TGIF

Chapter 7: Killing Time

Winning the lottery lost its surprise after a few days, but I still liked the thrill of buying the winning ticket. I'd make a terrible gambler: I had no brain for probability, and people could read me like a book.

"What's up with you today?" Jordan asked from the doorway. "You're grinning like a loon."

"I'm in a good mood, what can I say?"

"He's always in a good mood," Abby interjected. "Must be that whiskey bottle on his desk."

"Want some?" I asked.

"We're civilized people, we aren't going to drink at four in the—" Jordan said, but was cut off by Abby walking over and taking a gulp from the bottle. I'd been drinking the stuff for weeks but couldn't manage that.

"That's some good whiskey," she said with a self-satisfied sigh. Jordan looked like he wanted to say something. He was also easy to read, I thought, now that I'd had more time to know him. He was the sort of guy my dad would call hot-headed, but my dad was never sympathetic toward people like Jordan who were a bit too "clever" for their own good.

"I'd better get back to work, guys. Take it easy—TGIF," Abby said, and she took one of my British mints and left, pushing past Jordan.

"That was... it was..." Jordan stuttered.

"Unusual?"

"I have my own opinions about Abby, but... how do I put this... in the most Platonic sense possible, that's the most attractive thing she's ever done. I'm smitten."

"You should ask her out, Jordan."

"Heck no. I'd need a liver transplant by the night's end. Anyway, I'm gonna get some more work done. Don't stay too late, Mike."

I pondered what he said as I left Infinitech, ready for my day to wind down just as it was beginning for the rest of town. The sky was the color of a roasted sweet potato caramelized around the fringes, and I remembered buying one from a street vendor back in college, and how the syrup dripped from the foil. Time was money, and we all valued our time differently. Personally, I was happy enough to lie down by myself on my couch after a long workday, leaving Dennis to his date, Jordan to his volunteer meeting, and Abby to her martinis.

The reason why Jordan's comment had caught on me like a burr hit me on the train ride the next morning:

"...you don't look like you'd have a tattoo," Dennis said to Abby, who wasn't charmed at all.

"Sorry to interrupt y'all, but how about we buy some lottery tickets this morning? TGIF, am I right?" I interrupted. Abby gave me a skeptical look.

"Are you high?"

"High on life? You bet I am!"

"I meant weed."

"Troy Bentley says that weed dulls the senses. The only drug he uses is distilled from a chili pepper only grown in Guatemala," Dennis explained.

"You know what, screw it," Abby said. "I'll buy a lottery ticket. Today's my lucky day."

I bought a glazed donut and two lottery tickets, both with the winning numbers, and told Abby what the winners were. She accepted those, but declined a piece of my donut.

"Since when were you this superstitious, buying lottery tickets in the morning?" Abby asked.

"I'm not superstitious, I'm just a little stitious."

Abby rolled her eyes again. Her skepticism was beginning to grow on my nerves, but I also remembered what she'd said the other night, that she'd like it if I took her side more.