Sign Me Up by Dulcie Dameron
Jamie
new nickname, huh?” Daria sputters a laugh as she stretches up into cobra pose. Ignoring her, I school my expression and face forward, planting my hands on the mat and lengthening my spine. Briar, our friend and yoga instructor, helps a guy in the front row who pretends he can’t get the hang of it. I hate assuming the worst about people, but the smirk I saw on his lips a few minutes ago tells me he just likes Briar’s hands on him. I mean, come on. It’s cobra.
“You can ignore me all you want,” Daria says, a smile in her voice. “But I still think it’s hilarious.”
“It was mortifying,” I hiss, trying to block out my friend, and lean into the pose. This stretch normally feels so good on my back, but right now, I’m too irritated to enjoy it.
“Come on, Jamie, it’s just Parker. Who cares if he saw your undies?”
I shoot her a withering glance before turning forward again. “It was literally the brightest pair I own. The ones you insisted I add to my mostly black wardrobe.” Her giggling now garners the attention of Briar. Our instructor’s lips flatten into a thin line as she heads back up front to get everyone started on the next move.
“You know,” I whisper-yell, “I feel like you should really be the one taking responsibility here. If it wasn’t for you and your over-bearing fashionista ways, he would’ve seen the plain, black ones that thoroughly cover all my…assets.”
At that she snorts and drops her head forward into her hands. I glare at her, wishing for once she’d give me a little sympathy. Daria’s unfairly lithe and stunning, with long dark hair and golden-brown skin. She’s probably never had to endure an embarrassing incident in her life.
“You’re not allowed to go shopping with me anymore,” I demand.
“Now, don’t say that,” she says with a pretend pouty frown. “You know my fashion sense is impeccable. Just be glad it was the girly pink ones and not the black granny panties.”
“I would have preferred the latter.”
“All right,” Briar says in her sweet falsetto voice with a clap of her hands. “Time for cat-cow.”
All eight of us in the class move onto all fours, curling our backs up into the cat position. “Listen, I think you should just be glad it was Parker,” Daria murmurs in a low voice so we won’t disturb the rest of the class. “At least Lucas didn’t find you in such a compromising position.”
She’s not wrong about that. If I’d flailed like that in front of my work nemesis, there’s not a doubt in my mind he’d hold it over me for future blackmail. He might’ve even snapped a picture. I cringe just thinking about it.
“I guess you’re right,” I say with a defeated sigh. “I definitely don’t need him dragging up any dirt on me with this exclusive interview on the line.”
Daria shakes her head. “I still can’t believe Paris Dawson has agreed to give the Gazette an exclusive interview. You have to promise me that if you get it, you’ll let me come with you. I can hide behind a plant in the office or something.”
I chuckle and bend my body more deeply into the pose, doing my best to rid my mind of the week’s building anxieties. It’s nerve-wracking enough knowing Stefan is going to choose one of us to interview a celebrity like Paris. But we also have to play nice and pretend we’re loving these employee field trips, or we won’t even be considered for the opportunity. It’s clear he’s not basing his decision solely on the merit of our work. And there’s no denying my attitude at work has been less than stellar lately.
Then, to add a cherry on top of this messy and stressy sundae, I accidentally flashed my work bestie, earning myself a new nickname. I close my eyes and breathe deeply as sweat trickles down my body, collecting in places I’d rather not even think about right now.
“Is it wrong that I desperately want to be the one he picks for this interview?” I whine, sneaking a look at Daria.
“Girl. The fact that you have to ask me that says so much about you.” We shift into the next pose Briar calls out, then sink into it, stretching our muscles. “You deserve that interview, Jamie. It’s not wrong to want something you’ve worked hard for. You’re an amazing reporter and if Stefan can’t see that, it’s not on you. Maybe it’s time you moved on from the Gazette and found work somewhere your talents are appreciated.”
My friend’s words wrap around my heart in a soothing way. “Thanks, D. But I don’t want to leave the Gazette, you know that. I enjoy what I do and Parker’s there…” I trail off, not knowing how to finish that statement.
