The Build Up (52)

Bella’s neck craned in shock. “Well, well, Ari James. Sounds like you’ve met your match.”

I bit my lip and shook my head. “No way. It’s just hot, secretive sex with my coworker. I’ve been there before. Only this time, I don’t think he’ll screw me over...job wise, that is.”

Bella folded her arms, taking the last sip of her coffee. “Hmpf. Keep telling yourself that. And you’ll end up like me—married and pregnant.”

I laughed. “And what’s so bad about that?”

“Is that what you want?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know what I want. Right now, I like the idea of a secret, brief affair with a sexy guy. You know? No strings attached. I’m not sure that guy should be Porter. But then again, maybe it should.”

Bella held my hand. “I want you to have fun, but I also don’t want you to get hurt, Ari. Okay? By all accounts, Porter seems like a good dude. He’s not a dick like Maurice.”

I squeezed her hand reassuringly. “I won’t. It’s just casual sex. Not a relationship, for real.” I wasn’t sure I believed what I was saying. Bella gave me a knowing look.

“Really? So, does he know the sex is a casual, no-strings-attached deal? If the sex is the way you say it is. That hot and that intense. I highly doubt the two of you can keep it casual for long. Sexual chemistry like that isn’t something you can control. It’s not a faucet you can turn off and on. Besides, sex that hot can’t stay cooped up in the friend zone. Your coochie is going to be mad with you. How dare you dust her off only to pack it up again? Traitorous!”

I tapped the fingertips of my free hand on my thigh. Bella looked at me with a wary expression. “Okay. What is it now, Ari?”

“Well... Is it casual if he asks me to come to Thanksgiving?”

“Seriously, Ari! Thanksgiving? Men don’t bring just any old woman to Thanksgiving.”

“Maybe he’s just inviting me as his coworker,” I retorted. “He knows I’m alone for the holiday. He knows how the holiday makes me feel about my dad. Porter assured me that it wasn’t a big deal.”

“Don’t be daft, Ari!”

“Bella, people invite coworkers to Thanksgiving all the time.”

“Is that right? Fine, let’s ask Zach!”

“Fine.” I shrugged. It was casual to me. That was what mattered most. I’d had my heart stomped on and I wasn’t about to have that happen again. I can separate my feelings from the sex. That was exactly what I was doing and needed to do. Besides, there wasn’t going to be any chance of it becoming more than sex. At least that was what I kept telling myself.

Just then, Zach and the girls approached the park bench. The twins, all bundled up in their hoodies, jumped into Bella’s lap. She somehow miraculously balanced them both like a circus artist.

“Zach, I have a question: do men casually invite friends to Thanksgiving?” asked Bella, still balancing the twins with all the dexterity of an Olympic weightlifter. “Lady friends, that is?”

Zach looked at Bella and then at me. “Not usually. Why?”

“Because a man has asked Ari to come over for Thanksgiving with his entire family present. Yet, she insists they’re friends. She says they have a casual arrangement. She says this is no big deal.” Bella put the emphasis on she because the broad didn’t believe a word I’d said.

“We are! We do! It’s not!” I threw my hands up in exasperation. Bella rolled her eyes, then chuckled. The nerve. I mean, Thanksgiving wasn’t that big a deal. At least I didn’t think it was. And given that I haven’t really celebrated a proper Thanksgiving since my dad died, I really saw it as just another day.

Zach laughed as he wiped the twins’ hands down with a sanitizer. “Ari, guys rarely invite platonic female friends, shoot, not even female coworkers, to Thanksgiving. Too many questions and assumptions. If he invited you for Thanksgiving without batting an eye? Yeah, that dude likes you, Ari.”

Nervousness settled in my stomach like a boulder. It felt as if I had ocean-liner-level motion sickness even though I was sitting down.

Bella took one look at me and laughed as she did her best Whoopi Goldberg impression. “Ari, you’re in danger, girl.”



Chapter Twenty


Ari


After changing clothes three times, I’d settled on a casual black turtleneck, a tan cardigan, and jeans with leopard flats. Since I didn’t want to show up empty-handed like an improper Southern belle, I decided to bake my mama’s famous lemon pound cake with caramel glaze. It had been so long since I’d been to a proper, sit-down Thanksgiving dinner. Porter had offered to come and pick me up, but I opted to drive. Just in case I wanted to make a run for it, I could. Meeting a guy’s parents made me nervous, which was why I rarely did it. Porter spoke so highly about his mother; I expected Clair Huxtable in the flesh. But again, this wasn’t a big deal. We weren’t a couple. It was just dinner. With his entire family. Fuck. Maybe I should make a run for it, head to Kroger, get some ice cream to go with this cake and go home.

As soon as I was about to put the car back in drive to book it, Porter was knocking at my window. He stood outside, grinning widely. I rolled down my window, feeling an early winter chill in the air.

“Hey. Is everything okay? You’ve been outside a minute,” he asked. With a brief gust of wind, I could smell his familiar cologne. Porter wore a denim shirt, his sleeves rolled up to show his strong, muscular forearms. And had he shaved for the occasion? I bit my lip. It just made no sense for him to be this fine. Maybe I should just go inside to thank his mother for making him.