when all is said and done | e.d.

four

ethan
(if you haven't noticed, they will be switching off povs every three chapters :))

my eyes scan the dim bar as i bring the glass up to my lips, downing my third shot of the night.

"what about her?" grayson nudges my arm, making me look toward a pretty red head in the back.

i debate the idea in my brain. "nah," i decide eventually. "what if the condom breaks and i'm left with little ginger ethans? i don't want that."

mark laughs loudly, clearly far too drunk. i shake my head at him, and turn back to my twin.

"i should probably be heading home," i sigh.

grayson furrows his eyebrows. "now? really? you didn't even find someone yet."

i shrug. "not in the mood. long day at work."

mark rolls his eyes. "just quit already, bro."

"i can't," i shake my head. "it's... safe. i have nothing else going for me."

"what about your boss?" grayson asks. "the one you said was hot?"

i almost spit the drink i just took back into the cup, and punch my chest a little. "what?"

he grins. "last weekend you did eleven shots and told us that your boss was hot. and that you'd like to—"

"stop," i shudder, closing my eyes. "i was drunk. i don't remember saying those things about harper, so i'm going to pretend i never did."

they both laugh and i feel a blush rise up to my cheeks.

i've got to handle my liquor better.

harper is pretty, but it was purely the alcohol talking when i was discussing her.

hell, i hardly know the girl.

the only reason i do is because of a mutual friend who told me he knew someone hiring a personal assistant.

i took the offer, since i was a total loser who decided to pursue a major in education. i mean, who does that? what good does it get you?

clearly nothing, because i'm stuck getting coffee and responding to emails for 9 hours a day, five days a week.

it's not that i hate it, i just have trouble loving it.

all my coworkers are nice. we engage in the boring small talk that white people do to avoid awkward conversation about other things. and harper is okay. she works me to death, but i don't have room to complain, since it's literally my job.

my friends tease me for being a male assistant, but it pays pretty good and i get my own office.

they don't.

well, technically my personal office is the size of a closet and connects to my boss', but it still counts.

"okay," i say, slapping a couple of bills on the counter of the bar. "i have to go."

"wait, actually?" mark questions, tilting his head out of pure shock and curiosity.

i find myself beginning to smile. "harper put me in charge of being the first to hear a pitch, and i need to go back to my apartment and sort out my thoughts and questions on it. isn't that cool? they totally let me be in charge of something important..."

my words trail off and the smile is wiped from my face when i see the look on both of their faces.

they don't care.

i shrug my jacket on and cough a little. "i'll see you guys later, okay? text me to make sure you got home safely. gray, you're in charge of the uber."

he nods and bumps my fist with his. mark waves a little as i exit the doors of the bar, and immediately take in the refreshing, chilling air.

not many people in the center of chicago have a car, since it's such a busy city, but i do. my building has easy access parking, so it works in my favor.

i point my clicker at it, and it unlocks. i slide into the front seat and turn on the engine, already in a rush to get home and review the story notes.

calvin's assistant forwarded them to me, and by the title, it sounded pretty intriguing.

from first glance, it seems to be about an old building on the east side that has been vacant for dozens of years, and is now showing signs of paranormal activity.

obviously it's not a very strong, believable segment, but i've been around long enough to know that they throw in some 'just for fun' stories among the the important ones.

when i get to my apartment, i throw my keys on the table and sigh at how unwelcoming it is.

i've lived here for years, but i still can't bring it upon myself to make the move official by buying lots of furniture and decorations.

something about committing to that just irks me.

so, i get a big mug of coffee, print out the draft of the story, and get some blue and black pens.

i spend my night circling, crossing out, and highlighting things on the pages that bring me concern.

i'm taking it too seriously, since i could honestly just tell harper if i liked it or not, but i want to feel proud of something when i go to sleep tonight.

at midnight, i finally crash on my couch, feeling oddly excited for monday morning.

usually i despise work days, but this is different, i guess.

for once, i feel important.