Thankfully, I don’t have to because Briar rises to her feet and announces, “Great job, everyone. You all did amazing. Class is dismissed.” She bows with all the grace of a gazelle as she flashes her perfectly white teeth our way. Daria and I start rolling up our yoga mats when Briar pops up in front of us.
“Okay, you two,” she says, crossing her arms and raising an eyebrow. “What were you guys laughing at back here? Was it Brodie? Because I’m this close to kicking him out of my class.” She holds the tips of her thumb and forefinger close together, mimicking just how close she really is.
“No, it wasn’t him,” Daria says, raising her eyebrows at me. “Jamie had a little…incident…at work today.”
“Oh?” Briar looks between us, brow wrinkled.
“It was nothing,” I lie. “I just fell out of my chair and flashed Parker.”
Briar’s eyes go wide, and she bites her lip to contain her smile. “Aw, that must have been embarrassing, I’m sorry.” Ever the sympathetic sweetie, Briar reaches out and rubs a hand down my arm.
“It was, but I’m over it.”
Daria shoots me a skeptical look which I dutifully ignore. “Anyway, we wondered if you wanted to grab dinner with us at The Fuze. Appetizers are half-off tonight.”
Briar’s angelic face lights up like the Fourth of July. “Yes, I’d love that! Let me just close up the studio and we can head out.”
We mingle with a few of the other class members until one by one they exit through the studio’s double doors. Of course, Brodie is the last to leave, hanging on Briar’s heels like a lovesick puppy. But not like a cute puppy, more like one who’s foaming at the mouth.
“Well, I’m gonna go ahead and change in the back,” Briar says, sending a glance our way, begging us to help to make this guy take a hike. “It was nice seeing you again, Brodie.”
She slips behind the beaded curtain that leads to the back room and Brodie’s face falls. He picks up his mat and water bottle, then nods to Daria and me as he leaves. At least we didn’t have to woman-handle him out of here.
“Ugh,” Daria groans, “I thought that guy would never take the hint.”
“Me neither,” Briar says, coming out of the back dressed in the same matching lavender athletic clothes she wore during our class.
“You’re not going to change?” I ask.
“No, I just needed him to leave.” Her mouth turns down and my hackles instantly rise.
“Briar, if he’s upsetting you, maybe it’s time to cut him from the class.”
“She’s right,” Daria agrees. “If you feel unsafe—”
Briar cuts her off with a laugh. “No, no, it’s not like that. He’s never even asked me out. I just feel like he’s purposely not getting the moves right so I’ll take the time to help him. And then after class, he usually hangs around until I shut off all the lights.” She slings her gym bag over her shoulder and heads for the door. “I don’t feel unsafe, I’m just”—she shrugs—“not used to a guy being so blatant in his advances. It’s off-putting.”
“I so get that,” Daria adds. “I’m all about the strong silent types myself.”
I can’t help but laugh. “Strong silent types, D? Then how come every guy I’ve seen you with is flirty and outgoing?”
She opens the door for us to pass through, shaking her head. “Maybe I just realized my type isn’t the guys I naturally gravitate toward? Just because we live together doesn’t mean you know everything about me.”
Her words make me mentally pause, but I keep walking toward my car. “You sound like you’re hangry. Come on, let’s go smash some tapas and tacos.”
My friends laugh and we all pile into my little hatchback. I don’t know about them, but I’m ready for a little girl time without having to think about any of the stressors at work. Or my embarrassing moment that I already know will keep me awake late into the night.
I’m still reeling from Stefan’s announcement yesterday when my phone buzzes at my desk. As soon as I see the name on the screen, I glare at it like it just did me dirty.
Mike: Hey, babe. Miss you. Can we talk?
What on earth brought on this little turn of events? And why is Mike calling me babe? He stopped doing that about a month before I broke up with him.
Tightness spreads across my shoulders and I stretch my arms back in response. I don’t want to reply to Mike’s text, but at the same time, I also don’t want him to think that I’m bitter about our breakup by not replying.
