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***
The next day at work, I decide I need to ask the Jerk about the ultrasound. Somehow I chicken out again. So I text him from my desk to his, and throw in the invitation to a last-minute farewell lunch for Clive. Because that’s mature.
Me: I have an ultrasound on Monday at 9am. You’re welcome to come.
Me: Oh, and there is a farewell lunch for Clive today at the diner round the corner. You’re welcome to come to that too if you wanna bang.
I hear him chatting away to another colleague and don’t expect it when my cell beeps instantly.
#Jerk: Sure why not. And about the bang part . . . gladly, if you’re offering.
Huh? I scroll back up to my text. Oh fucking hell! Stupid fat pregnancy fingers. Great, now his idiotic man brain is probably playing porn music in the background already.
Me: Hang! I meant hang!! #duck
Me: I meant #FUCK
The bubble appears and I throw my head down in shame. Serves me right.
#Jerk: Wait, are you still offering?
I respond at a very slow pace, checking all my words before I hit send.
Me: Round two. I’m not offering. HANG out with us if you want. #damnautocorrect #jerk
I hit send and jump when I see him standing beside me with a grin on his bearded face. I hadn’t paid close enough attention to see that he had grown it out until now.
“What’s with the beehive, Jerk?”
He rubs his beard which makes a scratching sound. “Just something new I’m trying out.”
“If it makes you feel better, you look like Bigfoot.” I turn back around abruptly.
“Actually, that does make me feel better.”
He continues to linger, making me feel very uncomfortable.
“So, are you over your little drama now?” he chastises.
“What drama?”
“The drama that made you ignore me from the moment you woke up at the hotel.”
What excuse could I come up with that was plausible? Think, Kitty! This is all your fault anyway!
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I think you must be talking about yourself,” I say, in a clear and nonchalant tone.
He lets out a loose chuckle, scratching his scruff again. “Women.”
It’s the last thing he says before walking back to his desk.
***
Clive’s last-minute lunch got canceled, and thankfully, it gave me an excuse to avoid the Jerk until Monday. Friday has officially become my favorite day for two reasons. One, I can wear my unattractive muumuu at night and stay indoors, and two, I don’t have to see the Jerk, which means I can stop thinking about how that beard would feel brushing against my thighs.
As soon as I walk through the door on Friday night, I’m surprised to see Kate already home. She tells me to quickly get dressed because we are going out to dinner with her boss. I only agree because she said the restaurant makes the best enchiladas in the city.
“Lex!” Kate yells amid the small crowd sitting in the restaur
