Guy Hater

by Ethan Asher

  “Charleigh…” Guy’s deep voice rumbles as he leans back in my chair, feet propped up on my desk. His arms are folded across his chest, biceps bulging beneath the sleeves of his blue uniform.

  Yowza.

  "Making yourself at home, I see." I walk toward him, shoving his feet off my desk as I maneuver around the desk. "What are you doing here?"

  Guy doesn’t say a word. He sits there, regarding me calmly while my body feels like it’s in free-fall. Finally, he leans forward, the chair creaking as he reaches inside the large paper bag that’s on my desk.

  “It’s Taco Tuesday,” he says. Guy lays out two containers and a more cylindrical object wrapped in foil on the desk. “I wasn’t about to let you eat this.”

  Guy grabs the cup of instant ramen from my desk and drops it into the trash can.

  Normally, I’d fish that cup of MSG-laden noodles out of the trash, but right now Guy has rendered me both immobile and speechless. I’m floored by his thoughtfulness—that he’d drive all the way to my office to make sure I’m eating a proper meal.

  I watch Guy as he opens up the containers. With each container he opens, a new delicious aroma swirls in the air. Rice and black beans. Pico de gallo and guacamole. Strips of grilled chicken and ground beef. Fresh, homemade tortillas that are still steaming when Guy unwraps them from foil.

  “Did you make this? Because I know my mom did not. I know you remember some of her creations. Tuna casserole surprise?”

  Guy laughs. “The surprise was whether we’d be able to keep it down before we left the table.”

  I snort far too loudly, which makes Guy laugh, and by the time I’m done laughing, my stomach feels like I’d just finished a grueling abdominal workout.

  I wipe the few tears beginning to roll down my cheeks as I try to regain my breath. To this day, I still don’t know everything she put into it or how she was able to make the noodles both crunchy and mushy at the same time. It’s a miracle I made it to adulthood eating my mother’s cooking.

  "Have a seat," Guy says, standing up. He reaches out and grabs my arm, guiding me to my chair, which is still warm from his body.

  “And don’t worry. I made everything here. Tortillas included. No surprise tonight,” Guy says before leaving the cubicle.

  I wouldn’t say there wasn’t a surprise tonight…

  Guy returns a few moments later with another chair.

  “Dig in,” he says, handing me a paper plate and fork.

  I take the fork and paper plate, but after that I just sit there, watching as Guy begins to add beans and rice and guacamole to his plate.

  Not even fifteen minutes ago, I was dreading the night ahead of me. Christiana gave me more work in that brief interaction than she's given me all week. And to get it done before 9:00 a.m.? Impossible.

  But somehow Guy has alleviated all my stress, calmed my nerves, and made me feel like all my second-guessing was silly. Of course I can get everything done.

  “Not hungry?” Guy asks as he sits back in his chair.

  “Oh, it’s not that. I’m starving, actually. I’m…”

  Blown away by your kindness. Your thoughtfulness. Words that I want to say but can’t because I’m trying so hard not to move outside professional territory.

  “Thank you,” I say, offering a brief smile before grabbing a taco or three.

  “It’s no problem,” Guy says in between bites.

  When I finally dig into my first taco, there’s a brief moment when I have no idea what’s going on in my mouth. All my tastebuds are on fire—in a good way—and the only thing I can think to do is moan.

  “That’s what I like to hear,” Guy says.

  I nearly choke on the tortilla in my mouth as my mind races to a place it should not be going right now. Diverting the subject to safer spaces, I say, “My mom must love having you around now.”

  “Tasty?”

  I take another bite. It’s as though my tastebuds are blasting off into space, overwhelmed by the salty, savory flavors dancing all over my tongue. I nod.

  “Good. But make sure you save room for dessert.”

  I stop chewing. “Deshburt?” I mumble through a mouth full of food.

  Guy nods. “Brownies.”

  Again? YES!