Because I’m not. Honestly, I’ve thought very little about Mike Jonas since we went our separate ways. I mean, maybe I miss having a boyfriend…and maybe I miss some of the things that come with a romantic relationship…the good morning texts, the fun date nights, the random bouquets of flowers…But the more I think about those things, the more I realize I don’t miss sharing them with Mike.
I spin side to side in my swivel chair as I run my fingers over my baby succulent Beatrice’s soft leaves, mulling over what exactly I should do when my phone buzzes again.
Mike: I know right now you’re wondering if you should even respond. The answer is yes, you should.
I roll my eyes at Mike’s attempt to make me laugh. He always thought he was hilarious, but I never got his humor. His second text does, however, prompt me to respond. Even though I have no fond feelings for him, I should still be cordial.
Me: Hey, Mike. What’s up? I’m at work.
Almost immediately, another text comes through.
Mike: I know, babe. I just wanted to ask if we could talk later. Can I call you?
Instantly irritated with his continual use of the word babe, I send back another text.
Me: Please stop calling me that. We aren’t dating. And I couldn’t imagine what we’d even have to talk about.
I drop my cell in my purse, ready to be done with this little back and forth. He made it very clear where I stand with him when he started to blow me off and make excuses for why he couldn’t see me. I know I’m no supermodel with a sparkling personality, but I at least have enough self-respect to know that I deserve more than that from a guy who claims to be my boyfriend.
And even more than that, I don’t need a boyfriend. Sure, the idea of a dedicated guy doing sweet things for me and liking me for me might make my romance-loving heart go pitter-patter, but it doesn’t mean I need to have that.
I’m perfectly fine on my own right now. Mike can go kiss his cat.
I begin to type away on my keyboard, ready to unleash all my frustration onto the little black keys, when something hard pelts the side of my head. When the small, colorful object falls on my desk, I pick it up and toss it in my mouth.
“Keep ‘em coming, buddy,” I mumble as I keep typing. “I could use a little something sweet right now.”
Another jellybean hits my head but doesn’t fall. I reach up, fish it out of my half-up hair, and hold it up to eye-level, inspecting it. It appears clean and non-hairy, so I pop it in my mouth. I’m not really in the mood for Parker’s games right now, but I won’t tell him that. He’ll worry and whip out his sword finger to try and make me laugh. And to be honest, my pride’s still a little sore after accidentally baring all to him yesterday.
I choose to ignore him and continue eating the afternoon snack he keeps throwing my way. After eating three more jellybeans without a word or glance at Parker, there’s a tap on my shoulder.
I sigh and spin around in my chair, ready to face my antagonist. “Can I help you?”
Parker has one eyebrow raised like he’s the Rock or something, and he has both arms crossed over his chest. He isn’t signing a word, but I can read him like a book.
“What?” I ask, mildly annoyed. “I’m busy.” I straighten in my chair and cross my arms in defense. I’m allowed to have a busy day at work. He, of all people, should understand, accept that as truth, and walk back to his cubicle.
But of course, he doesn’t.
What’s wrong,he signs before kneeling in front of me with both hands braced on the arms of my office chair, rolling me closer. The action is so unexpected that I inhale a short, quick breath as both my hands fly to his chest to stop myself from lurching forward.
When his muscles jump under my palms, I pull my hands back and tuck them under my thighs. Parker raises both eyebrows and tilts his head to the side, his light green eyes piercing through me.
I have no reason not to tell Parker why I’m irritated. But something inside me wants to shy away from telling him. Maybe it’s because I know how Parker feels about Mike. He never liked the guy, especially when Mike started to act all shady.
But maybe I should tell Parker about his text. That way, I can get another guy’s perspective on what Mike’s end game is with me. If Parker can shed some light on why Mike is texting me out of the blue, it would be worth it. I have little patience for relationship games.
“Nothing is wrong,” I say as I reach down into my purse and pull out my phone. “Mike just texted me.”
I tap in my passcode and bring up the text thread that Mike started. When I open it, I notice he sent me another text.
