Wrong Place, Right Time(8)
It’s a moment later that I realize he has now transferred a good portion of his sweat to my body. Ew. I try not to grimace, but it’s impossible. I smell like sweaty bald guy now.
“Sorry,” he says, righting me and then stepping away. “Got some sweat on you.”
When I’m back on my feet again, Dev and I turn simultaneously to look at the big warehouse door. It’s still vibrating on its tracks and it looks like there’s a giant dent in it, bulging inward. The sweat transfer incident moves to the back of my mind, supplanted by the more immediate weirdness.
“What the heck was that?” My voice is unnaturally high.
“I have no idea, but it can’t be good.” He steps around me and pushes me a little so I’m fully behind him.
I try to move around to be next to him, but he blocks me, stepping in my path.
“What’re you doing?” I’m hugging my laptop to my body, partially to protect it and partially using it as a shield. I’ve got enough Dev-sweat on me for one lifetime.
He twists his head around and looks down at me. “What does it look like I’m doing? I’m protecting you.”
“Protecting me?” I lean out sideways to look around him at the entrance to the warehouse. “From what?” I pause to consider what he’s actually saying and then look at the dent in the big door. I’m pretty sure it wasn’t there before. “Please tell me that was the sound of the door locking.”
Another boom rattles the door on its hinges, and then there’s shouting coming from outside. I can’t make out a word that’s being said, but whoever it is sounds really angry. A random thought about the forklift guy being jealous over me being in here floats through my head before my fear takes over. I feel like I’m about to pee my pants. “Seriously, what was that?”
Dev grabs me by the upper arm and starts dragging me toward the darker area of the warehouse. “Come on. Let’s go.”
“Go? Where? Where are we going?” My panic level is high, like level ten right now. If I were a possum, I’d be stiff on my back, legs straight up in the air. Nothing to see here! Just a dead possum. Move along, people . . .
“Somewhere safe.” He’s all business now, no longer smiling or flashing that cute dimple at me.
I can feel his hot hand through the material of my shirt, and I don’t like any part of this manhandling that’s going on. I dig my heels in and jerk my elbow out of his grasp.
“What are you doing?” he asks, his voice rising. “We need to go!”
“Go where?” I stomp my foot, reminding myself of my three-year-old son, Sammy. “I’m not going anywhere with you until I know what’s happening.” I take a few steps away from him. “Is this some kind of joke? Is this some sort of weird initiation?” I point at him. “I’ve heard about you guys. I know you like to play practical jokes on people who work with you.” My sister is so going to get a nipple twist for this. One for each boob.
He takes a step toward me with his hands held out. His voice is much calmer than before. There’s no dimple going on though, so he’s not fooling me. “I promise you, this is not a joke nor any kind of weird initiation. There’s something going on outside, and I need to make sure you’re safe before I investigate what it is.”
“But what about my sister?”
“Your sister is with Ozzie, so she’s fine. Come on.” He takes me by the arm, more gently this time. “Please, follow me.”
Even though this is the most ridiculous start to a new job I’ve ever experienced, I can tell Dev is serious. And it seems like he wants to do the right thing by making sure I’m okay before he moves on to the next step, so I decide to play along. But if this turns out to be some sort of weird initiation or hazing ritual, heads are gonna roll.
CHAPTER THREE
Dev’s hand slides from my arm down to my hand as he drags me through the warehouse to our destination—a destination I do not yet know. I’m trying not to have all these silly, girly reactions to holding hands with this strange man, but it’s impossible. I can’t remember the last time I felt a man’s fingers wrapped around mine. I can say I’ve never felt anything quite like this before; his hands are huuuuge. This must be what Sammy feels like when he holds his father’s hand. Of course, Sammy is three and I’m thirty-two, and I should be over stupid things like this. Ridiculous, the things that will flow through a person’s head when she feels like she’s running for her life.
“Am I in danger?” Dev doesn’t answer me, so I continue, my sneakers squeaking in fast rhythm as I nearly run to keep up with him. It’s a good thing I’m not wearing corduroy right now or I’d be setting my thighs on fire with all the friction I’m kicking up. “Because I didn’t sign up for any danger when I told my sister I would come here and help. I’m not into danger like you guys are. I’m into warm baths and wine and quiet. Quietude. I like quietude. I’m no commando. I always wear underpants.” Apparently, when I panic, I overshare. It’s weird, learning new things about yourself when you’re over thirty.