NIKKI & JOE, CASUALLY | updates every monday

16: feelings 🡢 attraction 🡢 insert 'you're fucked'

            I shove the rest of my McPlant into my mouth as I unlock the employee entrance into Spectrum. I only left the office half an hour ago and I'm already bordering on late to my shift at the club. I'm grateful I'm on early though: I'm too knackered to deal with customers right now, especially freshers. This way, I get to do prep for four hours and I'll only have two hours while we're open.

Joe is in Sasha's cupboard of an office, doing summat on the computer with one leg propped on the edge of the spinning chair and her torso twisted to the keyboard. I greet her as I pass.

'Hey,' she says distractedly only to snap her head up. 'Oh, hey, Nikki, you know computers. Can you help me with this? I can't get the page numbers to work, they're all over the place.'

I walk backwards to the office door, having kept walking out of sheer inertia, and peer in.

Joe has an essay open and she scrolls through to show me how the page numbers start from four and then halfway through, switch to counting from one again. 'Yeah, you need to put section breaks to cut off your cover page and table of contents from the count and down here, you've put a section break where it should be a page break.'

She revolves the whole chair to stare at me, lines dug between her cinched eyebrows. 'Come again?'

I suppress my smile; she'll reckon I'm laughing at her. Which I'm not. She just looks too cute with her face scrunched up like that. Joe is wearing vibrant eyeliner again. Today, a monstera green acts as an accent to electric blue that's reprised in the design on her nails.

I blink my mind back to the right track. 'Double click on the header.' Joe turns back to the screen, sliding her foot off the chair and fixing her posture to sit properly. Ready to take orders, she does as told and I point to the top where it states the section. 'Here. So the first few pages should be a different section. Then you need to unselect "continue from previous section" and the count should start from page one where the actual text starts.'

I watch her do that, then tell her to edit the page count setting so it starts counting from one. Within seconds, I'm practically hanging on the doorframe to guide her. The office is so small that I can point to parts of the screen with my feet still outside. 'You have to deselect "different first page" or it won't show right.'

'But this is the third page.'

'It's the first page of section two. Go to the page number format. Like settings.' She goes to the document settings. 'No, from the page numbers. On header and footer, then page– Just let me do it.'

I only need one stride to be standing behind her and grab the mouse though when she don't let go, I leave her hand under mine, lodging my fingers between hers to click the right path to the format. I scroll through the document quickly to check. 'There. All fixed.'

Joe slackens into the clunky office chair. 'I can't use this Windows nonsense.'

'Windows and Android are objectively better and easier to use than iOS.'

'No, they aren't.'

'Yes, they are.'

'Well,' her voice jumps an octave, 'Apple invented touchscreens.'

A smile tries to grow on my face though I fight it; it'll come across as surrender. 'No. Nokia had touchscreens seven years before Apple did. It's like you've not got Google on those things to check basic facts.'

Joe scoffs. I'm close enough to feel the heat radiating from her cheeks even if her skin is too dark to show her blush. My hand is still over hers on the mouse. Joe's eyes are the colour of cognac or freshly brewed earl grey. Her lips are glossy with balm and–

Then I get a grip and, clearing my throat, stand up.

Tucking my hands into my trouser pockets, I'm about to wish her good luck and go start prepping to open when she speaks. 'You're probably thinking "why is she writing some essay at work" but Sasha said I could.'

'Genuinely did not cross my mind,' I say honestly, though now that she's brought it up, my brain tries to file the situation in with the rest of my knowledge about her but can't find a folder it belongs in. 'What are you writing essays for though?'

Joe sinks in the chair like she's hoping to chameleon into it and mumbles, 'I'm doing some courses in Open University.' She shrugs, attempts to conjure nonchalance but tugs at her necklace. 'I kind of... never did any work actually related to my degree. I'm trying to make up the lack of experience so I can maybe get a job that isn't working at a club.' Alarm strikes her. 'I mean, I really like it here and I'm so grateful you got me this job. I am, honestly–'

'You're alright. It won't hurt my feelings if you don't wanna work here forever. Also, I didn't get you the job—you got yourself the job.'

I smile but her eyes, which moments ago were so eager to be seen, glue onto the screen. I can decipher what I need from the hunch of her shoulders, the near-hang of her head.

'That's mint, Joe, Open University.' I hope I sound reassuring and non-judgmental. 'What work would you wanna do?'

Eyes still downcast, Joe pokes the squishy wrist support on the mouse pad. 'My degree's in psychology... I think I want to be a sex therapist. I know that's a bit ridiculous, but I'd like to try it anyway, if that makes sense.'

I lean against Sasha's filing cabinet. 'Why is it ridiculous?'

'Well I'm me,' her voice stumbles into self-derogatory humour. Unlike some of us who became pros in school, Joe is clearly new to this. 'I can't even find someone to hook up with.'

'Don't reckon that's a requirement.'

Interlocking my fingers, I dig my thumb into my palm, scrubbing the callouses at the base of my fingers from gym equipment. I have to tread carefully with what I say so I don't come across as a total creep.

'I may not know you very well, Joe, but I don't see owt ridiculous in that. You're easy to talk to and you naturally make people comfortable as soon as you're in the room. The way you were with my brother in the car when we met... Well, most people aren't like that with them. And he most certainly don't accept any advice or help from most people.

'And I know Eilidh loves talking to you. We go to the gym together five days a week so I know. She told me you gave her good advice about that drama with her mum. And you have champion people skills—those are obvious even in bartending. There's nowt ridiculous about it.'

Task "don't come across as a creep": Failed.

Joe offers me a shy smile. 'Sasha said I could help out during the support meetings and workshops he does during the week. That could be useful practice.'

'Brill–'

'Nicolás–' Sasha pops his head into the office, cradling a pineapple like a baby '–what are you doing? I told Josephine she could finish her university things but you're supposed to be working.' He gives me a knowing look and with my face probably hot enough to candy that pineapple, I scurry after him to the kitchen.

Notes

Open University: Part-time university studies mostly done online. You don't need to enroll in a degree program, but can just do a few individual courses, as is the case for Joe. Usually, open universities have little to no entry requirements. Studies at Open University are much cheaper than the tuition costs of attending a traditional uni.