Boy meets girl, girl falls in love, blah-blah-blah.
Let me be clear with you from the beginning. This is not that kind of story.
My name is Cait, and I live in the great city of New York. Okay, so maybe I've only lived here for a week and a half...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Surprisingly enough, Andrew texted me less than five minutes after Val sent him my number. Unfortunately, I still hadn't turned on my phone, so I didn't receive them until the next morning when I was getting ready (and running late for work.)
"You're gonna be late!"
Val watched me from her bed, shaking her head while I tugged a shirt over my head before running a comb through my wet hair. I never bothered with a blow dryer, but that was probably because I never had enough time to do it. Instead, I threw a little product in my hair and let it air dry on the way to work, at which point I would plait it in a cute braid down my back.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," I said, dropping the comb on the sofa and tugging on my shoes - matching ones this time. "I forgot to turn on my phone last night, so my alarm didn't go off."
"You are so lucky I woke up early to go to the bathroom," she replied with a smirk. "I expect you to name your firstborn with Lincoln after me."
My hand slipped from my shoe and snapped up to hit me in the nose. A curse slipped from my mouth as I grabbed it, checking for blood, before stuffing my foot into the shoe and glaring up at Val.
"Not funny," I told her whilst rubbing my nose. "He didn't even text me last night, not that I even care because you know I'm not interested in a relationship, so no. That is definitely not going to happen."
Val leaned back on her mountain of pillows as she muttered, "It's gonna happen."
Choosing to ignore her, I grabbed my phone and keys before running to the door. There was no way I was going to make it to work on time this morning, but luckily I wasn't one of the openers so I shouldn't be in too much trouble with Peter. During my last performance review, he told me that he was giving me a "Cait margin," as he named it, meaning I was allowed to be late by 15 minutes a couple of times every few months without getting in trouble as long as I continued to be an exemplary employee in every other way. Thus far, I'd only had to invoke the margin twice...okay, three times...but this time I actually had a decent excuse.
My phone was off because of Instagram trolls and I slept through my alarm.
Totally decent excuse.
"Wait!" I paused at the door and whirled around. "Am I fully dressed? Did I forget anything?"
Val snorted, "Are you wearing a bra?"
I patted my chest with one hand before giving her a thumbs up, and she burst into laughter waving me out of the apartment. The trouble with running late is that no matter how prepared you are, something will inevitably go wrong. I tried to keep a checklist of things to grab before I left the apartment every day, especially before work, but when the adrenaline is running all of my reasoning capabilities fly out the window.
Picking up the pace as I jogged into the subway station, I swiped my Metrocard and headed toward the platform to wait for the next train. Out of habit, I stuck my hand into my pocket to grab my headphones and mumbled a curse under my breath when my fingers brushed against pocket lint and no headphones.
