Chapter 25

I start doing the walk of shame—the real walk of shame of being borderline rude to a nice lady, not the night after sex walk of shame because why the hell would anyone be ashamed of doing something that is universal and fun?—when I realize I don’t want to walk all the way to my apartment. Especially since I’m still in his ridiculous t-shirt and Christmas pajama pants that I, for some reason, don’t want to change out of.

I briefly consider stealing a car (time loop, after all), but I literally have no idea where I would start with that. I’m fairly certain that hotwiring is more complicated than TV would indicate. Also, could you imagine if I did succeed in smashing open a car, just to find out it’s a manual? Driving a stick would be even harder than hotwiring. No, thank you.

Instead, I go for the sure thing, which is wait five seconds for Grant to come running up behind me. As much as I try to tell myself that logic would dictate that the man who professes to be my soulmate would come after me, there’s a small voice in my head that whispers that I know, know he’s coming.

Apparently, all his fate garbage is starting to get to me.

“Hey,” Grant says casually, even though he’s panting ever so slightly. “I was heading this way, uh, away from my house and—”

“More lying?” I ask, even though I know this barely counts.

Grant blushes. “Okay… the second you left my house I felt so empty that I figured I’d chase after you just to have one more memory of you looking at me. Better?”

“No.”

“Not even a little better?” he asks, teasing a slight smile.

I smother the smile that threatens my own lips.

“No. It just convinces me further that you’re downright delusional, which makes me worried that us being stuck in this time loop is eroding our sanity. Given the fact that each loop starts off with a near-death traumatic experience that we can never gain enough temporal space from, I worry that the cumulative stress will fracture the foundations of our minds, leading us to become snivelling shadows of our former selves.”

Grant runs his hand through his hair as an awkward silence builds between us. His messy, bedhead curls poke out at all angles and bounce immediately back to their rogue positions. It’s adorable. For a moment, I get a brief pang of regret that I didn’t see him while he was sleeping this morning.

“So… is it cool if I lie, then? I don’t want you to freak out on me just because I say some dumb shit like I want to set my alarm clock to the sound of you saying my name.”

“Please tell me you don’t actually want that.”

Grant shifts. “Can I lie now?”

I nod.

“Then no, of course not. I want my alarm clock to be that awful chime sound that makes me regret my life choices every time it goes off.” He coughs. “Anyways, I was just going for a random drive and not at all following you. Would you like a ride home since that’s where I was heading for no particular reason?”

Grant is, without a doubt, the worst liar I’ve ever encountered—and I once had a company tell me that they were zero emissions—at a meeting that they showed up to in their private jet.

Even still, his lie makes me feel better. It gives me hope that we can one day bang out our sexual tension without following it up with a conversation about whether or not we should share a toothbrush.

When we get into his car, Grant throws it into gear and then pauses.

“Oh, hey! Where do you live? I certainly don’t know because I haven’t been following you as I patrol the skies due to an unshakeable fear that something bad would happen to you.”

This time, a flash of a smile sneaks out. I blame it on the cute blush on his cheeks, the sleep in his eyes, and his utter lack of guile.

Too bad for him. Guile is practically my middle name (along with Productivity and Suspicion).

“I actually don’t give out my address to random men that I met for the first time today,” I say with mock innocence. “So, it’s a good thing that we’re not going to my place.”

Grant’s eyebrows shoot up. For a second, the resemblance between him and his mom is uncanny. Damn, I hate that I like her. Why did I have to go soft and start liking people now?

Must be the time loop.

“Then, where are we going?”

“To my office.”

He pauses. “Y-you do remember that it’s been destroyed? I know you’re dedicated, but there’s no way you can get any work done there. I doubt there’s any Wi-Fi.”

I fasten my seatbelt and nod for him to start driving. “Do you feel like being a little bad? You know, since we’re in a time loop and all.”

Grant mulls it over. “No. Not at all.”

“Well, do you feel like flying me up and out of trouble when things inevitably go awry?”

Sighing, Grant merges his car onto the road towards my office.

“Your cavalier attitude towards rules and danger right now certainly isn’t making me fall deeper in love with you and turning me on,” he says through gritted teeth and a half-smile.