  I lunge toward the brown bag, but it’s empty. I knew he was lying. I can always sniff out any and all baked goods from a mile away.

  "Do you think I'd leave brownies out in the open when you're around?" He reaches behind his chair and pulls out a plastic bag filled with them. He dangles the bag in the air between us before setting them down on his lap. He pats them a couple of times. "I'll keep them here for safekeeping."

  He thinks they’re safe. How cute.

  I swallow the remaining bits of food in my mouth.

  “You have no idea what you got yourself into, Finch.”

  18

  Guy

  Charleigh’s right. I have no idea what I got myself into.

  And this isn’t about the brownies, either. Although she was right about them too. I left them unattended for a few minutes while I went to retrieve some paper towels at her request. That chocolate-filled grin told me all I needed to know. It was all a ploy to separate me from the baked goods.

  This is about something else entirely—about what I feel is beginning to happen between us. Or maybe I’m just imagining it—I don’t know. All I know is that I can’t stop thinking about her. I look forward to any encounter we have, no matter how brief—whether she’s mad at me or indifferent. It’s about my inability to stop smiling each and every time I see her face.

  I’m doing it now, watching Charleigh as her face alternates between grimaces and extreme focus. She’s been working at this PowerPoint for the last few hours, going through various files and images and spreadsheets, creating a presentation from scratch.

  I was supposed to be gone hours ago—drop the food off, make some small talk about the reno or Jamie’s wedding, and leave—but once I saw Charleigh turn the corner, I knew I wasn’t going anywhere.

  “You know you don’t have to stay here, right?” Charleigh says once again, as though it will make any difference this time around.

  “I know,” I say, watching her curl a finger around a strand of hair. She twists and tugs at it before pulling behind her ear. Patches of red appear along the pale skin of her neck. “But where else can I catch up on the newest trends in toilets, faucets, and shower heads?” I hold up the catalogue of bathroom accessories that I’d been glancing through.

  Charleigh tries to pretend she’s not amused, glaring at me, but when she turns back to the screen, she sucks in her lips, trying to prevent her smile from seeing the light of day.

  It’s been like this for most of the night: me finding weird stuff in the unending pile of catalogues on her desk; cracking jokes at said weird stuff; Charleigh pretending not to enjoy said jokes.

  “Well, I’m almost done, anyway,” she says.

  I go back to browsing the catalogue. I scan the same page over and over again because my attention is still on Charleigh, even though my eyes are focused on a seven thousand dollar commode.

  I want to know what’s going on in that head of hers—what she’s thinking, what she’s feeling, and whether it’s the same as me. But that’s the rub. You can never really know what’s going on in someone else’s head.

  Not long later, Charleigh finishes the presentation, emails it to Christiana, and then shuts down for the night. We make our way to the parking garage. Not a single car is left besides our two.

  Charleigh opens the door to her car. She stands next to the driver’s seat, her bottom lip tucked under her teeth as she’s considering whether or not to get inside.

  “Thanks for dinner,” she says, her fingertips toying with the plastic casing on her door. “I really appreciate it.”

  She glances at me, but only holds my gaze for a brief moment.

  “It was no problem.”

  Silence hangs in the air between us. Neith
er of us wanting to make the first move to leave. My stomach is tense and knotted as I stand next to her, clutching my keys in my hand. She looks at me with those watery green eyes, searching my face for something, but after a brief moment, she says, “I’ll see you Thursday.”

  I suck in a deep breath. “Thursday,” I say, closing the door to her car as she sits inside. Before I have the chance to open my car door, I hear a familiar clicking sound of a car not able to start.

  Again?

  I’d jumped Charleigh’s car earlier in the week, so it shouldn’t have died this quickly unless the battery needs to be replaced entirely. I turn around and walk back to the side of her car and tap on the glass. It goes on for a few seconds more before Charleigh opens the door.

  “Do you have any jumper cables?” she asks, peering up at me.

