Page 54 of Fangs with Benefits

Chapter 19

Elijah

I have an unquenchable pep in my step as I walk, guest pass in hand, to the elevator bay of Dylan’s work building. A swagger, even. I’ve done some research and I know how important it is to maintain an air of distance under the remit of a friends-with-benefits situation. Easier said than done when it’s Molly we’re talking about. She is so shiny, like a precious stone or a glass of champagne.

I shouldn’t think of her half as often as I do, but what harm could it cause just to think of her?

Dylan asked me to bring him dinner–another late night with the numbers–and, ever the good roommate and friend, I’m here with dumplings. As I wait for the elevator, a righteously wistful look on my face, a man in a much nicer suit than mine comes to stand beside me, the elevator panel pointing him to the same cart as mine.

‘Afternoon,’ I say, and he nods before looking back at his phone–then does a double take, squinting at me.

‘Have we met?’ he asks, and I don’t have to think about it before shaking my head.

‘I’m a visitor,’ I tell him, but he still works his jaw like he might know me. He looks down at the Drummond badge I forgot to take off, and I hold it up so he can see better, the half-smiling photo from my first day, Elijah Thorne printed in blocky letters beneath. I’m second-guessing myself now that he seems to think I look familiar. ‘My friend Dylan works here.’

The man snaps, grinning at me.

‘The cowboy,’ he exclaims, to my astonishment and utter confusion. ‘Saw a photo of you on my brother’s Instagram. You know our Molly.’

Their Molly?

It’s completely out of line for me to think of her as mine–Molly is a human, not a thing to be possessed–but his words send splintering ice through my body, my very veins rebuking the concept of her being anyone else’s.

Okay, so maybe thinking of her so often is troubling if I’m turning into a territorial ass at the mere thought of this man in an expensive navy suit thinking he has any claim on Molly Mason.

‘How do you know Molly?’ I ask, wanting instead to say, If she’s your Molly, why was her tongue in my mouth in a supply closet two hours ago?

The man looks chagrined, pocketing his phone while I lead us into the elevator. ‘We used to date. Haven’t seen her in a while, though.’

It clicks into place, then, and I feel daft for being so slow on the uptake. He saw a photo from Devi’s Halloween party on his brother’s social media account, and so far as I know, the only person at that party with a brother who was previously involved with Molly is Luke Lemming. Meaning that this man is Matt Lemming, Molly’s ex-fiancé. The one who cheated on her.

His Molly my ass.

‘I’m Matt by the way.’ He holds his hand out for me to shake, which I do, but I don’t offer a returning smile. His palm is callused like Kenneth’s, probably from working out, because it’s not from financial analytics or whatever it is they do here. Matt isn’t very tall–a few inches under six feet, maybe the same height as Molly–but he’s got a perfectly symmetrical face, and broad shoulders. He’s very handsome, which I hate, and he’s tanned, which I resent.

‘Elijah,’ I tell him, though he’s already read it on my Drummond ID. ‘I’ve heard about you.’

He winces, but laughs, too, putting his hands up like ‘Guilty!’ and I haven’t felt such strong disdain in so long.

‘Hopefully nothing too horrible,’ he says. I don’t reassure him. The elevator slows to a stop and Matt lifts his chin to the left. ‘I’ll show you the way to Dylan’s office.’

I follow stiffly behind, trying not to unpack the absolutely barbaric feelings coursing through me at meeting this human that hurt Molly.

‘It’s good to meet you, man,’ Matt says. I disagree but I don’t say so. ‘How is Moll these days, anyway?’

‘You’d have to ask her,’ I say, which is probably better than reciting a sonnet about her collar bones, the slope of her ass and the breathy little sounds she makes when I wrap my arm around her back and pull her tightly to me. ‘But I’ll tell her you say hello.’

I will not be telling her he says hello. If anything, I will tell her that I met him and he had a horrible rash, a contagious one, and that she should stay far away from him.

‘Nice, thanks.’ Matt claps me on the shoulder like we’re old friends–bros. I offer as polite a smile as I can muster in return. We stop halfway down a long hall and I see through the glass door that Dylan sits at his desk, eyes on his computer, while the younger Lemming chatters at him.

I push the door open, drawing both of their attention to me and Matt shuffling into the office. Dylan’s office is twice the size of mine, easily. Perks of working a soul-sucking finance job (Dylan’s words, not mine).

‘Look who I found,’ Matt says, stupid grin on his stupidly handsome face. His teeth are perfect, unfortunately–square and straight and bright white. My teeth are fine enough but we didn’t have braces in the sixteen hundreds, so my lower teeth will always be crooked. Not to mention the fangs.

‘You met Matty,’ Luke says, eyes darting between us. The way he’s looking now makes me wonder if he’s heard anything else about Molly and me since the party. Or perhaps even on Halloween I was that transparent about my interest in the wry blonde woman who now haunts my sleepless existence.

‘Indeed. Good to see you, Luke,’ I tell him. The smile I give the younger Lemming is genuine. I like Luke, and despite how much Dylan complains about his annoying, sharp colleague, I have a feeling that Dylan’s thoughts are just as haunted by Luke as mine have become by Molly.