Mike: Look, I’m sorry. I want another chance. Please let me call you.
I read the text, roll my eyes, then hand my phone over to Parker. Maybe he can help unravel the mystery that is attractive men in their twenties.
Parker holds my phone, and his eyebrows come together as he reads through the texts. As his eyes dart back and forth across the screen, his lips pull into a tight line.
Still holding my phone in front of him, he lifts his gaze to mine. Once again, he’s trying to see inside of my soul, causing me to shrink a bit in response. What is he looking for?
He places my phone in my lap as he stands, then grabs the pen and paper from my desk, scribbling away at lightning speed. When he turns the notepad around for me to read, I’m taken aback by his strong reaction.
Why are you even texting him back, Jamie? The guy is a jerk. I don’t know what his reasons are for texting you now, but I can promise you they aren’t good. He doesn’t deserve you.
I blink at Parker, his chest rising and falling like he just ran around the building three times. Why does he seem so upset about this? And why is he mad that I texted Mike back? We dated for seven months. I feel that gives me the right to respond to the guy’s texts, at least.
“I only texted him back so he wouldn’t think I was still mad that we broke up,” I say, holding Parker’s gaze. His face is riddled with annoyance, which is so out of place for him.
Are you mad you broke up? He signs the phrase to me so rapidly I almost miss the last words. His movements are clipped and careless.
“No, I’m not mad. That’s why I texted him.” I pause, assessing Parker. His body language is so uncharacteristically defensive that I have the urge to laugh. “Are you mad?” I ask, already knowing the answer.
An audible scoff leaves Parker’s lips as he plants his hands on his hips and looks toward the ceiling. I blink, confused. I don’t get why he’s acting like this. Is it because I ignored his playful taunting with the jellybeans?
After a tense moment, he grabs the paper and scribbles again. Not mad. But you know better.
I know better? What does he mean by that?
My stubborn pride wells up and I spin away from him to face my desk. I’ve never been mad at Parker before, but the bubble of exasperation I’m feeling can’t be ignored. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say Parker was acting jealous.
Before my hands can even touch my keyboard, Parker spins my chair back around and with an apologetic look, he signs, Sorry. Please forgive me. He droops a bit as he searches my face.
Seeing his regret, I realize my edginess with him is mostly from my initial irritation at Mike. I don’t need to take out my frustration on Parker any more than I need to entertain Mike with a response.
“I forgive you,” I say while signing. “I only showed you the texts so you could help me decipher their meaning. But it’s not important. I have no desire to text Mike back.”
Parker’s eyes soften as he reaches for my hand. Holding it securely in his, he runs his thumb over my skin and little sparks of awareness skate across where he touches. My gaze falls to our joined hands as I purse my lips to the side.
Parker’s touch has always been warm and comforting, but lately, it feels as if my body is working over-time to send pleasure signals to my brain each time we make contact.
He quickly releases my hand and snaps to get my attention. Sorry. I failed as a friend. A sheepish grin crosses his face.
“You didn’t. You’re just looking out for me.”
Parker dips his chin and signs, I always will. Before I can swoon at his sweetness, he straightens and points to my computer screen. Did you get the employee email?
“Yes, I did. Can you believe it?” In the email giving us the details about the pumpkin patch, we were also given a heads up about next week’s activity which isn’t really an activity at all, but a first-grade class coming to tour the Gazette.
Parker shrugs one shoulder in an exaggerated way and shakes his head as he signs, Don’t know what they hope to see.
I laugh because I thought the exact same thing. “I guess just a bunch of adults sitting in cubicles staring at the computer screens in front of them. I plan to bake some cookies to bring along with me that day. Kids like cookies, right?”
Parker smiles wide. Yes, silly. Kids love cookies. Me too. He waggles his eyebrows and pats his stomach.
Giggling, I wave him out of my cubicle. “Okay, okay, I get the hint. I’ll make extra for you, too. Now get back to work, Kent.”
He winks and saunters away, leaving me wondering what type of cookies he’d like best.