  I shake my head. “I don’t. And I don’t think jumper cables will really help. Your battery is probably fried.”

  She lets her head fall against the horn, sounding loud and clear for a few seconds before it slowly winds down too, like a balloon slowly being drained of air.

  “Come on,” I say, offering my hand. “I’ll give you a ride home. We can jump it tomorrow, but I think we might have to replace the battery.”

  Charleigh slowly raises her head, looks at me, and then at my hand. She takes it, and I pull her to her feet. Her body brushes up against mine as she stands, and I have a momentary loss of breath as I inhale in her sweet scent.

  I guide her into the front seat, shut the door, and then catch my breath as I walk to the other side.

  Charleigh’s in a solemn mood, eyes hooded as she fidgets with her hands.

  “How am I going to get to work tomorrow?”

  “I’ll drive you,” I say, starting my car.

  She turns to me. “You really don’t have to. You’ve already done so much, and I can’t just have you drop everything for me.”

  “It’s fine, really. I have a late shift tomorrow. I’m helping Ryder finish up the last of the demo tomorrow morning. He doesn’t need me anyway. Besides, he’d probably prefer me not to be there.”

  She bites her bottom lip, considering it for a moment, but then relents. "Okay."

  Her voice is low, and it’s clear from her tone that she’s beyond exhausted with today, so I reverse out of the spot and head for the exit.

  She guides me to her apartment, a fifteen-minute drive that we spend in relative silence. When we make it to her apartment, I barely resist the urge to lock the doors and speed off to her mom's house. The apartment complex is dilapidated and downright scary.

  “This is it?” is all I manage, but the concern doesn’t seem to register with Charleigh.

  “Yes,” she says. “Can you pick me up at eight tomorrow morning?”

  The expression on Charleigh’s face hits me square in the gut because I’ve been there. Days when the universe seems to be at war with you. Murphy’s Law.

  “I’ll be here,” I say, placing my hand on hers instinctively. It’s soft and cold, but she doesn’t move it from under mine. “I’ll bring donuts.”

  She tilts her head back up and looks at me. The exhaustion I’d seen in them earlier seems to lift. “Thanks.” There’s a hint of a smile on her lips, but she leaves before I can see the full thing.

  I watch her as she disappears inside her apartment.

  19

  Charleigh

  I can smell the donuts before I hear Guy’s knock on my door.

  “Just a minute!” I call out as I put on the finishing touches to my makeup.

  After the day I had yesterday, it’s amazing that I woke up before noon, let alone look somewhat presentable. It’s amazing what the power of makeup and the prospect of donuts in the morning can do for me. Caffeine? No, thank you. Sugar’s my drug of choice.

  Guy hasn’t stopped knocking. The rap, rap, rap is grating on my nerves slightly, but I remind myself of what should be waiting right behind that door.

  Thump, thump, thump.

  “I’M COMING!”

  The knocking stops, and I swear I hear a snicker from the other side of the door. Unfortunately, the silence is momentary. A few seconds later Guy unleashes a rapid-fire pounding that I'm sure, given enough time, would knock the door down. I'm sure Eleanor, if not the rest of the apartment complex, is outside trying to figure out why someone's jackhammering this early in the morning.

  I groan as I dart out of the bathroom, snatching my shoes off the floor as I head into the living room. I hop around on one foot as I slip one shoe on and then repeat the same process with the other foot, all the while Guy is pounding away. He’s got quite the stamina.

  I wonder just how much stamina…the voice I’ve been trying to quiet says.

  After donning my coat, grabbing my purse, and with Guy’s incessant knocking beginning to bore a hole in my skull, I’m seeing red.

  “Look, Guy,” I begin before the door’s even open. “I swear if you don’t stop knocking this instant, I’m going to—”

  Before I have the chance to finish, Guy pops a chocolate-frosted donut into my mouth.

