Page 4 of Love Off the Rocks
“I’m pretty sure you can’t date co-workers.” I’m not sure why I say that since I have no idea if that’s a rule or not. I just know that I don’t think it’s a smart idea, and I find myself wanting to be contrary to whatever he says since that hottie comment pissed me off.
“Who said anything about dating?” He smirks.
“You can’t do that either.”
“Why not? Is there a rule?”
“I don’t know. If there isn’t, there should be. Office romances always end in disaster.”
“Says you.”
“Says everyone. It’s a well-known fact that workplace relationships don’t work. Either someone gets divorced, or someone gets fired.”
“Where else are you supposed to meet people then?” he asks.
“I don’t know. At a bar, through an app, from friends, at school, take your pick.”
“How is work different from school?”
“It’s totally different.”
“Says you.” He waves me off. As though nothing I’m saying makes sense.
I make a show of putting my ear buds back in and searching for music on my phone screen.
He rubs at non-existent facial hair on his chin, then motions towards my head and says something. I pretend not to notice but still turn down the volume so I can hear him. He waves his hand in my face and says it again, “Hey, can I borrow your ear buds?”
“They’re ear buds.” I pull one out to show him.
“Yeah, I know. Can I borrow them?”
“They go inside your ears.”
“And?”
What’s he not getting here? I don’t want something that was in his ear to then go back into mine. Since these are mine and I don’t plan to give them to him, ergo, he can’t have them.
“Ear. Buds.” He says it like I’m the stupid one, holding his hand out for them.
“No!”
“Why? You have a book already. I don’t have anything. Lemme borrow them.”
“No. That’s gross.”
“Why is that gross?”
How does he not understand?
Instead of the truth, I go with, “I . . . uh, have an ear infection. I wouldn’t want you to get it. Especially not when you’re a musician. It might throw off your balance or something.”
He nods slowly. “Okay, good point.” He pauses. “Appreciate that. Thanks.”
“No problem.”
We settle into another uncomfortable silence, and I wait for what I feel is an appropriately polite amount of time before returning to my book. It takes Chaz all of a few minutes to go back to bugging me about random things, none of which is important. What should be a two-hour train ride lasts six years with Chaz interrupting me every third paragraph or so to engage in disjointed small talk.
Still, we decide to share a ride to the cabin and continue the self-induced hellish torture of one another’s company. Remember forever ago when I thought I had a crush on this guy?
