Page 41 of The Revenge Game
It’s easier to keep playing the role of the straight guy who just hasn’t found the right girl yet than risk seeing disgust in their eyes.
From that perspective, I should be doing everything I can to keep Drew at a distance.
But my mind can’t help lingering on the way Drew’s whole face transforms when he genuinely smiles, the quiet confidence he has when he’s solving problems, how he gets this adorable furrow between his eyebrows when he’s concentrating.
The sardonic edge to his humor amuses me, but it also gives me the urge to discover what he’s like when all his walls are down.
I mean, getting to know him better can’t hurt, can it?
Chapter Twelve
Andrew
My latest piece of code sits on my screen like a loaded gun.
One click, and I’d ensure that at some point, Justin’s PowerPoint presentation at next week’s trade show would transform into the world’s most embarrassing karaoke session, complete with dancing emoji backgrounds and auto-playing Rick Astley songs.
But my finger hovers over Delete instead of Enter.
Because I can’t help replaying the look on Justin’s face when he talked about his mom’s car.
And this is my ongoing problem. Every time I think I’ve got Justin Morris figured out, categorized, and filed away asEnemy Class: High School Tormentor—subcategory:Popular Jock—he goes and does something that corrupts my data.
Sometimes Justin seems so much like the generic jock quarterback I knew him as. When he’s around other members of the sales team, he’s all about the fist bumps and exaggerated sports metaphors. He’ll lean back in his chair, talking about crushing quotas while miming touchdown celebrations that make Dave and Pete howl with laughter. Just yesterday, I watched him engage in a ridiculous competition about whocould throw paper airplanes into the trashcan from the farthest distance, complete with a parody sports commentary.
The whole scene felt like watching a replay of high school, the popular guys showing off, marking their territory with loud laughs and louder gestures.
But then there’s the other stuff. Like the genuine way he talks about his cats. Or how the other day in the morning tea room, he showed me he had memorized how nearly everyone in the company liked their coffee and tea. Or the fact that he’s apparently helping his mom buy a car instead of spending his potential bonus on whatever it is golden boys usually waste money on.
My brain feels caught in an infinite loop, trying to reconcile two completely different versions of the same person. It’s like trying to debug code when you can’t find the original source of the error.
Are the flashes of niceness from him just another mask?
But then I remember how he looked when he thought his presentation was ruined, that flash of real vulnerability before his sales-guy smile clicked back into place like a default setting.
What started as revenge is beginning to feel more like sabotage, especially now that I know he’s trying to help his mom.
My spiraling thoughts are interrupted by the sound of vigorous keyboard typing.
I look over to find Xander attacking his keyboard with the enthusiasm of a concert pianist. He’s wearing a freshly pressed shirt and his hair has encountered both water and shampoo in the recent past.
He seems to sense my scrutiny and looks up from his keyboard to give me a toothy smile.
“Just completing my morning task list and updating the help desk documentation,” he announces loudly.
I suppress a groan. Because this has been par for the course for the past few weeks. My lie about the reality show has created a monster. A surprisingly well-groomed, productivity-obsessed monster who keeps checking out his appearance in the reflection of the monitors.
Adam, who I expected would be delighted that Xander is actually doing his job, has instead developed an eye twitch every time Xander cheerfully announces his latest accomplishment to our nonexistent camera crew.
His eye twitch worsens every time Xander bypasses him to ask my opinion on the best ways to restructure the help desk queue priorities, implement new security protocols, and streamline the backup procedures.
The help desk email pings with a notification.
“I’ll handle that ticket!” Xander announces to his invisible audience, straightening his tie. “Efficiency is the name of the game here in IT!”
Xander’s reaction reminds me that this charade has an expiration date. Eventually, he’s going to realize there’s no production crew waiting to jump out and yell, “Surprise.”
But even knowing this, I glance back at my code and slowly delete my latest masterpiece.
