Page 98 of Fangs with Benefits

I sigh. ‘Dylan, I’ll call you tomorrow.’

There’s a party I must attend to, this one in my honour.

Texts between Matt Lemming and Molly Mason on 18 December 2026

Matty: Molly, I’m sorry for upsetting you last week. I would love to meet up and talk. I feel like I have explaining to do. Please?

Molly: No thank you.

Matty: Please? For some closure for us both. I have been feeling like I need to at least try to make amends for months now. Just got the nerve to reach out to you again.

Matty: I’ll come to your neighbourhood, even.

Molly: You’re relentless

Molly: When?

Matty: Thank God.

Matty: Friday?

Chapter 35

Molly

I play with my straw wrapper while I wait for Matt at a low table in the bar a few blocks away from Drummond. It’s a bar like Hailey would bring me to; dimly lit, serving expensive drinks, all the staff in matching starched uniforms. They brought me a plate of lime and lemon slices when I asked for one to go with my soda. I won’t be drinking tonight, I’m already queasy, and I feel like my stomach will revolt if I introduce spirits into the equation.

Plus, I feel like I should really have my wits about me for this conversation.

Matt shows up six minutes late, rushing in with his face flushed from the cold. He is in an expensive slate suit with a thick wool coat overtop and a thin plaid scarf loose around his neck. His watch alone costs more than my outfit in its entirety.

My thrifted sweater covered in embroidered candy-canes over a pink cotton turtleneck felt like a great choice when I left this morning, but now feels juvenile. I haven’t felt this way for a while, not since my last family dinner with Hailey’s family–like I need to dress better, pull back my hair, wear nicer makeup to fit in with the people I’m with.

‘I’m sorry I’m late.’ Matt pulls his coat off and drapes it over the extra chair on his side of the table before sitting. He orders a glass of wine for us both, and I tell the waiter that the soda I have is fine, making for the first awkward moment of the evening before we’ve even really begun.

I don’t know what Matt expects to get from this, but I am almost shivering in anticipation. I don’t know why I even said yes–maybe because this week has been full of what I’ve been calling rebuilding. Getting a writing sample ready, fixing my portfolio, going back and forth with James about a cover letter, to name just a few items in said rebuild. I needed a second new writing sample for my application for the visiting professor position, and luckily had three years of handwritten drafts to choose from in the credenza.

A relationship with Matt isn’t something I want to rebuild, but I do feel that hearing him out is something that a newly enlightened, rebuilt Molly would do.

It’s been less than a week since I last saw Elijah, and his note still sits in my coat pocket. The edges of the folded paper are already worn smooth from how many times I’ve touched it.

‘What did you want to talk about?’ I ask in favour of answering his small-talk questions about work.

Matt clears his throat and nods, steeling himself for whatever serious conversation he wants to have.

‘I meant what I said about missing you. And reflecting.’

‘Not sure what that has to do with me,’ I say. So, okay, my enlightenment has not reached my patience.

‘Back then, I didn’t see how what I was doing could be hurtful,’ Matt says.

I purse my lips and drop my head to the side. ‘You knew, Matty,’ I say. ‘You just thought you’d get away with it.’

‘That’s just it.’ He leans closer, both elbows and forearms flat on the table. ‘I didn’t see how much my parents gave me a skewed perception of things. It’s how I was raised.’

‘You were raised to cheat and lie?’

Matt’s patience with me is starting to chafe, that familiar exasperated glint making a comeback. ‘You know my dad—’