Page 22 of Studious
“How many guys have you been through?”
I don’t hear Danny’s answer—for all I know it’s just a shit-eating grin—but Charlie’s laugh is loud.
I look down at the papers I need to copy. I’m not being too obvious, am I?
Whatever. I stand up and grab my documents, then walk into the room. Charlie and Danny go silent and give each other meaningful looks.
“Hey,” Danny says, smiling.
Charlie gives me a chin lift.
“Huh-hi,” I stutter. “You don’t have to stop talking on my account, sorry.”
Danny smiles apologetically. “I hope our conversation didn’t make you uncomfortable. Of course, since you were there when the guy barged in, you already had to hear more about my sex life than you should have to. Thanks again for the save.” I nod. “Even so, it’s not an appropriate topic for the office. Charlie and I are friends, and he forgets where we are sometimes.”
“Throw me under the bus, why don’t you?” Charlie mutters.
“It’s okay,” I say quickly, and I mean it. “I’m a nerd who lives with my mom. It’s the closest I’ve gotten to a social life in… ever,” I mutter.
Charlie pats me on the shoulder. “Being social isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”
“I dunno. Going out and hooking up are pretty fun,” Danny says, “so long as you never let hearts get involved. Get what you need. Give the other guy a good time. Move along. Simple.”
Simple for him, maybe.
* * *
At four thirty on Friday, Shelby comes barreling into my office.
I’ve been wondering if I should stay late and get a jump on next week’s work. In this rabbit warren of receipts they left me, there’s quite a bit to organize. But my brain was built for tidying numbers. I love it.
And staying late could distract me from the fact that I’m going to be alone this weekend with no one but my mom for company. Like every weekend.
Don’t get me wrong—she’s great. But I wish I had my own place, especially now that she’s responding to chemo and I’m starting to make decent money.
“Come on!” Shelby says, reaching over the desk and tugging on my arm. Then he freezes and we both stare down at his hand. He pulls back. “Sorry. I just get excited. I’m not coming on to you, I swear.”
I huff out a laugh. “Thanks a lot.”
“Remember, I only go for guys who are unavailable.”
“And since I’m gay and single—”
“Precisely. Not my type.”
That makes me laugh harder. “Okay, no worries. So… come where?”
“Firm happy hour! Every Friday. Didn’t they tell you that in your interview?”
“Oh, that’s right.” I don’t really drink, and it feels slightly strange to mix work and alcohol. Even in college, I focused more on studying than partying.
Yes, people like me exist. This may also have something to do with why I’ve never been kissed.
But I want to be a team player—and besides, I actually do like my job and want to get to know the people who work here better.
“I don’t drink that much.”
“That’s no problem—just have whatever you want. They get the good stuff, and there are craft sodas and seltzers too. If you want to try it, we have it. But no one’s going to peer-pressure you into drinking if you’d rather not.”
