Slightly Settled. Wendy Markham

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      “Why the hell not?” Latisha demands.

      “He didn’t ask.” Talk about humiliating. I add hastily, “And anyway, I don’t want him to call me. I just want to forget the whole thing.”

      “Why?” Brenda asks. “I thought he was a good guy.”

      “Hot, too,” Latisha says approvingly.

      “He had tight buns,” Yvonne puts in.

      Eeewww. Tight buns?

      Like I said, she’s my grandmother’s age. That’s hip slang for her. But the phrase has me picturing some unappealing loser in snug-fitting beige polyester slacks—which, if nothing else, is enough to take the edge off the panic.

      “Morning, Chief.” Mike pokes his head around the edge of my cube. “Ladies.”

      They greet him and disperse, leaving me alone with my boss standing over me. My thoughts whirl back to the party.

      “So I heard you met my roommate.”

      “Hmm?” I reply absently, trying to remember whether Mike left early. I wring my icy hands in my lap. God, I hope so. Or could he have still been around while I was sucking face with Jack at the bar?