Chapter 12 #2
I bite back a smile. Obviously, I didn’t mean it was so complicated that he wouldn’t follow the ins and the outs of the cast and the recasting and Luanne coming back from being demoted to “friend of” for the first and only time in Housewives history.
It’s more that I don’t think he’d find it interesting.
And honestly, I feel a little embarrassed that I know as much as I do about a stupid TV show.
This guy has spent his free time honing his skills as a chef and building a business.
“Seriously, I need to know if I’m going to get invested.”
“I think we need to fast-forward to season three. The cast doesn’t really work until Sonja’s in the mix.”
“Oh, I like to understand the background,” he says. “We can’t just fast-forward.”
“I can catch you up.”
He shakes his head. “Nope. I have to start from the beginning.”
I roll my eyes.
“What?” he says with a grin. “It’s a quirk I have. I don’t think I’d get the same depth of appreciation if we just skipped two entire seasons.”
“You’re making fun of me,” I say, a little disappointed.
“I’m not! The Housewives are a phenomenon. I’m happy to watch, but I want to watch from the beginning.”
“Okay, I’m going to order snacks. What’s your address?”
“What snacks do you want?” he asks, pulling out his phone.
“All the snacks.”
He nods. “You got it.”
A few minutes later, I jump when the door buzzes.
“Can you pause it?” he asks. “While I get the door?”
“You stay there. I know what happens after this. I’ll get the snacks.”
Before he can argue, I get out of bed and head to the door. I wait by the elevator, expecting to be handed a paper bag of popcorn and candy.
When the elevator doors open, there are two men inside, each carrying armfuls of bags.
“Ben!” I call out. “How much did you order?”
“Can I help?” he says from right behind me. “I thought you might need a hand.” He scoops up one of the delivery guys’ bags and takes them to the kitchen, then comes back, tips both guys, and takes the bags I haven’t managed to grab.
“How much did you order?” I ask him again.
“All the snacks. That’s what you wanted, right?”
I groan, because I don’t want to let him know that ordering everything on the menu is giving charming vibes.
We unpack everything onto the kitchen counters. There are six different types of ice cream, popcorn, and every kind of chocolate and candy.
“This is my favorite,” I say holding up a bar of crunchy chocolate. “But two mouthfuls and it’s gone.”
“We can order more,” he says.
“We should definitely order more, given our commitment to getting diabetes.”
He chuckles, and I feel it in my chest.
“So, back to bed?” he asks, when we’ve put all the food away.
“Yeah, but we can change what we’re watching, put on a movie or read or something?”
“I’m good with these New York women. But we can read if you’d like. How much time do you allocate to each activity?” he asks, as he follows me back into the bedroom.
I laugh. “We don’t allocate time. We do what we want, when we want to do it.” He gets into bed and presses play, while I grab my nail polish remover, some cotton pads and a hand towel from the bathroom.
“I chipped the polish on my big toe,” I say. “Will the smell bother you?”
He shakes his head, more focused on the screen than anything I’m doing. “Are that one and that one friends? I’m not sure the one with the cookies really likes the one with the husband and the dog.”
“Well, color me surprised. You nailed it.” I press a cotton pad to the open bottle of nail polish remover and tip it upside down.
“So she’s faking it?” he asks, glancing at me, then down to watch me taking the nail polish off my feet.
“I’m not sure what she feels is even conscious. But, you’re right, I don’t think Bethanny ever really liked Jill.”
“Give me that,” he says, reaching for my nail polish remover and cotton pads.
Is he mad that I’m using this in bed? Maybe I should have done it in the bathroom. This is a really fancy place he has here. These sheets are probably hand woven by Portuguese widows in a remote village that hasn’t changed since the days of the Black Death.
I hand him what he’s asking for, but instead of screwing on the lid tightly and disposing of the pads, he tips more of the remover onto a fresh pad, circles his strong hand around my ankle and pulls my leg toward him.
I half squeal at his unexpected takeover.
Then, keeping his eye on the screen, he proceeds to remove my toenail polish for me. His hands work steadily and carefully, like he’s really concentrating on what he’s doing. His gaze flits between my toes and the TV screen, like he’s equally invested in both. It’s annoyingly adorable.
I ignore the swoop in my stomach and the warmth in his hands that seem to light me on fire every time he touches me.
This is all part of his attempt to get me to fall in love with him, right?
I have to be strong and see it as manipulation rather than…
communion or intimacy. This guy is friends with everyone, and he knows how to get people to like him, by his own admission.
