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6
“So you two met at the office,” Shane says with a note of suspicion that I don’t understand.
“Sort of,” I hedge. “We’ve worked in the same office together, but not one on one. We actually met officially for the first time at an office party over the weekend.”
Briefly, I recall that kiss, and inside I die a little. Will I ever remember it without having a visceral reaction?
Shane eyes me over a half-empty Coors Light. I haven’t seen anyone drink light beer since I was twelve and my mother put my father on a forced diet, so I assume Shane is doing the same for himself. Clearly, he watches his figure, which is a bit intimidating, considering I watch mine expand and shrink according to how much chocolate I allow myself to consume any given month. I’ve never really felt the need to diet, but I have a feeling that if I hang around him long enough, he could give me a complex.
“A party huh?”
“Office party. Nothing too racy.” Although I did hear that Mike and Linda were caught mid-act in the men’s bathroom by the janitor after—nearly—everyone left.
“Niles isn’t much for parties.”
Despite his outward appearance, I call his bluff. “I’ve seen the college pictures.”
“Youthful ignorance. He had to try it, right?”
“Are you trying to paint Niles in a bad light?” I ask, curious and concerned. Is this friendly rivalry, a test, or something more?
He winks at me. “Nah. Just stating facts. Niles has always been the studious one of us. If not for him, Dean and I never would have passed calculous. Hell, we maybe might have just squeaked by graduating, but I wouldn’t put much stock into that either.”
“So you leaned on each other,” I surmise.
We’re standing alone in the kitchen, while he nurses his light beer and Niles and Dean tinker downstairs with the furnace, which turned off an hour ago and refused to turn back on. The chill from outside is slowly starting to affect the inside temperature, and I can feel the nip of winter on my skin.
“Ever since freshman year. We were roomies.”
“I bet you have all kinds of bro stories,” I tease.
“Oh you betcha.” There’s an air of excitement in his tone and eyes that tells me I’d better tread lightly if I don’t want to be shocked to death by these stories he has stocked up and ready to share.
“Maybe you’ll share one with me sometime.”
He cocks a light-brown eyebrow and takes another drink from the bottle, staring me down all the while.
Shifting on the barstool I’d claimed earlier, I ask, “So…eBay.”
Interest lights in his eyes, and he sets his drink down on the counter. “It’s a killer business.”
“Buying and selling sounds like a lot of work.” I’m not completely unfamiliar with how the process works. All that running around and pricing and organizing, not to mention the shipping and everything else that goes into it? I can’t imagine it being much fun.
“It is, but I love it. There’s a rush,” he explains with a dreamy look in his eye. “When you find that steal that you can’t pass up, and then you wait for the auctions to end and calculate the profit margins…Man, there’s nothing else like it.”
“I imagine stockbrokers feel the same,” I beg to differ.
“Similar concept,” he concedes.
“Better than doing paperwork all day.”
He shrugs, making a face that says, “Fair point.”
“Are you ever concerned that the markets will change and you’ll lose your shirt in the process?”
He stares at me for a moment, and I witness a wicked little gleam in his eye just before he says, “I’m never concerned about losing my shirt. Have you seen these muscles?” He lifts his arms and flexes his biceps, and I can’t help but laugh at his playfulness. Sobering, he continues. “I don’t have any illusions that this is a risky business venture. I’ve already planned for the eventual and probable downfall. Living with these two doofuses, I’m able to save a ton on bills, so once the bottom falls out, I should be set for life.”
My eyebrows shoot into my hairline. “You mean you won’t have to work anymore? Ever?”
