Thick As Thieves: A Romantic Comedy by Julie Olivia

Author:Julie Olivia [Olivia, Julie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-09-16T18:30:00+00:00

13 Owen

Time is an illusion as I wait to see Fran again.

What time is it when I eat breakfast? How long has it been since I last took off my headphones and stopped working? And how many more times do I have to do that until the next group meet-up again? It’s been a mix of watching my phone for something, anything, a text, a call, then receiving nothing and proceeding to dive deep into the day-to-day work or the grueling late-night sessions churning through Ryan’s mystery project.

Replacing time with work is not a new issue for me. This commonly popped up with my last girlfriend, Taylor’s old roommate. I worked too much. I stayed up too late. I focused on my laptop until the only relief available was the gym: lifting heavy objects and running until the treadmill’s timer ticked off, telling me it’d been in use for too long. My breathing would even out as I’d continue to solve the day’s problems, and by the time I’d see her again, I would be scrambling to type out the formed solutions instead of actually having a relationship. We were doomed for failure from the start.

But this feels different. It isn’t work at the forefront of my mind; it’s Fran.

It took until the middle of the week, just as I was running more than usual, lifting heavier than I’d thought possible, sweat rolling down my neck, doing anything to stay focused, to finally receive a text from her. She asked me a simple question, something related to our jobs—to HA. Cordial. Always cordial. Is she disinterested, or is this, as Emma would put it, just a British thing? There was nothing to the text. No references to us as we were at that loft piano show or our kiss. Just professionalism.

I typed out a response. Coincidentally, it was an issue I’d encountered the previous night with Ryan’s project. She replied that the solution worked and that was that, said as simply as a polite partner from a meet-up group following up on work. I couldn’t tell if the conversation helped or hurt my need to hear from her.

I keep telling myself it’s nothing. She has a job. She’s in a new city. We’re too busy. I’m too busy. But I still check my phone more than I should.

The urge to text her normally hits me around two in the morning. I’ll be knee-deep in work, exhausted and delirious, forced to relieve the tension of the day by releasing the tension in my groin, spurred by the worst possible thing: the memory of Fran eating that stupid fucking hot dog.

I’m a sick, sick man.

Every touch of my own hand stroking me is to the thought of her. The heat surrounding me is accentuated by the memory of her toned thighs and slender neck. I’m out of breath and ready for a quick shower by the time I finish, only to return to more stressful things like Ryan’s contract.

I don’t sleep much, usually.

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