Page 67 of Fifty First Times (Sharing You 0.40)
“I thought the RSVPs were due in November.”
“They were. Which is why this is so fun.” I give him a big, shit-eating grin.
He gives one right back, his teeth all white and perfect. The perfect teeth go perfectly with the perfectly groomed black hair and perfectly proportioned brown eyes. In high school, Garrett Reed was prom king, golden boy quarterback. I know, because he tells me. Frequently.
By some bitchy twist of fate, we got stuck on the same work shift in fall trimester, and we hit it off like two really strong magnets facing the wrong way.
“I thought you said you were going to talk to someone about taking the Monday-Wednesday shift?” I ask.
“And by talk to someone, you mean . . . my dad?”
Garrett’s dad the dean of the graduate business school, and from what I’d gleaned from Garrett, was one of those old-school no-free-lunch kind of fathers that had insisted Garrett “earn his way” even though he was getting free tuition. How I’d gotten lucky enough for this to be his way, I’ll never know.
“Yeah, him,” I say. “Or Jesus, or anyone who might ensure we don’t have to spend two hours with each other twice a week?”
“You wound me,” he says as he picks up a red pen and begins cross-referencing the list of RSVP cards with the master list. “And I did try to switch, because oddly enough, I was hoping to work with someone who’s not a smartass shrew, but it didn’t work with my class schedule.”
I shrug, not about to apologize for the fact that he’s possibly the only person in my world who doesn’t like me. I don’t know what it is, but Garrett brings out every possible flaw in me. Most of the time I’m fairly biddable. Pretty easy to get along with. Maybe even a little funny. But this guy activates every cynical and smartass bone in my body.
“How’s Lena?” I ask, referring to his high school girlfriend. They’d been dating since their sophomore year, and they’d been doing the long-distance thing now that she was at Brown and he at Fordham.
He doesn’t answer, and I glance at him curiously over the top of my cutting project. Garrett loves to talk about Lena. It’d be cute if it wasn’t so annoying.
“Hello?” I say. “Is this a new silent game? Because I’m down.”
Still nothing.
Slowly I lower my hands and lean forward a little, my voice hushed. “Psst. Garrett.”
He ignores me.
“Garrett, did Leah . . . dump you?”
Very slowly he moves the papers upward so I can’t see his face, still saying nothing.
A giggle escapes, and I clamp a hand over my mouth to stifle it, even though he’s already heard it. It’s horrible of me, I know, laughing at someone’s breakup with their longtime girlfriend. It’s just . . . you’d have to know Garrett. He’s so damn smug about everything.
He drops the papers on the table with a sigh and leans forward. “Despite what you’d have everyone believe, you, Annie Gilmore, are not a nice girl.”
“I am!” I protest. But my laughter betrays me. “You got dumped.”
He looks at me for several seconds, and for a tiny moment I think I’m going to have to apologize—no, I should apologize—but then the corner of his mouth quirks up and he slumps back in his chair. “You’re a bitch.”
“What happened?” I ask, resuming my thrilling work with the name tags. “Did she get tired of you doing that thing you do with your shoulders? Because it’s super annoying.”
“What thing?” he asks, the pen he’d been twirling over his fingers pausing for a second before resuming its usual cocky pace.
“You know. That kind of shoulder roll thing you do when nobody’s looking.”
He stares at me. “I don’t do that.”
I tilt my head a little to admire my handiwork. “Yeah you do. It’s like how you reset yourself after you’ve just tried to charm the pants of someone. Usually a female someone.”
His eyebrows lift. “Haven’t charmed the pants off you.”
“Because I see through you,” I say, snipping the scissors in his direction. “And I’ve seen the shoulder roll.”
He stares at me for several seconds before sticking the pen between his teeth and shaking his head. He turns back to his checklist. “You’re weird.”
