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He never even put a shirt on that whole time. He acted like we were friends, chilling by that pool of his or something. Or worse, two singles doing some peacock-like mating dance. And the worst part is the boy-crazy part of me delighted in his bare torso. All those muscles…
And that smile he kept giving me. Dreamy.
His deep voice…
His jokes and teasing.
Part of me wanted breakfast to last forever, and part of me wanted to run home, hide under the covers, and never brave another encounter with my smoking hot boss ever again.
He’s dangerous.
Being around him is dangerous.
He makes me want things I shouldn’t want.
“Oh… I get it…” Lizzy says. “You’re afraid of love.”
“Excuse me?” I swivel around to give her what I hope is a stern look. It doesn’t work. I feel my eyes fly open wide like I’m a bunny caught in twin high beams.
She giggles. “Called it! You are. That’s why you never get into relationships that last. You settle for boring, broken guys, and something in you knows that you’re settling. You go for tame and passionless, but you deserve amazing. Your heart knows it.”
“You’ve been watching too many of Brock’s inspirational Wednesday videos.”
“Heck yes, I have. I work here because I like his message. I like positive people and go-getters. He shoots for the stars, Gwen. Maybe you should try that, too.”
“My life is fine. My work in the shipping department gets me a paycheck. I’ll make it through the house thing and this seasick feeling about Brock. The dog-sitting, the awkwardness, whatever. I’ll muddle through. You’ll post that job already. Soon, everything can go back to normal.”
“Because normal is familiar. Normal is comfortable.”
“Right.”
“That’s called a comfort zone. You’ve heard of that, right? It’s a rut you get into when you’re too scared of taking a risk or failing. It’s a zone people get into and stay in while all the amazing and joyful things in life pass by, just beyond their comfy, swaddled-up cocoon.”
“I like my cocoon.”
She sighs. “Look. I’m your friend, right? I’m telling you—it’s time for you to bet on yourself. To let yourself shine a little. It won’t be bad. It’ll be fun.”
“Please post the job. I want you to put your HR hat back on. I’m asking you now as a Shipping Minion. I’d put it up on the recruitment sites myself if you gave me the passwords.”
“Aaagh.” The sound makes her utter frustration with me abundantly clear. “You’re killing me, Gwen.”
“You’re killing me.”
“Okay—how’s this? A compromise. Stick with Brock for the rest of the week and just see what happens. Come Monday, I’ll post the job. You’re right about it getting filled within hours. It will be. So, all you have to do is make it through the week.”
“You promise you’ll post it on Monday?”
She sticks out her pinky.
I eye it. “We’re too old for this.”
“Pinky swear,” she says, wiggling the digit. “Pinky swear with me, to seal the deal. You’ll see the week through with Brock, and you’ll be open-minded about him. Try to see him like he really is, not the guy you think he is. Try to see his soft side, ‘kay? Stop being so afraid of him. And I’ll keep up my end of the deal, too.”
I hook my pinky into hers. It’s a gesture that reminds me of being a kid on the playground.
That’s what this conversation feels like, too. Two grade-school girls holed up under a wooden platform on the playground, hatching plans about boys. Too bad we’re not school-aged kids, though. We’re adults, unfortunately. And this mess with my boss could have real consequences.
“If you weren’t Head of HR, I’d report you to Head of HR,” I say once the childish shake ends.
