Inhale, Exhale - By Sarah M. Ross Page 0,4
When she announced it was time for me to try it on my own, my heart began to race.
“Are you sure? Maybe I should take the rest of the day to observe and try it tomorrow?”
Temperance swiveled in her chair to face me. “Nah, I think you’re ready. Come on, give it a try.”
I had no idea what inspired this woman’s confidence in me, but Temperance was determined. She stood up from the chair, took her headset off, and brushed off her chair, inviting me to sit.
“Now, the next time the phone rings, simply do what I’ve been doing.”
I have no idea what you’ve been doing, I thought as I switched seats. I’ve been making a list of birthday present options for my Gamma in my head instead and practicing my Russian.
“Here goes nothing.”
CHAPTER THREE
“Dude, did you get a look at the new hottie Connie was bringing around this morning?” JT plopped down at the desk beside me, spinning around in two full circles before coming to a stop and booting up his iMac. He wore his customary wrinkled khakis with the company polo we all wore, his comic book tee shirt peeking out from under it.
I returned my focus back to my screen. “No, I didn’t see anyone this morning since I got here early to recode this algorithm. You know—the one we were both supposed to start on an hour ago?”
“Sorry, man. My mom forgot to wake me. But seriously, Grant. You’ve gotta go check this girl out. Smokin’ body, tight little ass, and that sweet Southern twang that hits me in all the right places, if ya know what I mean.”
I rolled my eyes, ignoring his comments about the new girl. “JT, you’re almost twenty-five. Why is your mom still waking you up? Or for that matter, why are you still living at home? It’s just sad, dude.”
JT flicked his pen cap at me using a rubber band as a slingshot. I ducked as it whizzed by and landed in my now-empty coffee cup.
“Whatever. I have it made. I don’t have to cook or clean, all my laundry is done and folded when I get home, and it’s free. Why would I give that up?”
There was no talking sense into him. “You live with your mom! How do you expect to ever get a girl like that?”
He swiveled toward me and bent slightly, placing his elbows on his knees and steepling his fingers by his chin. “Any chick who wants a piece of this,” he paused, running his hands up and down his body like a Price is Right model, “better be down with my ma living with us. I mean, ever since Pops left, she’s been real sad and shit. What kind of son would I be if I didn’t let her take care of me and just moved out?”
“You’d be the kind of son with more than only his left hand to keep him company.” I stood up, tossing my empty cup in the trash. I’d never understand how JT scored girls’ numbers every time we went out. He dressed like a slob, had terrible manners, but yet girls still fell all over him. I asked him once. He winked at me and told me it was because he could pass for Joshua Jackson’s twin brother (and often did to get laid). The bastard had all the luck.
“You’re one to talk. I don’t see you sportin’ any arm candy. When’s the last time you even had a date? Or hell, a one-night stand?” He crossed his arms over his chest triumphantly.
“Yeah, but that’s by choice. I don’t need the hassle or drama right now, and that’s all these spoiled sorority girls bring. I’ve got to finish my Masters so I can get a job out in Silicon Valley and get out of the humid-as-fuck hell-hole that is Southern Georgia.”
JT scooted back to his workstation. “Oh God, not this again. If I have to hear about ‘The Plan’ one more time, I might poke my eyes out with a spoon. I think I’d rather be forced to teach computer basics to the Senior Center than listen to that crap again.”
“I’m not gonna make you hear it again, I’m just sayin’ that you’re two years older than me and I’m more of an adult than you. It might not be a bad thing to grow up a little, Peter Pan.”
“What? And be like you? I’ve known people in retirement communities with more of a social life than