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“Not if you judge people based on whether they went to Oxford.”
“Oh jeez. Can’t help you there,” I said. “Though if memory serves, you used to do a pretty good impression of that guy in Mary Poppins, the chimney sweep guy.”
He shook his head and laughed. “Trust me, the only thing worse than trying to win them over in my own voice would be affecting the accent of a cockney chimney sweep.”
“That may be, but how much does a polar bear weigh?”
“People don’t open meetings with comedy here,” he said. “You have to get their upper lips warmed up nice and slow before you start cracking jokes.”
“Okay. Well, do what you have to do, but don’t change who you are for a bunch of tossers.”
He smiled. “Now you’re speaking my language.”
I tipped an invisible hat. “’Night, James.”
“’Night, champ.”
And then he was gone. I stared at the blacked-out screen for ages, numb from hunger and exhaustion and the general malaise that overwhelms a person after they assess too many wide-legged cropped pants… Until a ding woke me from my stupor.
“You eat yet?” Quinn texted. “I was thinking Chinese?”
“Sounds great! Mongolian beef and broccoli or orange chicken, please!”
“Sure thing,” he typed. “Be home in twenty.”
“My hero!” I texted, regretting it immediately. Then again, he’d likely surprise me with both of my requested dishes so the least I could do was cheer him on.
“While you’re waiting, why don’t you throw your lucky panties in the washer?”
My eyes popped wide. “Because…?”
“Because I have a feeling they’re going to work this Friday.”
“What’s Friday?” I asked, my heart skipping a beat.
“Date night.”
A smile split my cheeks. “You sure it’s not outing night?”
“I’m sure.”
I sighed and blushed at my screen, marveling at the fact that two words from him were plenty when they were the two I wanted to hear.
