“You’re my S.O.?” Lincoln raised an eyebrow. She was definitely younger than him, for starters, and not even in scitech. Not that he minded. At all. “Apparently whoever did the paperwork wasn’t sober, because that’s one heck of a mixup. It’s okay though. I’ll take advantage of the music privileges for now.” With a smile, he turned to the tablet, scrolling through the songs. “How do you feel about Ed Sheeran?” he asked.
“Lincoln, I am your S.O.,” she said super casually, in a super chill, non-nerdy way. Revealing one’s trump cards (a very good Darth Vader impression) on the first meeting would be a major rookie mistake. “Whoever did the paperwork fits my description, if not for the fact I’ve never done paperwork and will continue to resist it until my dying breath. Send them a fruit basket, some painkillers and a passive aggressive thank you note for the fun year you’ll have receiving no science-related help from me whatsoever.”
Skye shrugged lightly, flashing him an encouraging smile. “Go ahead. I trust you. And, I mean, everyone in here will be grateful for anything that’s not bad EDM, or bad EDM over Scotland the Brave.”
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