Page 32 of Not Safe for Work

“Oh” is the only thing I can come up with. Should I be more encouraging? Should I tell him he should work things out? I’m not his therapist, and I might not be a totally impartial bystander. “And you don’t?”

He throws me a wry look, and I wince. Stupid question.

“No, we’ve been—” He stops. Chews on the corner of his lip. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter.”

He lets out a deep breath and leans his elbows onto his thighs, the beer bottle clasped between his hands. He picks at the paper label as he watches the water. His knee is still touching me, and if I was cognizant of his presence before, the last thirty seconds have just shifted me into hyper-awareness.

Rafe is single. Rafe is available. Why does this matter?

I study his leg pressed against mine, and now this means something. I think.

“Okay,” I say, wondering if he also feels the weird tension stretching between us. “If you change your mind, I’m happy to listen.”

That wins me another sharp look as he seems to weigh my words in his head. But I mean them sincerely and not because I’m looking for a way to destroy him. He must see that in my face because his own expression softens. It’s not a smile, but this, too, is… something.

“Thanks,” he replies, returning his stare to the water, where dozens of people frolic, shouting and screaming in the waves.

He gestures to the water. “Why aren’t you down there?”

I pull a face. “I don’t like swimming.”

“What kind of person doesn’t like swimming?”

“This kind of person,” I say. “What difference does it make to you?”

I guess that’s it. One moment of quiet civility has already evaporated, and we’re back to our usual patterns.

“It’s strange,” he adds, and I narrow my eyes.

“You can be a real jerk, you know that, Gallagher?”

Something like shame flashes across his face, catching me off guard. That’s not how this works. We share our insults like jellybeans, never regretting their casual dispersion. There are always more where they came from. He’s not allowed to change the rules and feel guilty.

“That was great!” Andy interrupts, walking up to us and toweling off his wet hair. Lan and Gabrielle follow closely behind, hands clasped and smiling.

Rafe and Andy stare at each other like this is West Side Story, and they’re about to break out into a knife fight. Or a song. But probably a knife fight.

Andy drops into the space on my other side, his wet hip brushing against mine. I shift, disliking the feeling of the cold material against my skin. It puts me even closer to Rafe, who is warm and dry, and so many other things I don’t have the courage to name.

I give a pointed look to the mile of empty space on his other side, but Rafe doesn’t move.

“You gotta come in next time, Tris. I promise it’s awesome,” Andy says, drying his face.

“She doesn’t like swimming,” Rafe says, a thread of irritation in his voice.

I frown. Wasn’t he just making fun of me?

Andy’s scowl matches my own. “Okay, man. It was just a suggestion. Calm down.”

“Don’t tell me to calm down,” Rafe says.

I share a look with Gabrielle and Lan, who watch their exchange intently.

The ease of Andy’s disposition slides away, and I drop my head in my hands. He leans across me, and I’m forced to sit back.

“Dude, what is your problem? First, you scared her away from me yesterday, and now you’re acting like I’ve morally offended the lady’s honor because I suggested she go for a swim. Are you two a thing or something?”

“No!” I say, maybe a little too forcefully, and four sets of eyes find me, each weighing and judging with varying degrees of suspicion. I clear my throat, willing my voice to a normal volume. “No, I mean, we’re just colleagues. Rafe, stop being weird.”