Chapter 6 #2
And I’m not. Some people might say I’m cold or unfriendly…or have high standards. But nobody would accuse me of being angry or having a temper.
I shut my eyes. The only person I’m really pissed off at now is myself—and my brother, who put me in this situation.
Zoe’s not my employee, but she’s temporarily in my life, whether I like it or not.
She was trying to make friendly conversation, and it’s not like she left a huge mess in the kitchen; she just put her offensive mug on a different shelf.
At the very least, I should have mentioned that there’s a step stool in the closet with the cleaning supplies, but for a mug she’s going to use each morning, it makes sense that she wouldn’t want to get out the step stool every time.
I exit my office and head to the kitchen.
Zoe’s not here, but she’s started the dishwasher.
I make myself the tea that I never got around to making, then notice a container on my otherwise empty counter.
It’s filled with cookies that have jam in the center.
Thumbprint cookies, I think they’re called.
Right. She said there was dessert.
I feel like a monster.
At one point, I looked forward to building a life with someone else, to spending time with her in the evenings. It’s not as if I always wanted to be alone.
Of course, that was a very different situation. Zoe and I aren’t actually together. We’re just going to pretend we’re together to piss off my brother.
But still.
I pop a cookie in my mouth—unsurprisingly, it’s delicious—then plod up the stairs with my navy mug. I swallow as I knock on the door to the guest room.
“Come in,” Zoe says.
I step inside the room. She’s sitting by the window, her laptop open. I left the Wi-Fi password on the desk before she arrived yesterday. Hard to believe that thirty-six hours ago, I’d never met this woman.
She finishes typing something, then turns to look at me. Tentatively, I approach her, but I don’t get too close. There’s a single plushie sitting on the back left corner of the desk. I think it’s a sloth, but I won’t let myself get distracted by whatever homey touches Zoe has decided to make.
“Don’t worry,” she says, “I’m looking for apartments so I can get out of your way as soon as possible.”
“You can stay until the first week in November.” I pause. “I’m sorry about earlier. I’m not used to sharing my space with anyone, but that’s no excuse. There’s a step stool in the closet if you need it, but you can keep the llamacorn mug…where you had it.”
“Was it painful for you to say that?” she teases. Then she smiles at me, and I shouldn’t be so glad to see that smile—nor should I still be thinking about touching those fuzzy pants. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”
“The cookies were good.”
“I’m glad you liked them. I was afraid you might be the kind of person who doesn’t eat dessert, but that would just mean more cookies for me.”
For some reason, I can’t help thinking of her biting into something and moaning in bliss.
I look away from her face, and my gaze lands on a desk calendar.
“That’s our relationship calendar,” she says.
“Our…excuse me?”
“Our relationship calendar. I’ve never fake-dated someone before, but I assume we need to agree on our history. You know, when and how we met, when we started dating, when we had our first kiss…” She trails off as our eyes lock.
Fuck, now I’m thinking about kissing her, too. I don’t need to be having such thoughts about anyone, but especially not my brother’s ex. I really don’t need to be thinking about how soft her lips would be, or how it would feel to smile against her mouth.
“Bennett?” she says. “Is everything okay?”
I know my expression isn’t betraying my inappropriate thoughts, but I guess there was an awkward silence.
What the hell is happening? I don’t even particularly like this woman. She fancies incomprehensible things like ugly sloth plushies—yeah, the thing is kind of hideous. Her appearance isn’t unappealing, but…
Okay, fine. She’s very pretty. I just didn’t fully appreciate that yesterday because I was overwhelmed by the fact that a strange woman had shown up on my doorstep and started talking about revenge.
She has a beautiful smile, and her eyes crinkle in a cute way when she decides to bestow it on me. And her ass in a skirt…
I really need to forget about that.
“Right,” I say, business-like. “I understand. So we can keep our story straight.” I gesture to the calendar.
“Exactly.” She beams at me. “We should also discuss our gameplan. Your birthday is November 29, right?”
“Yes.”
She flips the calendar to November and draws a balloon around the date with blue pen. It’s a Saturday this year.
“I assume you’ll do something with your family that weekend?” she asks.
“Most likely, yes.”
“Do you want to bring me that day?”
While I agreed to her plan, the idea of carrying it out anytime soon is a bit overwhelming, given all that has transpired today. My birthday—two months away—sounds good. It’ll give me a chance to get used to her.
I nod. “I’ll tell my parents about your existence before then. By the first week in November.”
“Sounds good.”
I turn to exit the room, but before I can take a step, Mittens walks in.
“Oh, hello!” Zoe coos.
I think this is the first time she’s seen my cat, which isn’t surprising—Mittens spends much of her time in her own room. Plus, the new guest is probably making her a touch nervous. That might be why she didn’t greet me at the door today.
“Can I pet her?” Zoe asks, holding out her hand.
“Best not to touch her unless she touches you first,” I say.
Zoe pulls back her hand, and Mittens gives her a skeptical look before brushing against my leg and exiting the room.
Time for me to leave, too.
“Goodnight,” I say.
I walk out before Zoe can shoot me another smile.
I grab a second cookie and return to my home office.
Though I can focus better than I could earlier, I’m still a bit rattled.
I keep thinking of her pressing her thumb into the cookie dough to make an indent for the raspberry jam.
What a silly image to have stuck in my mind.
Hopefully, with a good night’s sleep, I’ll be back to my usual self in the morning.