To: grevkeller0143@state.edu
From: cal.thompson04@smu.il.edu
Subject: Creeping, lurking = Same thing
Grey. Not surprised that you were lurking on my sister’s pics. That picture of me with the dog? Brownie, his name was—he was the shit. Cried like a baby when my parents put him to sleep. I don’t even want to know if you saw the picture of me snuggling Sparkles, the kitty cat I had when I was 3. Tabby posted that one last year for my birthday, that rude bitch. Shit. That was a joke. I would never call her that to her face; she’d scratch my eyes out. My sister, not the cat. – Cal
Caclass="underline" By the way, I’ve decided I will allow you to have a crush on me.
Grey: How magnanimous of you.
Caclass="underline" You’re welcome.
Grey: You ass.
Caclass="underline" Speaking of asses, yours is incredible.
Grey: Well, aren’t you just full of compliments today! I’ve got one for you: I could stare at your firm, tight ass in those rugby spandex all day long.
Caclass="underline" Holy shit, that is NOT what I was expecting you to say.
Grey: Why?
Caclass="underline" Because you’re classy.
Grey: Maybe, but I also have eyes. And hormones. I can’t say you have a firm, tight ass? Okay, fine. Can we at least talk about your buff arms? DROOL.
Caclass="underline" NO! Maybe. Okay, fine.
Grey: *pouting* I want to talk about your tattoos.
Caclass="underline" Thank god you’re an hour away, because I can’t spend the whole night jerking off—
Caclass="underline" Shit, I did NOT mean to send that.
Caclass="underline" Ugh. It didn’t even make any sense.
Caclass="underline" Greyson, fucking say something!
Grey: Shush. Shhhh. Shhh. I’m not done visualizing you doing naughty, naughty things to yourself *closes eyes* Also, why did you TYPE it if you didn’t mean to send it? WHAT THE HELL?? LOLOLOL
Grey: The WHOLE night jerking off? Wow. That’s some stamina you must have…
Caclass="underline" Oh my god. This is my worst nightmare
Grey: ^^^ you sound like such a girl.
Caclass="underline" Wait. Did you just screenshot that shit????
Grey: No. Maybe. Okay, fine. Yes.
Caclass="underline" What are you up to right now?
Grey: I’m about to walk into work. But instead I’m sitting here in a chair by the door like a creeper, texting you.
Caclass="underline" Sorry.
Grey: Don’t APOLOGIZE. Sheesh, Calvin. How could you have known I was at work? Besides, it’s my choice. I’d rather sit and talk to you any day of the week. I work until 10 tonight, which—yuck.
Caclass="underline" That’s a long shift.
Grey: Yeah, but it’s the only day I work this week. I’m really grateful they’re so flexible. Confession? I think the manager has a crush on me or something. It’s kind of embarrassing, but it also works in my favor.
Caclass="underline" I don’t blame the guy. Wait. It is a GUY, right?
Grey: *rolling my eyes*giggle* Yeah, it’s a guy. Not nearly as sexy as you ;)
Caclass="underline" You did NOT just say that.
Grey: Oh boy, here we go again…
Greyson
The espresso machine hisses, and I pour cold, clear water into the top of the machine's water chamber, checking quickly to make sure the boiler cap is secured. My co-worker Rebecca tosses me the filter holder that I’d forgotten to grab when I started to fill the machine with grounds, and I call out a hasty “Thanks” as I lightly brush the coffee debris off the counter that escaped when I changed it earlier.
I remove the glass carafe under the spout and flip the switch on the machine, humming to myself as the steam heats the water to an extra hot temperature—like the customer ordered—and almost don’t notice when the coffee starts to overflow into the small carafe. Crap, how on earth did that happen?
“Shoot,” I murmur as the brown liquid skims the top of the glass container, the foam now becoming white. I push back the lever and remove the cup, careful not to spill any of the precious nectar.
Nectar? Oh, brother, listen to me.
I add a shot of sugar-free vanilla, pour the espresso into the tiny to-go cup, pop the plastic lid on, and slide the beverage across the counter at my waiting customer with a smile.
“Anything else?” I ask.
“Nope!” She tosses her hair over her shoulder and a few pennies into the tip jar, giving me a backwards wave, and pushes her way out the front door.
I reach behind me and pull back on the ribbon securing my green apron, tighten it so it’s not quite so loose, and begin wiping down the hard granite counter where we keep the flavor syrups.
As I’m adjusting the nozzle on the sanitizer spray bottle so it comes out in a steady stream, Rebecca scoots by me, giving me a sharp shove in the hip.
“What the hell, Becca?”
“Meathead, twelve o’clock,” she mutters, rushing to the cash register. I hear her brightly call out, “Hi there! What can we make for you today!”
Wow, she sounds uncharacteristically cheerful.
Shaking my head with a chuckle, I begin spraying the sanitizer around the basin of the steel prep sink, but a deep baritone response from the other side of the cash counter has me stopping in my tracks.
“Grey working?”
I spin on my heel, tossing the rag in my hand to the backsplash. “Cal!” I take a few surprised steps forward. “What are you doing here?”
“I’ve been doing a shit ton of studying today and needed a break. Grab some caffeine,” he says, causally stuffing his hands in the pockets of low-slung sweat pants, then looking up at the menu board on the wall. “Anything good here?”
Delighted, I cannot contain my enthusiasm. “You’re an hour away! Are you crazy?”
I’m positively giddy.
Cal looks embarrassed, his cheeks taking on a pinkish hue.