit out of me. I don’t think I could handle raising a tiny human by myself. Cats are hard enough.”
“That’s fair.”
“Are you from Nashville originally?”
“Nah, I’m a transplant. I moved up here from a small town in Alabama a few years ago when I got a job at Vanderbilt Medical. What about you?”
“I was born in Missouri, but my family moved down here when I was a baby. So I consider myself a unicorn,” I say using our collective term for native Nashvillians.
For the rest of the lunch hour, the conversation continues. I swap phone numbers with Jerome before heading back to the office.
As we enter the high-rise, he invites me to his family’s game night next weekend. “It gets wild. We go for eight hours straight, only bathroom and food breaks are allowed.”
“Wow! Sounds intense. Count me in. I haven’t had a good game night since college.”
“Right? We get pretty competitive, too. Just warning you.”
“ Winner Winner Chicken Dinner is my middle name,“ I reply with a smug grin.
“Damn, that’s a long middle name.”
I like this dude. Anyone who can dish it out as well as they can take it is A-OK in my book.
“I know, my parents must have really disliked me.” I laugh.
The rest of the day passes in a blur of learning the differences between the dozen different printer paper types we have to use and trying to memorize the layout of where everyone in the firm sits for mail drop-offs.
When it’s finally time to clock out and leave for the day, Rob thanks me and wishes me well for the evening.
I do the same and head towards the elevators.
Once inside the lift, I press the button for the lobby, but the elevator only goes down one floor before opening again.
And who is going to be my elevator co-passenger?
Ding! Ding! Ding! Kenny. “We meet again,” I say with a sly smile on my red-tinted lips.
“I guess I’m your personal elevator escort now.”
“I suppose I could do worse.”
What has come over me? Am I flirting with him? I just met this man. I don’t even know his last name. Cool your jets, Tiegan.
Kenny laughs and gives a simple, “Thanks.”
We ride the rest of the way in silence, but I can’t help stealing glances at him in the door’s reflection.
He’s wearing a navy blue T-shirt with the phrase, “Have you tried turning it off and on again?” with loose-fitting jeans and Vans.
He checks his watch, and I admire his long eyelashes that frame his stunning brown eyes.
Subtly looking to his left hand, I make sure he’s not wearing a wedding ring.
Jewelry-free. I wonder what those hands could do.
I imagine them wrapped around my neck … My nipples harden against my bra.
I have got to get myself under control if I’m going to be working around this man five days a week.
When the elevator doors open, Kenny makes a grand gesture with his arm. “After you.”
“Why, thank you, sir.”
“Mind if I catch one more ride with you to the garage?”
“Be my guest.”
“How was your first day at Kroger?” he asks as we make our way across the lobby, my high heels click-clack-clicking on the marble floor.
“It wasn’t nearly as nerve-wracking as I anticipated. How long have you worked here?”
“About five years now.”
“Wow! Any tips or people I should watch out for?”
“Most people are pretty cool, but it wouldn’t hurt to stay on Larry’s good side,” he warns.
“Oh, you mean Mr. Potato Head? Yeah, I picked up on his vibe real quick,” I say with a laugh.
“You know, I never noticed how much he looks like Mr. Potato Head!”
“It’s the mustache, right?”
“And the bald head!” he says as we approach the elevators to the garage. “What floor are you parked on?”
“Seven.”
“Me too. Guess I have the honor of walking you to your car as well.”
“Oh, you don’t have to do that. My car is a mess.
I basically live out of it,” I say, getting a little panicked.
Saying my car is a mess is an understatement.
There’s makeup, food wrappers, and to-go cups galore in my car.
Not to mention my life-size skeleton co-passenger that I keep in my back seat.
He laughs. “Chill, I won’t even look inside. I’ll stay at your bumper. Please, I’d feel better knowing you’re safely in your car. This garage gets filled up with weirdos starting their night on Broadway right about now.”
“Okay, if you insist. Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it.”
We exit the elevator on the seventh floor and I lead him to my car. “This is me,” I say as I unlock Salem, my car, with the key fob.
Kenny whistles low, admiring the back of Salem. “Wow, you really like your bumper stickers.”
I blush. “Yeah, this was my first ‘big girl’ purchase. So I wanted to make it as me as I could.”
“I see that. I also see you’re a big fan of Halloween. Nice license plate,” he says. He’s referring to my personalized license plate that reads 0CT31.
“Yeah, well it’s also my birthday. So it’s kind of a requirement to be obsessed with it.”
“No shit? That’s cool.”
At that moment my phone buzzes in my hand with three back-to-back text messages from Kiersten.
Kiersten: Where are you?!? I’m ready for some BEER!
Kiersten: And of course, I want to hear all about your first day!
Kiersten: Do you still want Mexican? Because I’m kind of feeling like sushi instead …
I look back up at Kenny. “I’m so sorry. I’m supposed to meet my best friend for dinner, like,” I look at my watch, “right now. I have to go. But I’ll see you tomorrow, right?”
“Yeah, no problem. And yes, I’ll be here.”
“Thanks again for walking me to my car,” I say as I open my door.
“Don’t mention it. Catch you later, Tiegan.”
And like that, he’s gone. I shake my head and fire off a quick text to Kiersten telling her I’ll meet her at Sushi Train in twenty minutes.
Nineteen minutes later, I’m pulling into the parking lot of Sushi Train. I park next to Kiersten’s Subaru Outback and head inside. Spotting her flaming red hair from across the room, I make my way over as she stands to hug me.
“How was it?” she asks as I drape my purse across the back of my seat.
“It was actually really good. I think I already made a couple of friends. The job itself might be kind of tedious, but my new boss gave me the okay to listen to audiobooks while doing my work. So at least I won’t be completely bored while listening to smut.” I give her a knowing smile.
“Um, I might need to apply if I can listen to my books all day.”
“Right? And, girl, let me tell you about the men at this place!”
Her eyes get wide and her smile gets wider. “Oh, now this is the news I’m really here for!”
“Well, there’s this guy I keep running into. There’s something about him that’s so captivating. And he’s sweet. He walked me to my car after work.”
“ What? A hot stranger just randomly decided to walk you to your car after just meeting you? Girl, you need to wife him up ASAP! Is he married?”
“I don’t think so. I didn’t see a ring, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have a girlfriend.”
“Girlfriends are not wives,” she says with a waggle of her eyebrows.
I raise my glass for a cheers. “Girlfriends are not wives.”
We laugh and settle into easy conversation over good sushi and cheap beer.