Almost (19 page)

He leans on the edge of my open door and smiles down right into my eyes.

Into my heart. Where I don't want him to be.

“FYI, spacey. We're actually a bit late. Besides, it's typical boyfriend activity for me to track my GF's car.”

“It is?”

“Yep, got to be aware if you're playing me. If I didn't know you better, I'd assume you partied a lot and hid your hangover moments from your parents in your vehicle. Do you always nap before work?”

“I was meditating.”

“Lie. No one drools like that when they meditate.”

I turn back to get my bag along with two double-caffeinated Red Bulls and hop out. We fall into step, heading toward the employee entrance of Geekstuff.com.

“I hope that's not your breakfast.” He points to my drinks.

“It's a snack. I ate cereal at 4 AM. Thanks for—um—stopping to walk in with me.” I wipe the corners of my mouth. “Was I really drooling?”

“You're avoiding my first question. The one about you sleeping in your car before work—why? And why were you eating cereal at 4 AM?”

I contemplate lying, and then see no point. He'd already caught me snoozing like a dork twice. Could make things easier if he knew some of the truth. “I…I nap during the day. Dawn till dusk. Whenever I can.”

“Why? Are you some sort of all night bounty hunting vampire/zombie slayer? If so…I'm still in, because that's sexy.” He grins.

I stop one step above him and turn to halt his progress while I delete all the things I don't want him to know about me from my answer. “I don't sleep very well when it's dark because I sometimes have—like—night terrors. If I'm lucky, I manage to not sleep at all. So, I'm tired a lot. I use my car to catch up during the day. Any other questions, nosy?” I end it with a flippant smile.

“Wow. That sucks.” He's frowning.

“It is what it is. Just part of being me.” I tap my temple. “I handle it just fine.” I look away from his too intense gaze and take in how cute his curls are when they're damp. I'm pretty certain the lime and freshness smell comes from his shampoo. One day, I'm going to be brave enough to ask him about it. Maybe.

“You'll let me know if you—you know—need help or whatever?” he says softly.

“Help
sleeping?
What gives you the idea I would need help with anything?” I snap, annoyed that this guy has the power to turn me into an idiot girl that contemplates boy shampoo.

“Nothing. But for the duration…if you need to talk…or…”

“Please. I've been napping in my car years before you came along. It is not a freaking ‘cry for help’ so back off, Sir Lancelot. Park your white horse at some other girl's life. I only told you so you'd stop bugging me to go hiking with you at lunch. I need that hour to sleep.”

“Oh. Right.” He looks away, and I feel kind of bad because I think I've hurt his feelings.

“Look, I do appreciate that you care.” I soften my tone. “I'm very used to this situation. I'm fine. Great actually. This job, hanging at the rink…things couldn't be better. My first round of college applications is almost filled out. And, because your—I mean—
Corey Nash's
daily text messages bring a constant bloom to my cheeks, my parents are thrilled. Just keep doing what you're doing. It's enough. No need to volunteer where you aren't needed, that's all.”

He shrugs but I can't translate the look on his face to save my life. I'm suddenly worried he's going to ask a ton more questions.

Instead he says, “You don't drool. I was teasing.” He shoots me his sideways smile and the dimple flashes.

“Insufferable,” I answer back, relieved he's dropped it.

“Stubborn.” He grins.

We walk through the doors together and he adds, “But the way your mouth drops open when you sleep leaves room for possible future drooling. Thought you should know.”

“Oh yeah?” I have to laugh because he's wiggling his ink-black eyebrows at me. “Well the way your—”

“You two are ten minutes late.” Mr. Foley catches us in the hallway that leads to our miniscule office. We both sober instantly.

I flush when I meet Mr. Foley's silver bullet gaze. “I'm sorry, sir. I take full responsibility. Gray was on time. He'd stopped to…help me with a problem in my Jeep.”
As in, me. The problem in my Jeep.

Mr. Foley adjusts his glasses, squinting as though he can hardly see us through the double-wide lenses. “Just don't make this a habit. You get one chance before pissing me off. Consider this moment the end of your one chance. Simply because it's called an
internship
doesn't mean it isn't a real job. You were the one who agreed to do this without pay, Miss Jordan. I will not feel sorry for you about the deal you made, nor will I expect less of your work.”

“No, sir. It won't happen again,” I say, vowing to set my iPhone alarm onto a louder ring as soon as I hit the ladies room.

“I won't be late again, either,” Gray adds.

“Good.” Mr. Foley nods as though satisfied. “I'm putting you both on the DIGI-TOYTECH Tradeshow team, starting today. The last thing I need to worry about is one of you pulling a
no-show
.”

“DIGI-what?” Gray asks.

“DTT for short,” Mr. Foley says. “It's the tradeshow where we launch our new product acquisitions, and hopefully, attract some international vendors in addition to new customers. This year the tradeshow's on our home turf. Denver, July 14th. It draws over 100,000 people during one long weekend. You two will be unpacking and repacking a ton of boxes. You'll also be assembling our booth freebies. Those are the ultra quality Geekstuff.com mini-toys we hand out each year. We're going big because we won't have any shipping costs. If you work hard, I'll let you both work the booth during the tradeshow. It's a giant ocean of thankless labor with double-the-fun at the end. Any problems with the assignment?”

“Heck no,” Gray says. “Beats being stuffed—I mean—beats sitting in that small office all day.”

“How and where do we start?” I say, holding myself back from jumping up and down with excitement. “I've been to DTT once as a ticket holder. It's the coolest. Working that tradeshow in an actual company booth—in
your
company booth—is going to be unbelievable!”

