Suspiciously Obedient

Page 7

“How could I what? Spit it out,” Mike said. He knew the question Jeremy was going to ask, and frankly, he reveled in the idea that he’d be forced to answer the question, because damned if he could figure it out. He’d spent hours trying to understand himself and finally had given up.

“How could you not tell her?”

“I know, Jeremy, I know.” Mike picked up the pace. This conversation was getting as uncomfortable as he had assumed it would, and now it was time to try to drive out all of the mess. The steady thump of his feet, of the soles of his shoes against asphalt as they ran through the path around the park, didn’t help. He thought it would, but instead he found that Jeremy had decided to pick up the pace, the topic of conversation too salacious to let a little thing like oxygen deprivation stop him. “I froze. I completely froze.”

“Michael Bournham never freezes,” Jeremy insisted.

“Right?” Mike said. “That’s the problem. That’s the fucking problem. I choked.”

Jeremy stopped cold, leaving Mike to run fifteen yards ahead of him before he realized that his friend had stopped. He saw the top of Jeremy’s head as he bent over, hands on his knees, great whoops of air coming into his lungs and rushing out. Was that laughter Mike heard as he ran back, jogging in place?

“What the fuck, Jeremy? What’s going on?”

“You,” he laughed. “You choked?”

“I choked.” Why was he making a big deal of this? Mike just wanted to run, exhaust his body until he fell apart, and then maybe this torment would go away.

“Michael Bournham, you finally did it.”

“Did what?”

“You finally fell in love.”

“Fuck you.”

“Only if you do it on camera.”

Mike laughed in spite of himself. “Now that would go viral, faster than this will.”

“Not even you would do something like that, even if it meant increasing the profits enough to win your bet.”

Mike paused and thought it through.

“You’re making me nervous, Mike. What’s up with the hesitation?”

“About what? Whether I’ve fallen in love with Lydia or whether I would fuck you on camera for the sake of becoming a billionaire?”

“It may surprise you to learn that both are deeply troubling.”

The woman on the motorized scooter passed them, honked twice and said, “Wusses!”

At that, Mike took off at a dead sprint, the sound of Jeremy’s voice fading in the distance. “I’m catching a cab, see you at home. Keep the beer cold for me.” Maybe this would be okay, Mike thought, as he ran the last couple miles home. Wishful thinking, though, would never get him anywhere.

Matt’s absence shouldn’t have bothered her as much as it did and she knew that. Somehow, through sheer force, water, caffeine, Advil, and determination, she’d managed to haul her sorry ass into work only to find he was out for the day.

“He was here,” Jerry the janitor explained. “But I only saw him for a short time. He was talking to”—his face took on a guarded look—“some guy. I don’t know. But, umm…I’m sure he’ll be back.”

When she’d logged into her computer, made her way through the Internet, and then checked her email she found a cryptic, two-sentence note from Matt to all the team members:

Hi all, I’m not feeling well today. See you tomorrow.

Out sick his second week of work? That was some balls. Not many people would pull that one off, but then again, he always did act like he was president of the company or something. Like he had the run of the place.

Her day—what she’d expected of it—faded suddenly. The prospect of sitting here for nine hours made her stomach roil and her head began to throb again. While she had plenty of work, including the new project, she had zero motivation to touch any of it.

Around ten o’clock Krysta peeked her head in. “Hey, Lyd. You okay?”

“Yeah, I’ll get up and walk with you. I need to stretch my legs,” she said, and it was true. Two charlie horses had disabled her earlier. “I need to go find a banana somewhere.”

“Let’s go down to the cafeteria and grab one.”

“No, let’s go down to Starbucks and get one.” She looked around. “The boss isn’t in today so I can do it.” They both laughed.

“How are you feeling?” Krysta asked as they waited for the elevator.

“I’m…here.” They shared a smile and the elevator doors opened. No Matt. Some part of her was looking for him everywhere. If he was really sick she hoped he was okay.

Her stomach lurched as the elevator did its pneumatic, pulleyed ride down to street level. And then the aroma of coffee hit her like a wall of love. A banana, a bottle of electrolyte-filled water, and an espresso shot later, Lydia felt about fifty percent back to normal.

“He didn’t…you know…?” Krysta asked again.

“You’ve asked me that already,” Lydia replied, her voice carrying a tone of exasperation.