I Hope He Is A Gentleman
Chapter 6
At 5:45, with the marketing department beginning to empty out, I was losing hope that Geno had gotten my note, and that he even wanted to visit me at all. Instead of doing anything productive for work, I sat at my desk with my Russian textbook open, reviewing the chapter we would be working on tonight in the hopes that I could make some kind of positive contribution to class discussion. I know it wouldn't counteract any bad grade I might (and probably would) receive, but it calmed my nerves as I waited.
"Hi," Geno's voice came, as like the last time, he pulled over Henry's chair and sat next to me. "Russian?" I nodded and moved over slightly further into my cubicle so Geno could get a better look at my textbook. As I watched him flip through it, I began to better understand his fascination with the book. I mean, how interesting would it be to see an English textbook, and try to understand how something that was as second nature to you as breathing was taught?
I moved a stray piece of hair away from my eyes and asked, "Did you, uh, get my note?"
Geno looked up, his mouth open slightly, and nodded. "Yes. Thank you. I love snickers bars." I couldn't not smile at that. He looked like he had just finished showering, and a stray drop of water fell from a damp clump of hair on to my textbook. He suddenly closed the book with a thud and stated, "Team is going out tonight. Big club. You 21?"
"Yes, I'm 21." I said softly.
"Good. You come too."
"Geno -- "
"Zhenya," he interrupted. "English, Geno. Russian, Zhenya." I gulped, but nodded once again. Though I had addressed him as Zhenya in the note (mostly because that was how he signed the one he wrote me) it still felt like a strange invasion of privacy to call him that. But, okay.
"I have Russian language class tonight. Does not end until 8:30."
"Is fine," he responded, waving away my concerns. "We go out at 10. I pick you up."
"Zhenya..." I begged, but he shook his head. We were silent for a moment, and he looked like he had something to say.
"James Neal thinks you're attractive." I could have died there and then. James Neal? I think I've spoken to him maybe two times, three if you count the one time I thanked him for holding a door open for me. Sure, Geno was 25, and James was 24, a year closer to me in age, but James? He wasn't Geno. He wasn't Zhenya.
I rubbed my temple with my left hand, and then stopped. "I don't know what you want me to say to that," I whispered.
"Dance with him tonight." Geno replied nonchalantly, and sat back in Henry's chair. I opened my mouth to protest, but stopped. Did I like Geno? Sure, but I couldn't tell if it was a true crush, or just awe that someone like him was paying attention to someone like me. And by arguing with him, I would probably have to face that reality sooner than I wanted.
"If James thinks I am pretty, why does he never talk to me?" Geno just shrugged.
"James thinks he knows how to get girls. He thinks that if he ignores them, they'll come to him." Oh, great plan. Maybe that worked on some girls, but I certainly was too dense to understand that. If a superstar athlete ignored me, I assumed that it was because he was a superstar athlete, and I was the intern.
And he wasn't Zhenya.
"I pick you up," Geno continued, grabbing my phone off the desk and typing his number in, and then casually texting himself. "10, I come by. Wear nice dress. James like girl in short dress." I don't own any short dresses. I began racking my mind for the clothes in my closet, but mostly, for the clothes in my younger sister's closet. Not that she was any more of a partier than I was, but perhaps she at least had something? "But he like you either way."
"I'm not a big drinker, Geno," I added, as if that was the final piece of information that would make him reconsider everything.
"Not a big drinker?" He exclaimed with a deep, hearty laugh. "You would make a terrible Russian, then." At that, I had to smile. "Is okay," he went on, switching back to English. "I take care of you." My stomach dropped, and for half a second, I wished he meant it differently.
"Hi," Geno's voice came, as like the last time, he pulled over Henry's chair and sat next to me. "Russian?" I nodded and moved over slightly further into my cubicle so Geno could get a better look at my textbook. As I watched him flip through it, I began to better understand his fascination with the book. I mean, how interesting would it be to see an English textbook, and try to understand how something that was as second nature to you as breathing was taught?
I moved a stray piece of hair away from my eyes and asked, "Did you, uh, get my note?"
Geno looked up, his mouth open slightly, and nodded. "Yes. Thank you. I love snickers bars." I couldn't not smile at that. He looked like he had just finished showering, and a stray drop of water fell from a damp clump of hair on to my textbook. He suddenly closed the book with a thud and stated, "Team is going out tonight. Big club. You 21?"
"Yes, I'm 21." I said softly.
"Good. You come too."
"Geno -- "
"Zhenya," he interrupted. "English, Geno. Russian, Zhenya." I gulped, but nodded once again. Though I had addressed him as Zhenya in the note (mostly because that was how he signed the one he wrote me) it still felt like a strange invasion of privacy to call him that. But, okay.
"I have Russian language class tonight. Does not end until 8:30."
"Is fine," he responded, waving away my concerns. "We go out at 10. I pick you up."
"Zhenya..." I begged, but he shook his head. We were silent for a moment, and he looked like he had something to say.
"James Neal thinks you're attractive." I could have died there and then. James Neal? I think I've spoken to him maybe two times, three if you count the one time I thanked him for holding a door open for me. Sure, Geno was 25, and James was 24, a year closer to me in age, but James? He wasn't Geno. He wasn't Zhenya.
I rubbed my temple with my left hand, and then stopped. "I don't know what you want me to say to that," I whispered.
"Dance with him tonight." Geno replied nonchalantly, and sat back in Henry's chair. I opened my mouth to protest, but stopped. Did I like Geno? Sure, but I couldn't tell if it was a true crush, or just awe that someone like him was paying attention to someone like me. And by arguing with him, I would probably have to face that reality sooner than I wanted.
"If James thinks I am pretty, why does he never talk to me?" Geno just shrugged.
"James thinks he knows how to get girls. He thinks that if he ignores them, they'll come to him." Oh, great plan. Maybe that worked on some girls, but I certainly was too dense to understand that. If a superstar athlete ignored me, I assumed that it was because he was a superstar athlete, and I was the intern.
And he wasn't Zhenya.
"I pick you up," Geno continued, grabbing my phone off the desk and typing his number in, and then casually texting himself. "10, I come by. Wear nice dress. James like girl in short dress." I don't own any short dresses. I began racking my mind for the clothes in my closet, but mostly, for the clothes in my younger sister's closet. Not that she was any more of a partier than I was, but perhaps she at least had something? "But he like you either way."
"I'm not a big drinker, Geno," I added, as if that was the final piece of information that would make him reconsider everything.
"Not a big drinker?" He exclaimed with a deep, hearty laugh. "You would make a terrible Russian, then." At that, I had to smile. "Is okay," he went on, switching back to English. "I take care of you." My stomach dropped, and for half a second, I wished he meant it differently.
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Alright, so a little plot twist there -- maybe Geno doesn't see her in the way she sees him? The next chapter will be the club! Thanks so much for the comments everyone!