Mr. Foley smiles. “Head down to the receiving bays,” he says. “There are fifty-two boxes of frog-shaped USB drives that just arrived from our Chinese manufacturer. Each one needs to be unboxed, unwrapped, logged into the system, loaded with our newest marketing brochure, hooked onto a lanyard and lily-pad, and then repackaged to look like this.” He tosses an object toward me. I flinch and miss the catch. A green blob hits the floor and skitters to a stop.

“Sorry, Jessica. I almost took your eye out!” Mr. Foley seems to be biting back a laugh.

I vow revenge when I hear Gray chuckling as I recover the bright green lily pad with the words “Geekstuff.com” printed on the outer edge. There's a brighter, neon-green tree frog nestled into a cool plastic white lily that's connected to it. A lanyard with black text imprinted with ‘Geekstuff.com’ as well, has been creatively attached to a small fly on the frog's slightly protruding tongue.

“Cool. But, what is this thing?” I ask.

“Pull on the tongue,” Mr. Foley says.

I do. When it pops off, I see that it's a USB drive. “So cute,” I say.

“Let's hope you think so after you've put together five thousand of them. Should take you two a couple of days just to open and sort the boxes. We've slated a whole week for assembly. It's the most complicated take-away we've ever handed out. The project after that will seem simple. You'll be attaching mini-camera ladybugs onto a sunflower. Not as complex but you'll be making twice as many.”

“Five thousand frogs and ten thousand ladybugs?” Gray asks.

“Yup!” Mr. Foley takes back the frog, lily-pad sample and holds it up proudly. “This little frog holds 64 gigs of data. The ladybug is even cooler. It's a camera as well as a USB storage device. It holds 128MB and it actually shoots two minutes of quality video with sound! The underbelly hides a stamp-sized color monitor. Wait till you see it. They were donated to us by Fitzu, our Japanese sponsor. Heard of them?”

“I have. Digital cameras, TV's and electronics,” I say, intrigued. I can't wait to see the ladybug.

Mr. Foley nods. “Our booth is famous for having the coolest items. The ladybugs and the frogs are only half of what we'll pass out.”

“What will be the other half?” Gray asks, but I think I don't want to hear the answer.

Mr. Foley's eyes are gleaming with excitement now. “We're going to put together mini-LightSticks. Only these are replicas that allow you to text message someone else with the same LightStick. Networks permitting, of course. The message is sent and received in the hilt with the sword portion lighting up every time. Very cool. There will be twenty thousand of those, total. We're hoping to give one to each family group who comes by the booth, and then sell
extras
to friends and family who want one back at home. We reached record sales on them last year.”

“Did you say twenty thousand, sir?” I say, trying not to grimace.

Mr. Foley nods. “Not a lot of work assembling those. You'll only have to attach the different colored beam covers over the light source. I'm planning on having you assemble extras to keep in shipping for any early orders we are sure to get the week during the tradeshow.”

“Oh. Cool. Looking forward to it,” I lie, feeling suddenly overwhelmed. How in the world will I be able to stay awake all day and build little plastic toys, head to the rink to ‘date my boyfriend’, and still manage to keep my eyes open, PLUS keep my mind off sleeping all night long?

Gray's smile holds power over me—but not that much power.

I'm going to crumble. Die. My eyes might pop out. My brain will melt.

“Yes, it's a lot,” Mr. Foley's saying. “Every year the intern has managed to pull this project off solo, though we've never gone this crazy before. Should be easy for the two of you to accomplish together.”

“You said this job would involve grunt-labor, sir. Happy, are we to be chosen,” Gray says, using the funny Yoda voice.

I want to roll my eyes. He's so great at brown nosing at just the right times. “Yeah, this is going to be cool,” I add, forcing my tone to sound as excited as Gray's. “If we get behind, could I possibly take a bunch home—to work on there?” I ask, thinking I could make up any slack on my part in the middle of the night.

“No way. The tradeshow toys are top secret. I don't want them off property until the big weekend. Just keep me in the loop on your progress. If you get behind, I'll pull one or two guys off shipping,” Mr. Foley says. “Besides, I want you two to have some
fun
this summer. Work hard, but don't kill yourselves. Interns should not be taking work home.”

I feel as though I've suddenly been sucked into a fog as Mr. Foley tosses the frog and lily pad combo to Gray. He catches it without a problem. Of course he does.

I sigh and shoot an envious glare at him.

Not because he's coordinated and has such good social skills—because he looks so wide awake.

Chapter Seventeen

Gray

I eye the mountains of frogs on lily pads I'd carefully set up on the long metal tables in the Geekstuff warehouse. Considering Jess and I had been working on this project all week, and we haven't even begun to unwrap the lanyards yet, this frog task now seems beyond impossible to complete in the next two days.

I never want to see a frog dead or alive, and especially one made of
plastic,
ever again. As far as I'm concerned, the DTT Tradeshow project sucks ass.

Jess's initial enthusiasm has also dimmed. We've split the task to be more efficient. She opens the packages while I assemble. After that, we'll attach the lanyards and load on the data file together. A few more hours of frog piling, and we'd be able to switch from this monotonous task to the next one.

Jess has been distant all morning. Short answers and long sighs are all I've had from her since she disappeared behind the growing pile of packing materials on the other side of my workspace. Each stupid frog was shipped from China. They're wrapped and taped in enough cardboard and bubble wrap that you'd think they were made of glass.

I'm sure the things are worth less than their packaging, but at this point I don't want to know. I'm bored, hot, cranky as hell, and hungry for some serious man-lunch.

Burritos. Foot-long meat-stacked subs. The largest icy Coke I can buy.

One whole large pizza and a side of wings. A burger, dripping mayo and bacon, and an extra large icy Coke.

Anything. Everything.

I throw a lily pad like a Frisbee over a stack of boxes and smile when Jess gasps.

“Two points if that made contact!” I yell, trying to get a rise out of her.