Page 71 of Pick Me
“I’ll just bet,” Jay said wryly. “And no, that was just part one of the advice. The second part is, you need to not only decide exactlywhatyou want from the job, butwhyyou want it. We all have reasons for wanting what we want, and when you knowwhy, you’ll knowwhat.”
“Oh, sweet Jesus. Riddles you speak, Yoda. I don’t want philosophical whateveryoucallits. I want precise instructions. Preferably like the kind you get at IKEA, with that incredibly confused-looking blob-person who puzzles through each step one at a time.”
Jay snorted. “I miss you, Gage.” He sighed. “Right. Tiny baby step one, go to your interview. See what the interviewer says. Smart money says this guy is gonna get you so hyped, you’ll be all, ‘Where do I sign?’ and forget we even had this conversation.”
“Right. Okay. I like this. That Gage sounds very confident and badass. Step two?”
“Step two, follow your gut. If your gut says take the job, then take it. If your gut says caution, then pause and evaluate. Because if it’sreallyyour dream job, you won’t have to talk yourself into it. And if it’s not… well, there are a lot of ways to be happy and successful, take it from me.”
“Mmhmm. I get you.” Sort of.
Ultimately, he was right, though. I’d come here with plans and goals, the dream to live in the city and get an exciting role making a difference in people’s lives through tech. Why was I hesitating? This was it—this was my chance at the big life I’d set out to find.
I would embrace it with both arms.
After I cried just a little.
Chapter Twelve
Knox
Have you ever been wildly turned on while watching the man in your passenger’s seat strum an industrial-sized bag of Cheetos with his violently orange fingers like he was auditioning to be the next Pete Townshend in a The Who revival?
Yeah, no. That would be ridiculous.
“Ah, I love that song,” Gage sighed as the last strains of “Baba O’Riley” faded. He shot me a sly, sideways look. “Best theme song ever. Those songwriters over atCSI: New Yorkare geniuses.”
I shook my head and set my teeth. “I refuse to be baited, whippersnapper.”
I’d already fallen for it when he’d asked me if I’d gone to discos when I was his age. And I’d fallen for it again when he’d asked if “compact discs” were just tiny records. I was not going to be drawn into lecturing him anymore, no matter how often he claimed it got him hot.
“You’re no fun. But seriously, though, people can say what they want about The Who, but Dave Grohl was alegendwhen he played drums for them. Isn’t he, like, eighty now?”
I opened my mouth to respond to this travesty… then shut it again. “Nope. I can see exactly what you’re doing. You’re transparent as glass. It’s not happening.”
“Fine, fine.” He waved a hand easily. “I was only kidding.”
“If you say so.”
Gage snorted. “I know my hair metal bands, Knox. God.”
“The Who is nothairmetal. They were most popular in the early ’70s, while hair metal wasn’t really popular until the early…”
Gage burst into laughter, and I shut my mouth so fast my molars clacked.
Motherfucker.He got me again.
“Why do you even try to resist?” he wanted to know. “You haveso muchto teach young, ignorant me.”
In truth, a few weeks ago, I maybehadthought he was young and ignorant about anything that had happened in the last millennium, but I’d been incredibly impressed by his knowledge of music and a little shocked by how alike our tastes were.
“Are you done taunting me?” I demanded. “We’re barely halfway there, and I’m ready to find a field of cows and drop you in it.”
“Hey now. That’s cruel and unusual!” Gage leaned back in his seat and stretched out his legs, which looked miles long encased in tight, worn jeans. He picked at a fraying spot in the denim over his thigh, and my attention homed in on the tiny square of skin peeking out. “Not my fault you declined road head, Knox. That’s what I had planned to keep us occupied for the trip.”
I tightened my grip on the steering wheel so I could keep the truck on the road. “It’s a three-hour trip, Gage.”
“Your point?”
