“I can’t decide if I want to hate you or if I want to fuck you.” There’s a predatory gleam in his eye, one that says the desire to fuck me is winning over the want to hate me. And I get it because as much as he’s pissing me off, I can’t help but feel this attraction toward him… this pull…
A neon red sign flashes, as if saying, “Not good, Savy. Not good. Back away and run. Men like him will chew you up and spit you out,” snapping me back to reality. I can’t afford to be under this man’s spell. I’ve already lost everything: the idea of a loving home and a devoted husband, the possibility of creating a family. Ben is the type of man who’ll take and take and take. And I have nothing left to give. And with that thought, I erect a wall ten feet high to protect myself.
“I don’t particularly want you to hate me,” I say, internally cringing at how breathy my words come out. “I think your kid is pretty damn cool, we live and work in the same building, and our best friends are related, which means we’ll probably be seeing a lot of each other, but if it’s between fucking me and hating me, you can consider me a foe because I just divorced a man like you: an uptight, control-driven, selfish asshole, and I have no desire to ever go back to anyone like that again. So, hate me or like me, I don’t care. But you will never fuck me.”
I turn on my heel and saunter out without looking back. He’s hot on my heels, but he doesn’t say a word until we’re back in his office and seated with Brody, who’s dishing out the food.
“How’s your schoolwork coming along?” Ben asks Brody once our plates are full.
“Fine,” Brody mumbles.
“Do you need help with anything?”
“Nope.”
Ben nods, then tries again. “Did you ask about the football team at your school? Are they any good?”
This time, Brody just glares.
Ben sighs, clearly frustrated Brody isn’t participating in the conversation. Poor guy is at least trying, and Brody isn’t giving him an inch.
Feeling like maybe I should do something to thaw the ice a bit, I do what my grandpa used to do when I was little and things got awkward.
“What happened to the Indian who drank too much sweet tea?”
Both guys look at me like I’ve lost my mind.
“He slept in his teepee… Get it?” I cackle. “Tea… Pee?”
Brody is the first to crack a smile, then Ben follows.
“Tough crowd.” I take a sip of my sweet tea—which is nothing like the sweet tea from where I’m from—and try again. “How do you organize a space party?” The guys’ smiles grow. “You planet… Get it? You plan it…”
This time, they both grant me a full-megawatt grin, but neither actually laughs.
“Really? That’s it? That one was one of my best.” I pout playfully.
“If you want us to laugh, you have to actually be funny,” Brody smarts. “I’ve got a good one. What do you call it when Batman skips church?”
Ben snorts out a laugh. “Christian Bale.”
They high five, both apparently thinking the joke was clever, while I’m left stumped.
“Get it?” Brody asks. “Christian Bale?”
When I shake my head, he looks at me like I have two heads. “Haven’t you seen Batman?”
“No.”
“What?” they both say in unison.
“How is that possible?” Ben asks. “Everyone’s seen Batman.”
“Not me.” I shrug. “What’s it about?”
For the rest of our meal, Brody and Ben explain to me all about Batman. Apparently, there are several movies, but the one with Christian Bale—who’s an actor, in case you didn’t know—is the best one. They’re so animated as they talk, so I simply listen while they finish each other’s sentences, recounting the entire movie. When they’ve finally replayed the entire movie for me, Brody says, “So, Savy, what’s your favorite movie?”
“Sweet Home Alabama.”
They both raise their brows, obviously not having heard of it, and now it’s my turn to tell them all about the best movie ever.
Lunch flies by, and before I know it, my plate is empty, and my belly is full. “That was some good food,” I say, setting my fork and knife into my container and closing the lid. “Thank you for the invite.”
I stand, ready to clean up, when Ben’s hand lands on top of mine, making my heart skip a beat. A simple touch from him shouldn’t affect me like that, but it does. “Leave it. My assistant will clean up.”
“Okay, well, then I better get going.” I remove my hand out from under his, breaking the connection. “Your lunch is about over.” I shoot him a knowing wink, and he shakes his head.
“Can I go with you?” Brody asks. “It’s boring as sh—” When I give him a pointed look, he stops in his tracks and changes his wording. “It’s boring here.”