“Do you want a cinnamon roll? Roscoe said they’re his favorite, so I made a bunch.” “No, I don’t want a cinnamon roll,” I grate, frustration brewing inside me. Sal’s incompetence has me grasping at straws, getting in the way of my meticulous work. I can’t do my job if people can’t follow through on their end, and it’s my results that suffer. “What’s your problem? I was just being nice.” Lexie’s tone turns assertive, her arms crossing under her breasts. She wants to be friends. We’re not fucking friends. With Lexie, it’s either more or nothing. And we can’t be more.
