Push. Claire Wallis

      So what r they wearing then?

      Nothing that matters to me.

      What the hell does that mean? That he isn’t looking at what they are wearing because he doesn’t give a damn, or that they aren’t wearing anything at all?

      Define nothing.

      It means that it doesn’t matter what they r wearing, or not wearing, as the case may b.

      Because...?

      Because whatever it is, it isn’t u in those blue panties.

      U aren’t going to let any of those girls sit on your lap r u?

      No, Emma. I am not.

      Because I will kick your fucking ass if u do.

      I know.

      I slide my phone closed and put it back in my pocket. I can’t believe it, but the thought of David on some boat with a bunch of barely dressed women makes my skin sear. Why? I don’t understand how I can be so jealous when we only spent one night together. And shit, it wasn’t even a night. It was barely an hour. But then I remember our conversation about me meeting his friends. He was jealous, too, wasn’t he? Possessive, even. I’m beginning to wonder where this is all going.

      I spend the rest of the afternoon clumsily hanging pictures on the walls, ironing my work clothes for the week, and mapping out the bus route for my morning commute. I am excited and nervous about starting my new job tomorrow. As the evening rolls in, I check my cell phone occasionally to see if David texted. There is nothing, and I am highly disappointed in myself for caring so much. I feel like a damn stooge every time I look at my phone.

      I make myself some pasta for dinner and finish the employment paperwork that’s due at the office tomorrow. I hate myself for it, but I’ve been listening for noise on the stairs the entire evening. What the fuck is he doing? He can’t still be on a boat; it’s pitch-dark outside. I don’t want to care about where the hell he is, and honestly, it’s none of my damn business. But I do care...and it’s driving me fucking crazy.

      I walk back to my bedroom and pull my pepper spray out of my purse. I carry it back to the living room and put it on top of his tool box. Then I get a piece of paper and place the following message under the spray canister:

      David—

      Next time you are going to be out late with a bunch of half-naked whores, please take this with you. Feel free to use it liberally. I know where to get more.

      Emma

      PS. Please tell me I don’t have to kick your fucking ass...

      It’s midnight now, and I go to bed.

      Chapter Nine

      I am up and out of the apartment by 7:05 because I suspect it will take me a good forty five minutes to get to work. I’ll have to make at least one bus transfer, and until I know the route better, I want to give myself plenty of time. Turns out it takes me a little over fifty minutes to get downtown, and by the time I walk into the office building, I only have a few minutes to spare. I like to be early, though, so I decide to be out the door by 6:50 from here on out.

      My new office is just as excellent as I suspected it would be. I’m not overly enthused about sitting in a cubicle all day, but the work I’ll be doing is precisely what I was hoping for. Everyone else working here seems to be very nice—and very normal. I discovered in college that engineering is full of quiet, thoughtful men, which means that I don’t exactly fit in, but their ordinary and orderly nature always felt right to me. Plus, the logicality of the work is therapeutic. Even when I was working on a project in my college classes, my temper never got the best of me. Calculations and design and organization are predictable, which is precisely why I know I am going to be happy here.

      After a morning filled with personnel introductions and discussions involving various H.R. formalities, I am assigned my first project. And my first project partner. His name is Matt, and he’s been working here for a little over two years. I have my suspicions that his job is really to keep tabs on me. I’m sure they want to make sure the new girl isn’t a complete fuck-up. But I won’t fuck up on this, or any other project, for that matter, because this...this, I am good at. This I know.

      * * *

      Soon enough, my first day at work has passed, and I am walking back to the bus stop. The sun is starting to sink behind some of the taller office buildings, and I’m enjoying watching the city move. It’s invigorating, really, to see all the life happening here. I love it.

      On the bus ride home my iPod keeps me company. I have managed to escape thoughts of David for most of the day today, and I’m pleased with myself for it. But now I am wondering if he ever made it home last night and if he made it to my kitchen today. I wonder if he read my note.

      The bus drops me at the corner, and I walk into the building and up to my apartment. The first thing I notice is the absence of the gigantic boxes in my living room. So he was here. The second thing I notice is that someone has used the vacuum cleaner. My visual of David running the sweeper while wearing his tool belt nearly makes me laugh out loud. Then I walk around the corner and into the kitchen. Oh...seriously?

      I slide open my phone, touch the text messaging icon, then David’s name.

      What the fuck, David.

      His reply comes almost immediately.

      What the fuck, what?

      Seriously?

      Quite.

      This is crazy. Carl is going to kill u.

      No he won’t.

      What is this?

      It’s your fine-ass kitchen, Emma.

      It’s too fine for this shitty apartment.

      I know.

      I don’t understand. How did he do all of this in one day? He must have had help. The cabinets are hung and the countertops placed, the walls have been painted a beautiful blue, and a lovely blue-and-white backsplash of hand-painted tiles lines all the counters. And...all the appliances have been replaced. A shiny new stainless steel fridge, dishwasher, and gas range are all staring back at me. Not to mention the new light fixture and the ceramic tiles on the floor. It is indeed a fine-ass kitchen.

      Are you going to come down here and teach me how to use it?

      Less than a second after I press Send, there’s a knock at the door, and I know it’s him. I take a quick look out the peephole just to be sure, and then open the door.

      “Emma,” he says, standing in my doorway. He looks at me carefully from head to toe. His expression is both flustered and surprised. “You look...really great.” Before I can respond, his phone buzzes in his hand. He glances at it quickly and smirks at me. “I don’t think I’m the best person to show you how to use your new kitchen. I just make them. I don’t actually use them.”

      “Well, you can come in anyway,” I say. “Did you eat yet?”

      “No.”

      “Me neither, and I’m starving.” I close the door behind him and walk towards my new kitchen. “I just got some chops at the store yesterday—that is, as long as they were moved to my new fridge. Do you want to stay and have dinner with me?”

      “Yeah. That’d be great. But you should know that I’m carrying my pepper spray, and I know how to use it.” He’s flirting again. But I am not in the mood for flirting. I’m itching to know about where he