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Foster disappears into the back room.
“Great.”
“Well, now, you don’t have to worry about him asking you out—you know, since you were sucking face with me.”
“Not the best solution.”
“Hey, I was just trying to help.”
I elbow him in the ribs. “That’s not helping. Kissing is what got me into this mess in the first place.”
“I think it was a little more than kissing.”
“No kidding.”
Leaving Wolfgang’s side, I make my way through the glass doors and into the library. It’s early in the evening, our busiest time of the shift, and with finals just around the corner, I expect it to remain this way until the end of the quarter.
At the front desk, I drop my bag into a cubby and check myself into the computer system. Before I take a seat and get situated, a student asks for assistance in finding a missing volume on the shelves. I guide her to where it should be, locate the book on the opposite shelf, and then return to the information area where Foster is actively engaged in aiding another student. I sort through a short stack of books, and then I’m pulled from my work again to assist another person.
This goes on for the next hour, busily assisting students with their searches and assignments. Foster and I exchange a few words here and there, but they’re completely work-related. There’s a bit of formalness to our interactions, but otherwise, any awkwardness is shadowed by the hustle and bustle.
When the room finally begins to settle down, Foster and I are seated next to one another for the first time since I arrived, and the nerves commence. It appears that everyone within view is occupied, so I open up the drop-off area and process some of the returns to keep my hands busy.
I’m waiting for the inevitablerealtalk, the one that I keep telling myself won’t be a big deal, but for some reason, it has me full of trepidation.
Silence screams between the two of us.
“So, how was your weekend?” I ask, breaking the ice, setting a pile of books on the desk.
His hand stills over the mouse, but he doesn’t reply.
“Mine was great,” I continue, straightening a stack of manuals full of information that I will never understand. “Thanks for asking. The holiday was typical—you know, all the usual family crap, but nothing out of the ordinary. Upside though, I did get laid. How about you?”
Foster pushes away from the desk, spins the chair, and crosses his arms over his waist. I pull out the last of the books from deposit and place them on the desk, waiting for him to say something. The look on his face is so serious and stoic that I wonder if I went too far, making light of our situation.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks, his voice low and serious.
I sit up in my seat. “Tell you what?”
“That you were already seeing someone? I’m not into the cheating game. I wish I had known.”
My face sours. “I’m not seeing anyone.”
“I saw you kissing the guy in the hall.”
We got so busy, and I was so concerned about the inevitable tension between Foster and me that Wolfgang’s little stunt at the door completely escaped my mind.
“He’s not my boyfriend.” I laugh.
“Well, whatever he is, that wasn’t cool.”
“Are you jealous?”
“No. Shit.” His fingers comb through his hair. “Forget it. It doesn’t matter anyhow. Glad I know now.”
“Why doesn’t it matter?”
He shrugs. “It just doesn’t.” He rotates the chair, facing the computer screen once again.