  I can’t speak, which may or may not be an effect of having a donut shoved into my mouth. The look on Guy’s face tells me that he has no idea whether to laugh or run for his life. After biting the donut, the sweetness dulling my nerves, he should consider himself lucky. And I tell him as much.

  "If there weren't sprinkles on this…" I let the threat hang in the air as I munch on my donut, eyeing his annoyingly handsome smile.

  As I turn around to lock the door to my apartment, I can’t help but give him a quick once-over: well-worn jeans and boots, tan jacket with a red flannel lining. His semi-styled bedhead seems to say “I’m wild but not a complete animal.” And his scent… Mmm…

  “I wouldn’t expect any less, Charleigh.”

  The lock clicks into place and we head out, Eleanor eyeing both of us from her doorway, bathrobe and all.

  I'm completely ignoring the fact that his scent is having a dizzying effect on me, making my mind spin in circles. But by trying to ignore him, I completely miss the stairwell and continue walking down the hallway that leads to other apartments.

  “Uh, Charleigh?” Guy calls out to me. “This way.”

  I circle back around. “I usually use the back stairwell,” I say, trying to save face, even though it’s clearly out of our way because we have to retrace our steps one level down.

  Nerves flood my stomach as Guy places his hand on my back and guides me to the right of the stairwell. “I parked over here.”

  We walk in silence to his car, his hand still flush against my back, my teeth slowly working on the donut.

  “Thanks for driving me to work,” I say when we finally reach his car and get in.

  Guy smiles, starts the car, and begins to pull out of his spot. “Toss me one of those apple fritters.”

  I oblige, but not before I rip off a part of it and pop it into my mouth. His jaw drops but I just shrug.

  “Finder’s fee.”

  Guy shakes his head, biting into the fritter as we head back to the office to fix my car.

  “You’ll pay for that.”

  I tilt my head toward him. “Game on.”

  20

  Guy

  “Try it now.”

  Charleigh pops her head back into the driver’s side and twists the ignition. The engine clicks for a second but then starts up. She squeals with delight, hopping back out of the car, running around to the front—still squealing—and wrapping me up in a hug.

  “Thankyouthankyouthankyou!”

  I cup the back of her head, feeling her soft hair as she nuzzles my shoulder. She smells so good. The moment only lasts for a short time. She pulls away and then dusts herself off as she clears her throat. I remove all the cables and then shut the hood. Hopefully, the charge lasts for more than a week this time.

  Before I have the chance to stop Charleigh, she hops back inside the car and turns it off. I cringe, closing my eyes a
s I bite down on my lip.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “We’re more than likely going to have to jump it again.”

  “Wait, what?”

  “Usually, you need to keep the engine running for at least fifteen minutes or else the charge won’t hold.”

  Charleigh hops back into the car and lets out a groan when the car refuses to start again. She pops the hood and then we begin the entire process over again. It only takes a few minutes from start to finish, but I can feel Charleigh's annoyance with the situation in the air between us.

  “Why don’t we get out of here for a little while?” I ask her when the car starts back up again.

  “I have work.”

  “It could be work-related.”

  Her eyes narrow as she studies me.

  “You wanted me to go furniture shopping with you. We’re already in Boulder, so why not just drop by those stores you told me about. West Oak and Pottery Mill.”

  “West Elm and Pottery Barn.

  “Exactly.”

  “I have a one-on-one meeting with Christiana about the presentation I made last night.”

  “It shouldn’t take very long, right? Move it up, or reschedule for later today. Tell her you’ve got a client emergency.”

  I’ve always liked the way Charleigh looks when she’s considering something. Her eyes get a distant look to them. Her lips press together into a thin line as her tongue peeks out of the corner of her mouth. And with a light shade of red on those lips, it has me thinking thoughts I shouldn’t be thinking right now.

  Her tongue stops moving and her eyes refocus on mine. "Okay," she says with a nod.

  “Okay.”

  “I’ll be right back.”