Page 12 of What I'm Looking For

Eventually, Jessica and Steve emerge from the office, bodies close, laughing. They’re surrounded by a gaggle of kids. “I’m guessing—actually I’m hoping—that you and Steve aren’t a thing. Not that I’m hoping you’re not dating him because I—I mean, because?…”

“Because?”

“It—it’s just that Jessica can be, uh… persistent when she wants something, and it seems like she might be interested in Steve. I just wouldn’t want you to get hurt. But that’s… not really my business.”

I bend over the bed, uselessly smoothing the dirt. I’ve never felt so tongue-tied around a woman before.

She slaps her gloves together, and dirt rains down. “I don’t think they’re coming back.”

“Doesn’t look like it.” I pick up the final bag of fertilizer and dump it onto the dirt pile.

“So?—” we start at the same time.

“You go,” I say.

She cough-laughs. “I was just going to ask if you were wearing eye makeup.” She leans in to peer more closely at my face.

I rub a finger under my eye and note that it’s smudged with black as well as brown from the dirt.

I shake my head. “Yeah, I have to wear eyeliner for the show I’m in. I probably didn’t get it all off last night.” Her lashes are full and dark. She must have mascara on. “Do you have any makeup removal tips?”

“Nah, I avoid wearing makeup.” Her nose wrinkles. “To my mother’s chagrin.”

“I guess you don’t need it. Your eyes are round, spaced far apart. A pretty color of brown.”

“Earning me the nickname Bambi my first three months at my current job.”

“Really? That’s kind of cute.”

Twin spots of red tint her round cheeks. “Yeah, well, it’s very hard to get people to take you seriously when they equate you with an orphaned baby deer.”

I’m not sure what to say to that. Steve’s laugh catches my attention. “Why are you even with this guy? I mean, you don’t really seem to like him that much.”

She shrugs. “I like him fine.”

I give her my best I-know-you’re-bullshitting-me look. “Really?”

She stops moving dirt for a moment and throws a quick glance at the man in question. “I like him more than I like any of the other guys I work with.” She shrugs. “He’s still a BSD, but he’s of a lesser variety.”

“BSD?”

“Big Swinging Dick. It’s what all the sales guys and traders aspire to be. You know, macho, an asshole, better than anybody else at what they do.”

“That still doesn’t answer the question of why you’re here with him.”

Her mask gives way to irritation. “Because I’m a geek, okay? I can’t talk to people in that schmoozy way—I either choke or I spout facts and figures. Just like I did at you and Jessica.”

She goes back to moving dirt, slicing her shovel into the pile of mixed soil and hurling it into the bed. “And if I want to move up from junior analyst, I have to go on marketing trips. Actually talk to clients—a whole room full of them—face-to-face instead of on the phone. The idea terrifies me. If I had to do what you do, I would die. Well, I wouldn’t die. But it wouldn’t be pretty.” She shudders. “I don’t know how you do it.”

I pick up a wide-toothed metal rake to break up the bigger clumps of dirt. “But what does Steve have to do with that?”

“Well, for a sales guy like Hot Steve—I mean, Steve?—”

“Hold up.Hot Steve?”

“That’s what all the women at work call him, so that’s who he is in my head.” She grimaces. “I haven’t called him that to his face. Yet.” She rolls her eyes. “Though he’d probably love it if I did.”

I can’t help laughing at how her mind works. “Okay. SoHot Steve?…??”

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