moment the office tips dangerously.
“Scat,” she says, and her lips are curving into a genuine, authentic smile. It is shocking, stunning. “Sometimes, you—” She stops, licks her lips. I am leaning into them, helpless to stop myself. “You surprise me,” 6 says softly.
the eyebrow maneuver
I’ll tell you exactly what’s required at this precise moment: a raised eyebrow. That’s what I need to do. A sardonically raised eyebrow has a good chance of progressing to a brushing of lips, and that could lead to my hand reaching into that dark hair and pulling her close. And after that, there could be all kinds of acts that presently defy imagination but I’m sure will be nice.
And I’m pretty sure I can execute an eyebrow raise, too, because I used to be able to do it in high school. Hasn’t been much of a calling for it since then, sure, and maybe I’m a little rusty. But some things you never forget, right?
So that’s what I need to do, and I am absolutely clear on this as 6’s face fills my world, the blossoming smile on her lips suggesting that maybe, just maybe, I am worthy of a little admiration.
My left eyebrow is actually beginning its sojourn upward when I can’t help it: I break out in a big, goofy smile.
percolation
Puzzlement flits across 6’s face, and then she is pulling away, her gorgeous hair swinging past my goofy, grinning face. That kills my smile pretty fast, but it’s too late. 6 heads for the percolator, not looking at me.
“So we have until tomorrow,” she says. She frowns at her patient coffee mug. “I want to walk into that meeting with ten reasons why we should manage the campaign and he shouldn’t.”
“Okay,” I say stupidly.
That night, 6 watches Letterman in silence and I can’t sleep for visions of what should have happened instead.
sixteen reasons
The next morning I stay home, working on the list while 6 goes into Coke. By the time I leave for the meeting, I actually have fifteen reasons why we’re going to beat Sneaky Pete today. But even so, I can’t help feeling that the real reason is one I haven’t written down: Sneaky Pete has made 6 mad.
scat considers some hypotheticals
I arrive at the address 6 gave me a good fifteen minutes early, but already I’m in trouble. Because the address is obviously wrong.
It’s a fairly impressive-looking establishment, I’ll give it that. Nice trimming on the doorway and modern signage, even if the overall look is a little gloomy. But I can’t help but feel the CEO of Coca-Cola wouldn’t hold a power meeting in a place that advertises “Hot Live Nude Girls.”
I stand on the sidewalk in front of Ludus, the address in my hand and my mouth hanging open, and I enunciate clearly, “Oh, shit.”
I can picture, so clearly, 6 pacing in front of some expensive restaurant, frowning at her watch and scanning the street for me. Waiting until the last moment, then going in alone. Already on the defensive as she fields questions from Jamieson: Isn’t Scat coming? When do you expect him? Do you even know?
6 is going to kill me. Actually, physically kill me.
I pace the sidewalk in sweaty indecision for ten minutes, and then another scenario occurs to me. In this one, 6 isn’t concerned at all. In this scenario, 6 is serenely sitting down to lunch with Jamieson and Sneaky Pete, making a calm apology for my absence. 6 knows very well that I’m not coming, because it was 6 who told me the meeting was here.
This scenario makes a lot more sense than the first one, and suddenly I’m furious. I can’t believe she’s trying this stunt again. I turn on my heel, ready to storm back to the apartment, maybe even gather my stuff and just leave, and I nearly knock her over. “6!”
She freezes, staring at Ludus.
“Look, we’ve obviously gotten mixed up. How about you call Julie and find out where we’re supposed to be, and we’ll grab a cab over there before ...” I trail off, because 6 is moving toward the building.
“Scat,” she says, and her lips are curving into a genuine, authentic smile. It is shocking, stunning. “Sometimes, you—” She stops, licks her lips. I am leaning into them, helpless to stop myself. “You surprise me,” 6 says softly.
the eyebrow maneuver
I’ll tell you exactly what’s required at this precise moment: a raised eyebrow. That’s what I need to do. A sardonically raised eyebrow has a good chance of progressing to a brushing of lips, and that could lead to my hand reaching into that dark hair and pulling her close. And after that, there could be all kinds of acts that presently defy imagination but I’m sure will be nice.
And I’m pretty sure I can execute an eyebrow raise, too, because I used to be able to do it in high school. Hasn’t been much of a calling for it since then, sure, and maybe I’m a little rusty. But some things you never forget, right?
So that’s what I need to do, and I am absolutely clear on this as 6’s face fills my world, the blossoming smile on her lips suggesting that maybe, just maybe, I am worthy of a little admiration.
My left eyebrow is actually beginning its sojourn upward when I can’t help it: I break out in a big, goofy smile.
percolation
Puzzlement flits across 6’s face, and then she is pulling away, her gorgeous hair swinging past my goofy, grinning face. That kills my smile pretty fast, but it’s too late. 6 heads for the percolator, not looking at me.
“So we have until tomorrow,” she says. She frowns at her patient coffee mug. “I want to walk into that meeting with ten reasons why we should manage the campaign and he shouldn’t.”
“Okay,” I say stupidly.
That night, 6 watches Letterman in silence and I can’t sleep for visions of what should have happened instead.
sixteen reasons
The next morning I stay home, working on the list while 6 goes into Coke. By the time I leave for the meeting, I actually have fifteen reasons why we’re going to beat Sneaky Pete today. But even so, I can’t help feeling that the real reason is one I haven’t written down: Sneaky Pete has made 6 mad.
scat considers some hypotheticals
I arrive at the address 6 gave me a good fifteen minutes early, but already I’m in trouble. Because the address is obviously wrong.
It’s a fairly impressive-looking establishment, I’ll give it that. Nice trimming on the doorway and modern signage, even if the overall look is a little gloomy. But I can’t help but feel the CEO of Coca-Cola wouldn’t hold a power meeting in a place that advertises “Hot Live Nude Girls.”
I stand on the sidewalk in front of Ludus, the address in my hand and my mouth hanging open, and I enunciate clearly, “Oh, shit.”
I can picture, so clearly, 6 pacing in front of some expensive restaurant, frowning at her watch and scanning the street for me. Waiting until the last moment, then going in alone. Already on the defensive as she fields questions from Jamieson: Isn’t Scat coming? When do you expect him? Do you even know?
6 is going to kill me. Actually, physically kill me.
I pace the sidewalk in sweaty indecision for ten minutes, and then another scenario occurs to me. In this one, 6 isn’t concerned at all. In this scenario, 6 is serenely sitting down to lunch with Jamieson and Sneaky Pete, making a calm apology for my absence. 6 knows very well that I’m not coming, because it was 6 who told me the meeting was here.
This scenario makes a lot more sense than the first one, and suddenly I’m furious. I can’t believe she’s trying this stunt again. I turn on my heel, ready to storm back to the apartment, maybe even gather my stuff and just leave, and I nearly knock her over. “6!”
She freezes, staring at Ludus.
“Look, we’ve obviously gotten mixed up. How about you call Julie and find out where we’re supposed to be, and we’ll grab a cab over there before ...” I trail off, because 6 is moving toward the building.
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