Page 98 of Phishing for Love
Tess:You meant to send me a dolphin emoji?
Aaron:I did.
Tess:What are you trying to say?
Aaron:Figure it out.
Tess:Keep on swimming?
Aaron:Deeper, Tess.
Tess:... [typing]
Tess:... [typing]
Tess:Irritating, confusing man. That deep enough for you?
I arrive in the breakroom Monday morning to discover Aaron already stationed in front of the coffee machine.
“Morning,” I say in greeting. I smile and hold up my mug. “Looks like we both have the same idea.”
Aaron simply grunts.
“It is a truth universally acknowledged that caffeine is needed for our weekly Monday staff meetings.”
He pops a pod into the machine and presses the button.
Well, thePride and Prejudicereference fell flat. What a waste of a gem. “How was your weekend?” I ask, raising my voice to be heard over the noise of the machine.
“Fine.”
When he doesn’t say anything else, I say cheerfully, “Mine was good, thanks for asking. I tidied the house. Went on a hike. Grandma didn’t take a hammer to Google so that’s one piece of good news.”
He does another grunt, his gaze fixed on the rich brown liquid dripping at a snail’s pace into his mug, his hands fisted at his sides as though itching to shake the machine into hurrying things up.
I lean against the counter and stare at his bad-tempered profile. Oh, how very interesting. The uncaffeinated version of Aaron is next-level grumpy. Which means I get to enjoy next-level fun. Especially since, two days ago, I fell for one of his simulated phishing emails. This one was a devious “your Facebook account has been hacked,” prompting me to panic and click the link. Now I’ve been assigned mandatory cybersecurity training to “help reinforce my security awareness skills.”
The only thing that’s being reinforced, though, is my desire for some mild revenge.
“Mmm-hmm, smell that coffee,” I say loudly, taking a deep breath of the bitter and beautiful aroma filling the breakroom.
I watch his jaw flex. “I must be a masochist to still be talking to you,” he grumbles.
“Technically, you’re hardly talking, mostly grunting.”
His forehead pinches. “Tess, please.”
I take pity on him and keep quiet while he adds milk and moves away from the machine to rest a hip against the opposite counter. He takes his first sip and closes his eyes in what looks like pure pleasure. By the time I step in front of the coffeemachine, he’s nearly finished his cup and appears ready for round number two.
It’s been two weeks since the elevator encounter with Nathan. He’s been texting me, pleading for a second chance, but with every passing day, I feel more and more certain I made the right decision to break up with him. There’s a lightness to my steps now, as though I’ve shrugged off a weight I didn’t realize I was carrying.
Yes, I miss Nathan sometimes. I miss snuggling with him while watching a movie. I miss Taylor Swift blasting out of the speakers while we share a glass of wine and cook dinner together. Nathan, for all his faults, was a great listener and I miss stretching out on the couch with my feet in his lap and offloading to him after a particularly bad workday.
But my current feelings of freedom and contentment outweigh all the parts I miss.
While I might be clear on how I feel about Nathan, when it comes to Aaron my emotions are all over the place. On the one hand, I’m more relaxed around him now that I’m no longer seeing Nathan. Our conversations are natural and comfortable, full of playful teasing and flirty banter. I’ve recommitted myself to rescuing his office from his gloomy touch and while he’s valiantly resisting my efforts, I’m slowly wearing him down.
On the other hand, though, Aaron is a constant, distracting presence. I’m hyperaware of every move he makes, every instant his eyes meet mine and linger a fraction too long. I find myself thinking about him way too much. When I eat, when I drive into work, when I sit at my desk pretending to work.
