Just a Girl - Becky Monson Page 0,16

is quite cute, with his longish hair hanging over his forehead. He’s got nice-looking brown eyes behind dark-rimmed glasses. Thomas would probably call him nerdy-cute. I’d say smart-cute. He looks smart. He is smart. Part of the reason he can be a bit boring is because he thinks and talks on a whole other level that I’m not entirely privy to. About politics. About the environment. About the world. I just report news other people write for me. And I restore old furniture. Brady’s interests and mine do not mesh. But we have some fun. Sort of.

“How’re things?” I ask him, because so far, he’s just leaning against my desk, looking around the room.

“I saw the blooper reel,” he says.

I slouch in my seat. “Yeah. Dwayne is not happy.”

“I’m sorry.”

He reaches over, placing a hand on my shoulder. He rubs it a couple of times. It’s a bit on the awkward side, but I know it’s meant to comfort. I smile up at him, letting him know I appreciate the gesture.

“Aren’t you two cute together,” Carlos says as he walks by, giving us a quick drive-by wink.

“Oh, I . . .”

“Thanks,” Brady says, with a quick lift of his chin to Carlos as he walks toward the area of the newsroom where all the producers sit.

I was just about to say we weren’t together before Brady interjected. I tilt my head to the side, looking at him. He gives me a closed-lip smile.

Do I need to have a conversation with Brady? I mean, we haven’t gone out in a couple of weeks. We haven’t even talked about it. No making out in the audio booth has happened in a while either. I just figure things have fizzled out. Like whatever we had ran its course. We certainly aren’t a couple . . . at least, I don’t think we are. Does Brady?

“Brady, I,” I start, but as soon as I say it, an intern calls out Brady’s name and tells him that they need to talk to him.

He leans over, planting a kiss on my forehead. “Talk later?”

“Sh . . . Sure,” I stammer.

I reach up and touch the spot on my head where his lips just were. There was no spark, no tingling. It was like a kiss you’d get from a brother. I’m assuming this, because I don’t have a brother. It was like a kiss from Thomas. Yes. That’s what it felt like.

I guess I better add “Have talk with Brady” to my to-do list. I don’t actually have a to-do list. But maybe I should make one.

Chapter 5

Thomas is an idiot.

He should have known that I wouldn’t be able to keep this up. In fact, he probably did know and was looking forward to hearing about how I ruined it.

“I thought you said you restored furniture?” Henry asks, his brows knitting together.

“I do,” I say, my mind racing around and around like a gerbil in a wheel.

“So then why was it such a rough day?”

The second question out of Henry’s mouth as we sat down at a Tex-Mex restaurant on Orange Street was, How was your day? to which I replied, Rough. Because it was a rough day. It was more than that; it was a got-pooped-on-by-a-bird kind of day.

Stupid f-bomb mistake. What a thing to be number one for. I can’t win the lottery, but I can win this.

His first question to me was, How are you? This was after he told me I looked “lovely” and kissed me on the cheek.

I had been confident when I left my apartment in a blue-gray strapless smocked maxi dress that emphasizes my smaller upper half and flatters my pear-shaped bottom half until I saw my reflection in the window of the restaurant and had a momentary freak-out that it was a bit too daring for me. Especially on a date. But Henry’s first words made me relax and stop my mind from wishing that I’d gone back to my place for a cardigan.

Now I need a reason for why I’d said my day was rough. I take a sip of the water that the server just poured, grasping at excuses for my mistake. Maybe I should come clean. I could just tell him right now.

Except that . . . Except that he’d Google me, and then he’d see it. And now there are two of them. Two viral videos. Also, when I asked him if he worked in news the last night we were out, it seemed