Page 3 of The Other Side

Her face tenses, surely trying to scrummage up a believable answer.

“Okay, fine,” she withdraws. “We don’t typically have them, but I’ll set one up just for you.”

“I’m not a big drinker, but I can give credit where credit’s due,” I sigh, peeling my palm from the chair. When I straighten, my brow climbs as I add, “Unless, the next time you need a favor, you simply can’t find me.”

There’s a question at the end of my sentence. A gleam in my stare that tells her to catch on.

Debra’s eyes narrow. “Unless I find Bryan first.”

My gaze lights up when she completes my thought. I hold my arms out, a smirk drawn across my lips. “It’s like one mind.”

She laughs as I spin to exit her office. “You’re the best, Brant!” she calls.

The clicks of keyboards echo as I walk to my cubicle. I place my bag on the wood floor, then press the power button on the computer tower.

A dull buzz vibrates from the back pocket of my jeans. While my desktop is starting up, I view the text message from Sean as I sink into my chair.

Sean

Up to grab a beer tonight?

My thumb taps the screen of my iPhone to check my message thread with Julia. It’s only been one date, but she captured my attention enough for a second.

When I see that she’s agreed to another night out, I return to Sean’s question.

Me

I’m going out with Julia again.

Sean

Oh shiiittt. It’s finally happened.

Me

Yes, yes. You caught me.

Sean

I hear wedding bells …

I rest my phone on the desk, running a hand over my hair after. At twenty-eight, I’m as single as I’ve ever been. There’s variety, wild nights, and numbness.

Same shit, different location.

I get to feel without feeling too much. I get a distraction from the potential truth I’m not ready to uncover. Should my nightmares manifest into real life, at least I’ll have a crutch when I inevitably collapse.

My fingers greet the keyboard and mouse, sifting through my email tab to compose a message to Mr. Patel. Hopefully he responds today. But when you work with people who have a lot of money, more often than not, we’re on their time.

“Morning, Brant,” Matt greets, parking in his cubicle next to mine.

I flick a quick glance at him. “Hey, how’s it going?”

He sighs, scrubbing his hand through his black hair. “Nothing like working a full day on four hours of sleep.”

“Ah, baby was extra generous last night,” I toss.

A laugh slips from him. “That’s one way to look at it.”