Several people look at us from their cubicles as we storm past. He nods at one of them, ignores the rest. “So you said.”
I have no response to that, not understanding if it’s a challenge or what. Does he think I’m lying? “He’s just helping me with a . . . um . . . project. There’s nothing going on between us.”
We turn a corner, almost colliding with someone coming from the other direction, but quickly regain equilibrium and continue our strange walk-run, looking straight ahead.
“So you two made up?”
“Huh?” I am a sparkling fount of intelligence.
“His music. You said he was disturbing you with his music.”
“Oh. Right. That. Yes, we made up.” That sounds too lovey-dovey, like a lovers’ reconciliation, so I quickly amend it. “We called a truce, I mean. And then, uh, he needed help shoppi