I have to turn towards the window because this time, my own smile comes out in full force once I realize his meaning. Clearly, my descent into madness is inevitable. The time loop has done me in: I find his ludicrous devotion to be charming.

Oh well, at least I’m putting the craziness to good use. I mean, I must be a little bit crazy to do what I’m going to do next.

* * *

“Remind me again what the plan is?” Grant asks as we step out of his car and start walking towards the police barricade.

“I’m going to try to talk my way past the barricade and steal as much of their reports on what happened as possible. If I can’t talk my way past, I’m going to just run past.”

Grant stops mid-step and stares at me. “I expected a better plan from you.”

I shrug. “If it doesn’t work, I can always try something new tomorrow.”

“Still.”

“Yeah,” I concede. “Not my best.”

With me in the lead, I try to elbow the reporters out of the way. Even using my pointiest elbow (the right one), it’s not going so well. Until, suddenly, it is. One by one, the person I need to get by stumbles sideways, effectively clearing me an easy, leisurely path forwards.

When I look back at Grant, he winks. Just another perk of having a boyfriend who can control gravitational pull.

I freeze. Except he’s not my boyfriend. A hookup. A light, breezy, one-night stand, who I’ve now spent several days with. Kind of.

Ugh. This is getting messy. This is why I prefer to show up on first dates with a day planner to map out our next year. It would have been wildly convenient, had any of my dates gone for the idea.

Some people just aren’t planners.

“Okay, so if this goes badly,” I whisper over my shoulder to Grant, “I’m going to need you to fly me out of here and—”

Before I’m even at the barricade, at least ten steps away from it, I’m tackled. Strong arms clasp around me, binding me in place.

My heart races. How did they find out about my plan?

“You’re okay!” cries a light voice in my ear.

I pull enough back out of the iron grip to find myself looking at Beth, our office manager. There are literal tears in her eyes as she clings to me.

“Beth?” I ask, trying to pry her off me. “What are you doing?”

Finally, she peels herself off me, looking at me with smudgy makeup eyes and a watery smile.

“Didn’t you get any of my messages?” She wipes her eyes with the back of her hand, leaving black smears everywhere.

“Your messages?” I pull out my phone. I have a hundred missed calls. Some are from my family, but most are from her. I don’t even dare look at my texts.

“I was so sure that you were going to sneak back into work last night. I know they said that no one used their keycard and the building was secure, but sometimes you do that thing with the door… Oh—I’m just so relieved!”

She pulls me into another suffocating hug. It’s nice and all, but it’s just a lot of energy and a lot of pressure on my stomach that’s eaten the equivalent of three breakfasts this morning, thanks to Shelly.

“Didn’t you see my post?”

“You didn’t make a post,” she says in a tone that shuts down all rebuttals. It’s the well-practiced tone that comes from years of getting lawyers to stop their work to participate in a mandated gingerbread house making competition that has a homemade plaque for a prize.

Although, upon reflection, I guess she’s right. Yesterday I made the post letting everyone know I was safe. No, wait—yesterday I died. The day before I made the post. God, this is getting a bit confusing.

“I’m glad to see that Hailey has friends who cares so much about her,” Grant says, pulling me out from her claustrophobia-inducing hug and into his own side arm embrace. Out of the frying pan into the fire, I guess. Although, I do admit that I like the way the fire’s hard body feels against me.

Also, I’m not quite sure about Grant’s use of the word friend. Beth is my office nemesis—not that she’s aware of it, of course. I’m just consistently on my noble quest to work until I fall asleep at my desk and she’s always trying to foil my plans by making me attend an office luncheon or by asking about my day.

Positively vexing.

Except, it’s a bit hard to hype myself up to villainize the nicest person I’ve ever met when she’s very admiringly ogling the man beside me. I shoot her a little half-smile that’s all ‘oh yeah, he’s with me’. It’s not often I get to show off some arm candy. Usually, I’m the one explaining the merits of not bringing a date to the office Christmas party.

“Well, clearly I can see that you had other things to do last night instead of sneaking into work,” she says, with a little waggle of her eyebrows.

“Oh yes,” I agree. “I certainly have better things to do than sneak into work in the middle of the night.”

Grant squeezes me a little with the arm that’s around me. I elbow him slightly (yes, with the pointy one).

