Today's Reading
I was mumbling my apologies and thanks all in one when the hulking wall bent down. His dark braids draped over his shoulders.
"This yours?" he asked me, looking up from his squatted position. His warm chocolate eyes were framed by strong brows. Smiling, he was holding a green thing.
My creepy key chain. It must have been knocked off my bag in my collision with this Native hunk. How did I know? We Natives have what is called "NAdar." Like we can sniff the rain or some shit—we laugh about it.
Okay, I was stereotyping based on my experience growing up in Ada. "Chokma'shki', thank you," I said as I took the beaded thing from his outstretched hand. I wasn't testing him. It's what I always grew up saying. Our traditional word in Chikashshanompa', followed by the English translation. Auntie said it was the polite thing to do and helped reinforce the few words I did know to my memory.
"Gvlielitseha, you're welcome." He stood and smiled a handsome crooked smile. A smile that could get him in and out of trouble.
I didn't have time for trouble; I had an interview to get to, but I was rooted in that spot, and my face betrayed me because I was smiling a dumb, troublemaking smile back.
"Cherokee," he said, speaking with his chin, tilting it up toward me.
"No, I'm Chickasaw...er...an enrolled Chickasaw citizen. And Choctaw mix." The word vomit poured out of my mouth and I couldn't stop it. It would have been easier to just say how I was legally enrolled, rather than list my entire bloodline history. I could feel how red my face was.
"No, I'm Cherokee."
Duh.
"Cool." That was it, people. All I said to the hottest man to ever pay me any attention was cool. To make it worse, I waved goodbye and walked out the door, leaving Stellar Coffee and the most beautiful man in Oklahoma.
I made it to the corner and waited to cross the street, letting out a relieved breath. And I heard a throat clear. I turned to see the hot Native man standing next to me to my right. He smiled.
"You work around here?" he asked me.
"I do. I'm an accountant." I wouldn't call this a lie, per se. I was trying to speak it into existence, to let it be so. But also, I wanted to impress him even though I'd probably never see him again.
Before our conversation could go any further, a woman to my left pushed an empty stroller to the curb, wrestling a wiggly baby in her arms. She forgot to lock the brake, and the stroller started rolling into the street. I grabbed it before it could get hit by a car, tugging the stroller back onto the curb.
"Thank you so much," she said to me.
"No problem," I said. "Are you giving your mommy trouble?" I asked the cute baby, who was wearing gray, so I couldn't tell if it was a boy or a girl.
I received the most adorable smile, and then the baby's face contorted, and my life flashed before my eyes as a white explosion of spit-up erupted from the baby's mouth. I was in the line of fire. It was a direct hit all over my shoulder in a hot liquid stream.
I heard the rumblings of a throaty laugh behind me. I chose to ignore it. "Oh my god! I'm so sorry." The mom was embarrassed. The light turned green, and it was our turn to walk. She pushed the stroller with one hand and rested her baby on her hip, looking at me as if I were a ticking time bomb about to go off on her.
The traitorous baby smiled happily, as if nothing happened.
It was fine. This was fine. I would just ask to use the bathroom when I got to the office. We made it to the other side of the street, and she dug through her diaper bag and pulled out a wad of baby wipes. "Here!" She thrust them at me.
"Thanks." I gave her a tight smile. It wasn't her fault, nor even the baby's. I wasn't mad. Just embarrassed that I had a copious amount of spit-up on my interview outfit. We parted ways, and I walked into the First National Center, wiping away the worst of the mess. It was still pretty bad. I focused only on the stain and filed into the elevator with other workers.
I pushed the button for floor twelve at the same time as a larger tan finger moved in to hit it at the same time. I wasn't sure if it was the elevator button or the hand that sent an electric shock through me.
"It's not that bad," said the deep voice that rolled over me like thunder. I knew without looking that it was the gorgeous Native man who owned that finger. "Impressive reflexes back there."
I heard an exaggerated sniff, and that pissed me off. I stopped wiping and shot laser beams from my eyes into his face. I had to look up quite a bit to do it.
He laughed.
"Are you following me?" I asked.
"I work here. I've never seen you before, maybe you're following me?"
"You work at Technix?" My stomach dropped. This was karma in action.
I'd lied, and now instead of impressing this guy, I had full-on embarrassed myself.
"I do. I've never seen you in accounting before." He curled up his eyebrow in skepticism, and his smirk was full of humor.
This excerpt ends on page 16 of the paperback edition.
Monday we begin the book How to Fall for a Scoundrel by Kate Bateman.
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