“I’m not a charity case,” she snaps. “Come on. How much is the boyfriend experience?”
The boyfriend experience, Jaysus. What alternative universe is this?
“Why, are you interested?” I ask smoothly instead. Which is better than asking if that’s with or without socks littering the bedroom floor, I suppose.
“I guess I can see the attraction.” With the deft sidestep, her gaze briefly slides over me.
“Aside from the obvious?” I find I quite like being objectified. By Ryan, at least.
“I mean, it’s like you said earlier. All the benefits and none of the bullshit.”
And there goes my ego, farting through the air like a burst balloon.
“His bullshit?”The ex’s?
“Relationship bullshit. Infatuation. The rush. The relationship,” she says, making an upward motion of her hand. “Big love,” she adds as it levels out. Then a downward curve. “Rejection. Confusion. Breakup. Heartache.”
“When you put it that way.” Why do we bother—any of us? But then I think of Fin and Oliver and how love has completely turned their lives around. How their priorities have changed to include the happiness of another and how that seems to make them happier in turn. “But you missed some stuff.”
She gives an adorable scrunch of her nose. “Sex? I don’t miss having sex. Besides, I can meet my own needs. When necessary.”
Now that is somethingI’dpay to see. Preferably sitting very close, breathing in the heat from her skin. “I meant laughter and fun. Respect. Good times. Mutual pleasures?”
“Not worth the risk,” she says, her words barely audible.
“Right.”That fucker really did a number on her.“You said I was nice,” I say, rerouting the conversation. “So let me be exactly that tonight. Let me do this for you. Let me fawn all over you like Cupid shot me a good one.”
“Why?” She sounds genuinely confused.
“For the narrative. In support of the lies you’ve had to tell. And on behalf of decent men everywhere. We’re not all arseholes, you know.”
“I know,” she retorts unconvincingly.
“And maybe because I’m also in the mood to crack a few heads.”
She laughs. I don’t join in.
“It’s just a pack-mentality thing,” she says, her fingers shifting on my arm.
“Law of the jungle? You don’t really believe that.”
“Look, I just know what happens to the gazelle outside the pack. She gets looked on as lame.”
“You must really like your job.”
“Yeah, I do. Do you enjoy yours?” she demands.
“I’m having fun now.”
“Well, that’s good, but I don’t need the macho kind of help. I’ve worked hard to get where I am, and I have plans. I want to make a name for myself, but not that kind of name. So bring on Cupid, but leave the tough stuff to me. Please.” The latter seems like an afterthought.
“Fine.” We fall quiet for a beat before I find myself saying, “I don’t know how you can stand it. An afternoon in the company of my ex was enough for me.”
“I thought you parted on good terms.”
“Doesn’t mean we were meant to be best friends.”
She gives a heavy-sounding sigh. “I hear that. Why do we make life so complicated?”