“Hi, I’m Grant, Hailey’s boyfriend.” He extends his hand to her.

“Wow…” she breathes, staring at their joined hands. “No wonder you never want to come for drinks after work.”

“No!” I say a little too loudly. I follow it up with five more no’s for good measure. “He’s not my boyfriend. And also, that’s not why I don’t come out for drinks. I don’t come out for drinks because no one ever wants to talk about work at those things and that’s all I want to talk about.”

Except, maybe that’s not right. I had a great talk with Shelly this morning and I didn’t even tell a single work anecdote.

“Right, not boyfriend,” Grant agrees. I shoot him a thankful look. “Future husband,” he amends with a wide grin. It’s a grin that says he’s half-teasing me and half-completely serious.

“You’re engaged?” Beth looks completely horrified. “I didn’t know! I didn’t throw you a party. I know how sad I was when no one in the office even acknowledged my birthday last week. You must hate me? Do you hate me? Of course, you do. Oh god, I can’t believe I didn’t know!”

Thank god we’re in a time loop. There’s a part of me that’s seriously worried that I just broke Beth. Between her thinking I was dead and now thinking she missed a chance to shove balloons in my face, I think she’s on the verge of a mental breakdown.

Also, did we really all forget her birthday? That’s pretty shitty, even for me. Probably best to brush past that at this point.

“No, no,” I say quickly. “He’s just kidding. We just met. I really don’t know him at all.”

“You met my mom this morning,” Grant adds oh-so helpfully.

Beth looks between us, eyebrows raised.

“It’s a long story,” I say.

“We’re soulmates,” Grant says at the same time.

Again, Beth looks between us with her eyebrows raised. “…I don’t know what kind of party to throw for that.”

Whatever. I don’t have time for this.

“Throw me whatever party you want—No, you know what, let’s have a giant game of Twister to celebrate all the different positions I’m hoping this guy will take me in. How’s that?”

“Yes,” Grant agrees.

Beth grimaces. “I’ll have to run it by HR I guess… Sorry. I want to be supportive, I do. I just don’t know what I’d put on the banner.”

“Congratulations on the perfect love that you’ve found?” suggests Grant.

Annnd I’ll just brush past that, too.

“Let’s actually talk about this tomorrow,” I say sweetly. “We’ll do lunch tomorrow and we’ll talk everything. I’ll even help you plan out the party!”

I hold my falsely bright smile as Beth gushes over how excited she is to have lunch with me on a day that will probably never come. To my right, I can feel Grant’s stare boring into the side of my face.

“Tomorrow!” I say, interrupting Beth’s gush about all the things we’re going to talk about tomorrow. “I’ve got to get in there.” I gesture to behind the barricade.

“Oh, I didn’t realize Dominic called you in to help the team. Let’s go. I brought muffins for the police officers.”

Of course, she did.

Grant and I trail behind her as she walks up to the police officer, Mr. Congeniality who I talked to twice previously today/not today. Beside me, Grant’s stare only intensifies.

“What?” I hiss as we walk straight past the police officer who waves happily at us while he chows down on the muffin. To be fair, Beth makes delicious muffins.

“This is a markedly better plan,” he says in a tone that I’m beginning to recognize as teasing.

I stick my tongue out at him.

Let me repeat that: I, a lawyer with an excellent win rate who graduated in the top five percent of my class at law school, stick out my tongue in rebuttal to some teasing.

Oh how I’ve fallen.

“Don’t celebrate yet,” I warn him. “I’m still going to need you to fly me out of there when I grab every single thing I can find about the building collapse.”

Grant stops mid step to look at me. “This is why you let me drive you here? So I can fly you out of trouble?”

I nod.

“Sounds like you really trust me to be there for you, then?” He smiles at me like he’s scored some sort of point.

Thankfully, I’m saved from answering when Beth falls into step with us.

“I know I should probably save this talk for our lunch tomorrow, but I had the best idea for a team-bonding activity for the office. Now, it might sound weird, but hear me out: shorts!”

Ugh. On one side of me I have a man who wants to talk forever with me. On the other, I have someone who wants to talk about shorts in the office. Including the day where I died, this has to be the worst loop.

God, I hope I find out something good. This day has got to get better.