Page 46 of Things I Overshared

“Dang. Well, anything else I should know? Fear of water? Arachnophobia?”

His eyes snap from his bottle back to mine. “Do you have grand plans involving spiders?”

“Um, don’t ask me, ask the itinerary, dude.” He almost smiles, which makes me smile wide and free like a little kid. “Did you see her face at all, before you got all vomit-y?”

“I did, yes.” He commits to the grin and looks me in the eye. “Surprisingly, we make a good team.”

Aaaaand I’m swooning. The eyes, the grin, the positive words coming out of his full lips above that chiseled jawline. Chiseled. Now I’m picturing him in his sweaty state from this morning. And I’m blushing, again.

“Chase!” I say so loudly and randomly, it could be argued I have some sort of disorder.

“What?”

“Chase, in your department—what do you know about him?”

“The young kid with the bow tie?”

“I think he’s my age. So, I mean, not geriatric like you, but it’s not like he’s an intern or something, jeez. But yes, him. Is he a good guy?”

“A . . . good guy?” Emerson asks as if I’m speaking a foreign language.

“Yes, you know, like a nice, normal, trustworthy, date-able guy?”

“Date-able.”

I look around the room. “Is there an echo in here? Am I stuttering? He’s in your department, c’mon, give me the inside scoop.” He still looks confused. “If you say ‘inside scoop’ like a question right now, with God as my witness, I will take off one of my shoes and throw it at you.” I expect a smile, but I don’t get one.Ixnay on the iolencevay,Sam!

“Didn’t you say you were off men?” It doesn’t sound like a question as the flat words leave his mouth. My nervous explosion of words during our flight comes back to me.

“Eh, I also say I’m off carbs, and as you know, I’ve been pounding bread and french fries like it’s in my job description, soooo . . .” I shrug.

He shakes his head no. “I was just about to order dinner. What’ll you have?”

“Uh, excuse me, no? Just like that? What are you, my dad? The dating police? C’mon, I thought we were friends now. Help a girl out!”

“Do you often call your friends Icy?” he asks, his eyes staring straight into mine, his expression as cold as the word.

I feel the blood drain from my face. I rack my brain—when did I say that? How could I have let that slip?! The photo.Shit!

I clear my throat. “I know you know your secret nicknames, just like I know mine, and let’s not pretend you care about my opinion anyway.” He grunts. “So? Chase?”

He thinks, then shakes his head with unusual vigor. “Pff, you would . . . eat him alive.”

I feel my mouth drop open. Why? Why do I keep asking this beast questions when clearly I don’t want to hear his answers? Surprise, surprise, Mr. Clark thinks I’d be too much for a quiet numbers guy.

I spit out, “Just because I am too much foryouto handle, Mr. Clark, doesn’t mean I am too much for everyone.” I stalk to my room, feeling the burn behind my eyes. I am not going to let him see that his comments affect me.

Forget the truce. Forget the war. This is a work trip, and from now on, I’ll be like Emerson: cold, detached, to the point. After I throw myself face-first onto my bed, my phone dings.

Emerson: Dinner?

Me: [AnimatedGIF Hard Pass]

[Animated GIF I’m An Asshole]

[Animated GIF That’s Correct]

I’m sorry again, Miss Canton.