Don't Look Down

thirteen: don't miss me too much

I go about my routine quietly the following morning. Seth's passed out on the couch again-no surprise-and despite following through on my decision to trust him alone in my apartment, it's safer to let him sleep through most it. He works the lunch shift, making alone time inevitable, I'm just hopeful it doesn't come back to bite me in the butt.

He's snoring when I click the door closed and head to work, complete with my travel mug of life nectar and blueberry pop tart in hand.

I exchange greetings with the receptionist as I pass and then bury myself in Heath Briggs' oh-so-riveting novel. I'm avoiding Clive's half of the floor for the sake of bypassing his daily status update. I failed to accomplish much work when I got back to my apartment yesterday, instead focusing on Seth. Funny how that's becoming a trend.

When my computer clock reads 11:55 A.M., I'm in the clear. Breathing a tiny sigh of relief, I pack my essentials to leave.

Rita swivels around in her chair. "The manuscript getting any better?"

"Nope."

"Bummer. At least you're halfway through."

I slide on a fake smile and give her a thumbs up. "Which means I only have to waste another day on this garbage."

"If it makes you feel any better, I'm making my way through a New Adult Romance where the leads use the term bae. I've counted. They've said it forty-three times."

"A romance including protagonists who are ignorant enough to use a term of endearment actually meaning poop or a tedious depiction of the Grant Benfield murders?" I put on a show, pretending to weigh the options. "It's a tough call, but I think I'd still rather have your assignment."

"Please-" she slams the palms of her hands together, "-take it off my hands. I'm begging you."

I laugh at her display. "Sorry, Rita, but that's your hell. I've got my own and it's more than enough."

"Yeah, figured as much," she grumbles as I reach for my purse. "So how's the new roommate thing coming along?"

"Good." The word drags out lazily.

Her eyes narrow. "What was that?"

"What was what?"

"The way you said 'good'. It was slow and comfortable, like you just had sex." Her eyes widen, her expression contorts in horror. "Did you two sleep together?"

"God no." My cheeks heat. "First off, I've only known the guy a few days. Second, he's my roomie. And third, I'm not that stupid."

She wipes her brow. "Whew. You had me worried for a minute. The last thing you want is to get involved with someone you're living with."

"Trust me. I know." I've had this conversation with myself already. Multiple times. And despite allowing myself to occasionally assess Seth's figure, I'm keeping my attraction to him under wraps.

But she keeps going. "Things would get awkward if you're not serious about each other or they could continue on and get really awkward if you broke up. You'd have to get a new roommate."

I set my purse back onto my chair and throw up my hands. "Rita, slow down. We didn't sleep together and we won't be sleeping together. Seth and I are just friends. At least, we're trying to be."

"Then I'd like to meet him." She's all cheer now that my relationship with Seth is strictly platonic. "Troy and I are planning a get together next Friday if you don't already have plans. Just something low key. He's DVR'ing the Giants and Cowboys Thursday night game for us to watch and we'll probably play a few games beforehand. You should bring Seth."

Despite our failed attempt at a civil game yesterday, these probably don't involve truth telling or shameful secrets. Without the pressure, I'm sure Seth and I can make it through the night without any scratches.

"Sure. Sounds fun. I'll check to see what his schedule is and make sure he's not working. If he's not, I'll drag him along kicking and screaming if I have to."

I reach down and grab my purse, ready to leave, when Rita admits, "I might also have a secret agenda to this get together." She bites her thumbnail.

"That being?"

"Troy has a friend whom I think would be perfect for you."

She's beaming with enthusiasm, but I share none of it. "Because the last time the two of you tried to set me up ended so wonderfully."

Kyle-I don't even remember his last name-was attractive, but he'd been an arrogant jerk. After a mind-numbing evening of his detailed accomplishments and ridicule of mine, I'd finally told him to shove his accomplishments up his rear and get a better personality.

She nods. "I'll admit, Kyle wasn't my brightest decision, but Bill is nothing like him and I think you two would really hit it off."

Since I'm already juggling the process of trying to figure out one guy in my life, I'm uncertain about tossing another into the mix, but I concede.

"Why not. I'm in."

"Perfect. I'll supply the booze and make a few snacks. Just tell Seth to bring a date so we have even teams."

There's a post-it note from Seth on the island when I get home saying he'll be back around seven. I have the place to myself for six hours. Hallelujah.

I pull a can of Campbell's soup from the cabinet and heat it up in the microwave before changing out of my work clothes and surveying my apartment. Everything is still in place and Seth's duffel is still in his room. Both are good signs one of my priceless decorations-or knick-knacks, as he likes to call them-won't show up on eBay or in the thrift shop down the street.

When the microwave dings, I grab the steaming bowl of tomato soup and set it onto the island, ready to get back to work. But as I boot up my laptop, it's too quiet. I turn on the television for background noise, but that fails to do the trick. I switch to the radio, hopeful a quiet beat will help my brain focus. It doesn't.

After a few slurps of soup, I can't figure out what's wrong with me. My home-and more precisely this kitchen island-is where I'm usually most productive. Now everything feels off. The setting is eerily calm, the lack of interaction is driving me crazy, and I'm desperate for a distraction. Without Seth, I'm unsettled.

I grab a dishrag and start wiping down the kitchen counters.