Chapter 3 Margot #2
“Well, there was the woman who brought her emotional support gerbil on a date. Then there’s the one who suggestively fondled vegetables at the farmer’s market she drug me to, which led to us both being kicked out.
And let’s not forget the woman who confessed to being both married and pregnant halfway through the date and had to be picked up by her husband in their minivan. ”
“Huh,” I say around a bit of pancake. “I thought you were good at dating,”
He shrugs. “I learn from my mistakes. Those dates were years ago. I pretty much have it down to a science now.”
“Oh yeah? Maybe you can lend me your notes.”
Ethan’s eyebrows shoot up. There’s a hesitant note in his voice when he asks, “Getting back in the game already?”
Well, that’s laughable. I was never in the game to begin with. Jeremy was my second boyfriend. Not my first kiss, but my first everything else. If dating were a game, Ethan would have lapped the board a few times and I’d still be reading the instructions.
“No, but I suppose I’ll have to eventually,” I say.
The words sound casual, even though they rub painfully against the edges of my cracked heart.
I truly thought that Jeremy was my person, the one I’d spend the rest of my life with.
Not only am I crushed by the realization that he’s not, I’m also distrustful of my own taste in men right now.
But I’m not ready to give up on love or on my happily ever after.
I just need some time to reflect and recalibrate.
“Well, whenever you’re ready, I’ll draft up some notes for you,” Ethan says with a smirk.
There’s nowhere else to go with this conversation that doesn’t feel too intimate.
We need to steer ourselves back into safe waters for the sake of our professional relationship.
To do that, I need to get out of his clothes and out of his house.
Seeing Jeremy is the last thing I want to do, but I need to go home.
Ethan has been more than accommodating and understanding, but I’m sure he wants his personal space back.
I cram one last syrupy bite of pancake into my mouth and start to stand.
“I’m going to go change then I’ll head home,” I say. “Thanks again for everything.”
Ethan glances at me. There’s a long pause. His tongue pokes at the inside of his cheek like he’s mulling something over.
“You can stay if you want,” he says as I’m turning to walk away.
Did I hear him correctly? Surely, he wants his miserable, hungover assistant who demanded spaghetti, threw it up, then mysteriously left a bra in his hallway out of his house as soon as possible.
I turn around to face Ethan, whose face gives nothing away.
I can’t tell if he’s being sincere or if this is just a pity offer.
“I mean, if you aren’t ready to go home just yet. I can’t imagine I’d want to hash things out with an ex in your current state. If you need some more time to recover, the spare bedroom is all yours for the rest of the weekend.” Shrugging casually, he adds, “Your call.”
I should say no, but the only thing that sounds worse than moping around my boss’s mansion is dealing with Jeremy right now.
“Actually, yeah” I say slowly. “I wouldn’t mind a little more time. I promise to stay out of your way.”
“I’ll be busy most of the weekend anyway, so you’ll pretty much have the place to yourself.”
“Okay, um, thank you.”
Ethan flashes his trademark charming smile at me from across the counter. “No problem.”
***
That night, I make some popcorn and curl up on the sofa to read in the smallest of Ethan’s three living rooms.
After napping and rehydrating, I’m feeling better, physically at least.
True to his word, Ethan hasn’t been around much today.
He showed up around seven o’clock and emerged from his room half an hour later freshly showered, shaved, and dressed.
I assume he has a date but didn’t ask. It’s none of my business.
He’ll probably be home late, possibly with a beautiful woman in tow.
Given the size of Ethan’s home, I doubt I’ll be in their way, but I’ve already scoped out a couple quick escape routes if he planned to use this room for his… activities.
My phone chimes on the cushion beside me.
I roll my eyes, already knowing who it is.
Jeremy has been texting and calling me all day.
It started with apologies, then backtracking with a hint of gaslighting, and eventually morphed into anger when I refused to tell him where I am.
Now he’s accusing me of cheating, which is ironic on so many levels.
Truthfully, I’m just done. I have nothing else to say to Jeremy.
The last message I sent simply told him to please pack up his stuff and be out of the apartment by five o’clock tomorrow.
Between his family and friends, he has plenty of places to stay until he finds another apartment.
I, on the other hand, seem to have no options aside from camping out at my boss’s house.
Telling Jeremy where I am is out of the question.
