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“It sounds like you’re the one who needs the boundaries,” he said. “Because I’ve done the friends-with-benefits thing before without complications. Not my first time and it won’t be my last. We fuck until it gets boring, and then we move on. Simple as that.” He turned back to look at me. “I can handle that. The question is—can you?”
He’d chased me so long that I didn’t expect him to be so detached. A part of me wondered if he wanted something more, but it seemed I’d been wrong about that. “Do a lot of friends-with-benefits relationships involve cuddling and sleepovers?”
“Would you rather me pull my pants back up and just walk out?” He cocked his head slightly and looked at me, eyebrows lifted. “Because if you want me to be an asshole, I can be an asshole.”
“No,” I said quickly. “I’m just saying?—”
“What are you saying, baby?” he asked, his head still cocked. “Give it to me straight.”
“I just want to make sure that you understand this isn’t going to ever be something more.”
His expression remained hard. “And why do you think that’s a concern?”
“You hit on me a lot.”
“Have you looked in a mirror?” he asked. “You’re fucking gorgeous, Scarlett. My dick was hard the very first time I saw you.”
I felt the heat flush into my cheeks. He spoke loudly enough for others to hear, and I was embarrassed by that too.
After a moment, he spoke more calmly. “I’m not going to fall for you, Scarlett. If that’s your problem, then we have no problem. Although, I’m insulted that’s such a hang-up for you.”
“It’s nothing personal.”
“It feels pretty fucking personal,” he snapped. “What’s your aversion to me?”
I didn’t want to say, so I looked away.
“Scarlett.”
I ignored him.
“Answer me.”
I was forced to look at him again. “My father told me he doesn’t like you.”
His expression didn’t change, just as hard and angry as before. “What was the context of that statement?”
“He said he’d had to change distributors because of that previous relationship, and he’d never found a suitable replacement. I said that he had you, but then he said he didn’t like you.” I felt bad for saying it, but he’d forced me to share it.
He didn’t say a word. All he did was stare at me.
“I told you I didn’t want to make this complicated?—”
“You think I give a shit your father doesn’t like me?” he asked with a headshake. “It’s not going to stop me from making millions with him. The feeling is mutual, sweetheart. Life goes on. But I appreciate your explaining the context of our situation, that the reason we can never be more is because your father doesn’t approve of me.”
“That’s not the only reason.” I kept my eyes down, not wanting to continue this conversation.
“Because you don’t shit where you eat,” he said coldly. “Yes, I know.”
We sat there together in silence, the pizza cold because we’d spent our time locked in a heated conversation rather than eating. Our evening at the apartment had been passionate and searing, and now it turned to charred ash. “I’m sorry.”
He didn’t respond for a while. “You have nothing to be sorry for, baby.”
“I’m sorry for hurting your feelings.”
His eyes found mine, slightly incredulous. “You didn’t hurt my feelings.”
He did a good job deflecting insults and giving out I-don’t-give-a-fuck vibes, but I saw the way his eyes changed when something troubled him. It had only happened once before, but I could read it. And I could read it now. “Yes, I did…and just know I feel terrible about it.”
