Maybe having him over isn’t such a bad thing after all.
“Did you make these?” I pop the lid on the potatoes before throwing them into the microwave. Au gratin. My favorite.
“My mom did.” When he douses his steak in sauce, I like him even more. Josh always had a smart comment to add when he took me out for steak and I asked the server for sauce.
I dump a little more over my own steak to spite him.
Ratbag.
“Does she live around here?” I assume, since this salad seems fresh.
“Yeah. About twenty minutes away.”
I don’t miss my parents as much as I thought I would. Sure, it would be nice if they were closer, but having them as close as Elliott’s parents would give me a crutch, and I am determined to make life work without their help.
Thanks to this promotion, that might actually happen.
“Any word from your boss on the whole ex-fiasco?” Elliott asks, dragging a few spinach leaves onto his plate with his fork.
I shake my head and shove the bite I took to the side of my mouth so I can speak. Not the best manners, but this is my home and I’m hungry. If he wants to chat, he’s getting heathen Loren.
I explain what happened in the office earlier today, the way she answered ratbag’s call. The fact that I didn’t see her again for another hour, and when she did emerge, the skin beneath her eyes was puffy and red.
“I hope Rebecca ditched him.” I also kinda hope she lights him on fire, but that would land her in jail, and I like her too much to see her incarcerated. Maybe fate will light him on fire for us. Or strike him with lightning.
Yeah. That’s what we need.
A lightning strike.
“So do I.”
Of course he does. Why are men so freaking predictable? “What are you going to do next? Ask me to bring her by the bar?”
He reaches over to the counter to snag a paper towel from the roll, then dabs at his lips. “I’m not interested in your boss.”
Yeah, okay. Do I look like I was born yesterday? I stab my steak, pretending it’s his eye. “Why are men such liars?” Does it have to do with their DNA? At some point during evolution, were they all tainted by rats?
“It’s not a lie. She’s hot, but she’s not my type.”
“Rebecca is everyone’s type. Hell, she might even bemytype.”
“Really? Tell me more.”
“Shut up. Just admit that you’d date her, and we can move on.”
Shaking his head, he tilts the wine bottle into my glass before filling his own. “Except I wouldn’t date her.”
“Right. Sorry. I forgot you have an aversion to commitment.”
He sets the bottle back down.
I’d say his wide eyes look innocent if I didn’t know better. There’s nothing innocent about Elliott Grant.
“What makes you say that?”
“Did you forget we share a wall?” A very thin wall. “Guys like you don’t settle down. You’re always searching for your next conquest, thinking the grass is greener in someone else’s pants.”
The corners of his lips slant up. “If grass is growing in your pants, you should probably seek medical advice.”
