Page 20 of The Man I Hate

He stood and dusted off his sleeves. “Well, I guess that’s it.”

I wanted him to want me as much as I wanted him. With my face was covered in cheap mascara, my blouse unbuttoned to my navel, and my hair a mess, it wasn’t going to happen.

My plan was backfiring.

I’d lured him to the home with lies and deception. It was time for me to face the facts. I looked like an idiot and he wasn’t interested.

He handed me the stack of hardback books I’d left on the floor beneath the couch. “I’m guessing you were trying to stabilize the couch with these?”

“Yes,” I lied, setting the books aside. “I was.”

He picked up his tools and took a look around.

His strengths went well beyond his bulging biceps, big cock, and broad chest. A glass of wine and thirty minutes of small talk would be much better than a phony couch repair and an immediate departure.

Willing to accept whatever I could get, I decided to strike up some idle chat and go from there.

“This place is a lot different than yours,” I said, glancing from one wall to the other. “Not as bright and open.”

“Mine looked like this when I bought it,” he replied. “I spent three months turning it into what it is now.”

Hoping to lure him to the wine, I stepped into the hallway and turned toward the kitchen. “I can’t believe you got a contractor to do all that work in three months. I called last week about having the upstairs bathroom remodeled and I was told it would be six months before they could come look at it.”

“I did it myself.”

I spun around. “All of it?”

“Every bit.”

“Of course you did,” I said with a laugh.

His eyes narrowed. “What does that mean?”

“You’re like a superhero.”

“Which superhero?”

“Not any of the ones who exist.” I folded my arms under my chest, and then realized I was shoving what little exposed breast flesh I possessed out the top of my unbuttoned blouse. I acted like I didn’t know. “You’re a new one altogether.”

He gave me a curious look. “What’s my name?”

“I don’t know,” I responded. “I like The Gray Fox, but it’s not descriptive enough and it’s kind of cliché.”

“The Gray Fox?” He laughed. “That’s a good one.”

“Captain Cockstrong,” I said. “How’s that? You’d wear a tight-fitting red spandex bodysuit with two overlapping C’s on your chest. One end of each letter would be shaped like the head of a dick.”

His brows pinched together. “Isn’t cockstrong a term that’s used to describe someone who is strong because of testosterone buildup due to lack of sexual activity?”

“I don’t know.” I shrugged. “Probably. I just liked how it sounded.”

“Captain Cockstrong would achieve his superpower from abstinence,” he explained. “You should probably pick something else.”

His comment should have struck me as playful or cute. Instead, it struck a nerve.

I shot him a glare. “Are you promiscuous?”

He scratched his beard. “I could be described as such, yes.”