Page 19 of Work with Me

7

JACKSON

“Great job, Tyler.”The wide, proud smile on Alicia’s face was better suited to discovering the cure for cancer than to moving a sticky note from “In progress” to “Ready for Test” on the next-to-last day of the sprint. Her eyes were soft like the blue Texas sky that morning, not steely like they were when I’d picked up another new module from the backlog.

Was something going on between them? I rubbed my beard. Tyler was young—twenty-four—and Alicia was thirty. Though some people didn’t care about an age difference. God, I’d hooked up with— No, I wasn’t going to think about that now. No one here knew my shameful secret, and I didn’t want the remorse to show on my face.

“Jackson.” Alicia propped her hands on her hips.

I ripped my eyes up to her face. “Huh?”

“Is everything okay? You were making a face.”

“Oh. Just thinking about all the work we have to do before the sprint review on Monday.” A lie, but I couldn’t tell her I’d been dreaming up ways to focus her proud, blue-sky gaze on myself instead of Tyler.

True to form, she nodded, her blond eyebrows squishing together. “There is a lot. But I know we can get it done.” She brushed past Tyler and bent at the waist to move up a sticky note from the bottom of the backlog. I didn’t miss how Tyler’s gaze arrowed to the stretch of her narrow skirt over the curve of her ass.

“Tyler,” I said, too loud, “how about you pick something out of the backlog to work on today and tomorrow? I bet if you and I partner up, we can knock it out by Monday.”

Tyler’s eyes widened behind his glasses. “Really? I mean, yeah, of course.” He took Alicia’s place at the board, scanning the sticky notes in the “Not started” column.

Alicia came to stand next to me, her nearness sending a shiver up my arm. In a low voice, she said, “It’s great you’re committing to teamwork, but do you think this is a good idea? He can’t finish by Monday, not even if you help.”

“Maybe I have more faith in him than you do.” It didn’t matter if he finished by Monday. We’d make as much progress as we could and then pick it back up in the next sprint. But Cooper had said I needed to earn the respect of the team, and coaching Tyler was one way to do that. No, it wasn’t because I didn’t like the way he looked at Alicia, all googly-eyed admiration.

Inspiration hit me in a flash. Cooper had also said some bullshit about teamwork. Back in San Francisco, he was always going on about teambuilding, and we had quarterly parties in the courtyard outside the building. I could do something similar here to show him I was trying. I’d tell him all about how I’d bonded with the team when he came out Monday for the sprint review. Soon, he’d be begging me to come back to San Francisco.

I waited for Alicia to end the meeting. Then, before everyone headed back to their desks, I said, “Hey, guys. How about we do a little teambuilding happy hour after work tonight? My treat.”

“Really?” Tyler’s face glowed. Like, it was literally pink. “That’d be lit.”

“No one is getting lit,” Alicia said, snapping a picture of the task board with her phone. “Tomorrow’s the last workday of the sprint. I need everyone’s best effort today and tomorrow.”

“I’ll have everyone home by ten, promise,” I said. “You going to join us, Alicia?”

I half-hoped, half-feared she would. What would Alicia be like after hours? Would she finally let her hair down from that tight bun? Could I get those blue eyes to soften again like they had before we’d known we were coworkers?

“No, it’s Thursday. Next time.” She flashed me an I-wouldn’t-go-out-with-you-guys-if-the-world-was-ending, totally fake smile.

Fuck. I’d forgotten about her Thursdays. “We could do it tomorrow. An end-of-sprint celebration?”

“No, I have plans Friday night, too. You guys have fun.” She turned away. Even her after-hours life was better than mine. I hadn’t had Friday-night plans with anyone except my right hand since I’d left San Francisco.

But now I had Thursday-night plans with my team, and it was going to be amazing. I’d make sure of it.

Half an hour after Alicia left that afternoon, I gathered up the guys and led them to a nearby bar. I’d found it earlier in the summer and fallen for its collection of vintage arcade games. I stroked one as I passed.Next time, Ms. Pac Man.Tonight was for bonding with my team, not beating my high score.

We settled at a booth in the back. After I ordered one of every appetizer, I leaned forward. “Bucket of quarters to whoever tells the most outrageous story.”

Four wide pairs of eyes stared back at me. Shit. I’d just asked a group of programmers to tell me a fun story. Might as well ask Ms. Pac Man over there to do it. She probably saw more action than they did.

“Okay, I’ll start,” I began, and proceeded to tell them about the time I’d unfurled the Stanford flag over the side of the Berkeley library.

Ninety minutes later, I leaned back against the vinyl seat back and propped my Converse up on the empty seat across from me. “That was a colossal disaster.”

“Nah.” Tyler went for his beer, missed, and tried again. “It was totally lit.”

“That’s bullshit.” I pushed my own mostly full beer away. Someone had to see that Tyler made it home safely. I ticked off my failures on my fingers. “Amit doesn’t drink. Who knew?”

---