He’s always been strangely jealous of Ethan.
Not because of how well we get along—a fact he’s probably never even noticed—but because of Ethan’s wealth and status.
Jeremy has a lot going for him, but he’s certainly not Denver’s Most Eligible Bachelor.
There was a time when he would have laughed at a list like that, but now I think he would probably sell his soul to be on it.
I pick up my phone. Twelve unread messages await me, all from Jeremy. I toss it back down on the sofa next to my e-reader without reading any of them.
Right as I’m stuffing a whole handful of popcorn into my mouth, the sound of footsteps approaching draws my attention to the nearby hallway.
My heart leaps and so do I, launching off the sofa and spilling some popcorn.
There’s no time to clean it up. If Ethan is on his way into this room with his date, I need to leave.
Stat. We’ve had enough awkward moments this weekend already.
Glancing around the room, I dart towards exit plan A: a short hallway that leads to a staircase and eventually back to the guest bedroom.
Hope Ethan and his date like books about sexy blue aliens, mysterious trails of popcorn, and incessant texting from my ex-boyfriend.
“Margot?” A deep voice stops me in my tracks just as my foot hits the first stair.
Flee in shame! My brain revives its plea from earlier today.
To be fair, my brain is probably right. My hair is tied up in a floppy bun on top of my head, I’m swathed in a blanket, and my cheeks are full of popcorn.
“Hi,” I say, spinning around and covering my mouth with my hand as I speak.
“What are you doing?” Ethan asks.
“Fleeing,” I answer honestly. It takes me a few awkward seconds to chew and swallow the mouthful of popcorn. Ethan just watches me with his arms folded over his chest, clearly amused by my squirrel-like behavior. “I thought you might bring a date home. I didn’t want to interfere.”
I glance behind Ethan, still expecting a woman to walk into the room at any moment.
“It’s just me,” he says. His eyes scan me, no doubt horrified by my rumpled appearance. Under the blanket, I’m swimming in more of Ethan’s lounge clothes, which he set out for me earlier today.
His gaze drifts over to the television. “Were you watching something?”
“No, just reading.” Disappointment flashes over his face for some reason, prompting me to add, “But we could watch something if you want.”
The shift in Ethan’s demeanor is so subtle that no one who hasn’t spent forty hours a week with him for the past two years would notice. But I do.
“Okay,” he says casually.
It surprises me that Denver’s Most Eligible Bachelor wants to spend his Saturday night on the sofa watching TV, but I certainly won’t object to the company. I’ll gladly take all the distractions I can get.
Ethan crosses the room and plops down on the sofa with the heft of someone who’s had an exhausting day.
His six-foot-two frame of lean muscle makes the springs creak a little as he lands.
He pushes a hand through his perfectly quaffed dark brown hair, which falls right back into place.
Meanwhile, a few rogue strands of crinkled hair spill out of my floppy bun and tickle the side of my face.
Still clutching the blanket around me like a cape, I walk over and settle back into my spot on the opposite side of the couch.
“Bad date?” I ask.
Ethan shrugs. “Sort of.”
“Did she bring her emotional support iguana?”
The corner of his mouth lifts and his shoulders shake with a quiet laugh. He rolls his head to one side to look at me without lifting it from the back of the sofa. “No, we just didn’t click.”
“Oh.” It’s all I can think of to say that doesn’t seem too nosy or personal.
Ethan’s gaze drops to the remote on the cushion between us. “What do you want to watch?” he asks, reaching for it.
Before I can answer, my worst nightmare comes true.
While reaching for the remote, Ethan’s hand bumps my e-reader, which is sitting on the cushion right beside it.
The screen lights up, revealing the cover of the book I’m currently reading.
My boss’s eyes narrow and his eyebrows dip in confusion as he stares down at a picture of three obscenely muscular shirtless blue alien men arranged around one very busty brunette.
Anxiety and shame wage a war in my veins, and I’m not sure which one rises victorious.
My hands dart out from my blanket, fumbling as I reach for the little button on the side that will make the screen go dark again.
Instead, my book opens to the page I was reading, where the words “Their enormous cocks sprang free of their tattered loincloths” are front and center.
And because I’m practically blind and the font size is set at one million, there’s no doubt that Ethan can easily read those words from where he’s sitting.