Page 12 of Mostly My Boss
“In the library, yes. Why do you sound surprised?”
Because he was tall, too thin, had the eyebrow thing going on, and he was completely weird. I shrugged. “Hey, if you’ve got game.”
“Like sports, I can be sneakily charming.”
I had my doubts. “So how did you fuck it up? Were you yourself?”
He looked at me like I was crazy. “No. Don’t be ridiculous. I did the charming version of me. Not the real version. I’m serious. You would be surprised. It’s really effective.”
Which, for some reason, completely bothered me. I preferred it when he was more socially awkward than I was. “If you’re so charming, then why didn’t you try to charm me into taking notes for you instead of offering to pay me?”
“Uh, hello?”
I definitely didn’t like that answer. “Why? Because I’m not cute enough for you, so you didn’t want to waste your time?”
“No. Because I knew you wouldn’t buy my bullshit. It’s written all over your face. Do. Not. Bullshit. Me. Like, in black marker. But we should probably talk about your insecurity issues.”
I laughed humorlessly. “Yeah, let’s not do that.”
He put down his fork and looked at me with serious intent. “You need to straighten your shoulders more.”
“Excuse me?” I asked, once again being offended. Even though I knew I had a tendency to slouch.
He shrugged. “If I’m being real, I’m just going to say it. I’ve watched you around campus. You walk like you don’t want people to see you. I’m guessing that’s because you’re insecure about a weight problem you only think you have but don’t really have. Your T-shirts are baggy. Your jeans are too loose. It’s like you want to go unnoticed. But then, what is the point of coming to Harvard where the goal is to be picked from the best of the best?”
I squirmed on my chair. I knew I had internal demons. I also knew part of my learning curve here was about overcoming them.
“Women are so fucked up in their heads about that shit,” he said, completely unbothered by my lack of response. “Big, small, flat, round. It’s all about how you think of yourself. That’s the turn-on for guys. You stand, walk, and sit like you don’t think much of yourself.”
I sat straighter. Like his words were digging into the middle of my back. “You know, this is the part where I stand up in a huff and tell you to go fuck yourself. But I was here first. You leave.”
“I’m being honest,” he insisted.
“You’re being a dick.”
He shook his head. “Shoulders back, tits out. Do it for one day then tell me you don’t see a difference in how people treat you.”
“Can we go back to how you crashed and burned with the girl you tried to talk to?”
“I didn’t crash and burn. I got her number.” He held up his phone and I saw the name Bethany on his Recents page. “You know why?”
“She’s into weirdos?”
“I have an appalling amount of self-confidence. No, I fucked up because I think she thinks I want to go on a date. And I don’t.”
He was not easy to keep up with. “Then why did you get her number?”
“I want to fuck her.”
I blinked. Tall guy with the dark reddish hair and bushy eyebrows thought he could get laid by the cute girl? That didn’t make sense.
“I know what you’re thinking, but I’m telling you…it’s all in my attitude. I’m a regular pantie dropper. Wait…that didn’t come out right.”
I was suspicious.
“Shoulders back, tits out,” he repeated. “Works every time.”
“Really?” I asked him. “Because your tits are not impressive at all.”