I take a deep breath and try to focus on the television.
He chuckles at something Ramona says. “She’s brutal,” he says. “She can’t know how she’s landing.”
“That’s the beauty of Ramona. Complete lack of self-awareness is key to scoring Housewife gold.”
He laughs, and a sprig of pride glows in my chest at my ability to amuse him.
“Thanks,” I say, when he’s finished taking the polish off my toes. “Want a face mask?” I stand and take the used cotton pads and remover from him.
“Sure,” he says on a sigh.
“Do you feel more relaxed?” I ask from the bathroom, as the first episode of the show finishes. I grab the two sheet masks I brought with me and head back into the bedroom.
“More relaxed than what?”
“Than you would have been if you’d done what you normally do on a Sunday?”
“I feel relaxed with you,” he says.
I roll my eyes, because I know he’s just trying to say whatever it takes to make me like him.
“It doesn’t make sense, but it is in fact true that I feel relaxed with you.”
“I could be offended that you think it doesn’t make sense!” I say, slightly offended.
“Why?” he says. “You’re here because you want something from me. So why would I be relaxed in that situation? Most of the people in my day to day want something from me. And that’s good. That’s how I designed it, but it’s also…”
“Draining,” I finish his sentence for him. I feel bad that I’m here invading his private space, and he should be getting a chance to decompress. Again, I don’t know why I agreed to this stupid idea.
I should leave. This entire situation is embarrassing. If he doesn’t want to help me, he should just be allowed to say no without having a woman live with him for a week. “I feel bad,” I say. “I’ll figure out the Boston thing. I should go.”
He sits up and shakes his head. “No! I wasn’t saying I was uncomfortable. I’m just surprised I feel so relaxed.”
“I know, but honestly, what are we doing?”
“We’re trying to prove each other wrong,” he says with a smile. “Because we’re hardheaded and stubborn.”
I smile. “That I can agree with you on.”
“If you leave, I’m going to be stuck with a cupboard full of snacks no one’s going to eat.”
“Oh, because your body is a temple. I forgot.”
“I seem to remember you worshipping it last Saturday.”
I throw a pillow at him so he doesn’t catch me blushing. “You’re the worst,” I say in faux indignation.
“Maybe, but I have ice-cream. You want some?”
There’s something about this guy that’s completely disarming. Or maybe it’s the sugar.
The episode ends and he grabs the remote control. “What about a movie next?” he suggests. “You know, just to mix up our bed-rotting viewing.”
“Hmmm. Well, a movie isn’t against the rules of bed rotting. But what? There’s almost too much choice now.”
“Something I won’t have seen.”
“Have you ever seen any movie?” I ask. “Aren’t you always out networking or at the gym?”
“Well, now I’m here, bed rotting with you. Pick a movie.”
“I’m thinking a classic,” I say, narrowing my eyes and trying to think of something that’s appropriate for bed rotting. “I’m thinking a rom-com.” I grin at him as I realize what I’m going to choose. “Sleepless in Seattle. Have you seen it?”
“Never.”
“Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan. You sure you haven’t seen it?” I ask, sliding under the duvet.
“You can be sure of it.”
“I should have thought of it by now.” I reach and take the tray from him. “What with the view of the Empire State Building from here. It’s a perfect choice. Obviously you’re going to hate it.” I get some satisfaction out of knowing that watching it will torture him a little.
“Maybe I won’t.”
“Oh, I hope you do! It’s so romantic. Be careful, it might make you fall in love with me.”
He shakes his head, grinning at me, as he fluffs up the pillows behind him like bed rotting is something he’s always done.
I haven’t seen this movie for the longest time. I’d forgotten how pretty Meg Ryan is, and now that I’m a little older, Tom Hanks hits different. I’m sure he’s more attractive than he was when I first watched this movie.
I watch the entire thing with a grin on my face. It’s just so comforting. A few times when I glance over at Ben, he looks engrossed and part of me likes that he doesn’t think he’s better than bed rotting with me. I like that he can take pleasure in simple things when he’s as wealthy as he is.
“Oh so it took the Empire State Building to be lit up with a heart for her to realize she had to leave?” he asks, rolling his eyes. “She can’t make her own mind up?”
“No!” I argue. “She made the decision and then the Empire State Building lights up.”
Ben frowns. “So the building lighting up was what?”
“A sign! The universe was telling her she’d made the right decision.”
“She’s going to be too late anyway,” he mutters.
I stifle a laugh. The man’s invested—I gotta give credit where it’s due. Ben is racking up credits at every turn.