Page 43 of Something Borrowed

“Well, you did that skydive with him last month. That was so dangerous with your condition.”

“Condition? I’m not pregnant. And I don’t know if you’re aware of it, but Raff wasn’t flying the plane. Nor was he teaching me—or the other person in my tandem jump—how to skydive.”

“Yes, but it was his idea. He encourages you to forget.”

“Forget what?”

“That you’re blind.”

“Oh, God forbid.” I take a deep breath, rage squirming in my belly. “What you’re failing to realise is that he encourages me to live,” I say through gritted teeth. “He lets me be free, and he’s always been my safety net in case I fall.”

My voice is steely, and there’s a long pause before I hear him move. His footsteps sound nearby, and I half stand, only to jerk in surprise as he takes my shoulders and pulls me up. I hate it when people do that. My family and friends know to take it slow if they’re going to hug me.

“I’m sorry,” he says, embracing me. "I shouldn’t have said that.”

I’m stiff in his arms. “But you meant it.” I sigh. “Bennett, maybe we should?—”

“No, don’t say it.” His voice is urgent. “I’m sorry I said anything. I don’t know why I did.”

“Because you were cross and taking it out on me?”

“Well, maybe.”

Unexpectedly, his rueful words make me laugh, and he senses my weakness and pulls me even closer. “I hate fighting,” he says and kisses me. His hand is firm on my chin, and his tongue pushes into my mouth. He tastes of mint and smells expensive, but it’s still all wrong, and I can’t help my instinctive recoil.

He lets me go. “What the hell, Stan?” he snaps.

I can feel my cheeks flush with embarrassment. “Sorry. You took me by surprise.”

“Really? What about all the other times, then? We haven’t had sex in a month.”

“I’m just very tense at the moment.”

“So am I. You don’t see me turning into a monk.”

I try for a light note. We’re in my office, and I don’t want to air details on my sex life to customers. I think they’d prefer The Black Keys album that’s currently playing. “Well, I definitely won’t be either. I’d trip on the long robes, and Hump wouldn’t like the food at a monastery.”

To my surprise he laughs. “Maybe the monks should just serve table legs and then he’d be happy.”

I relax a little. “Sorry about the table,” I mutter. “I don’t know what came over him.”

“No need to apologise. I think he’s still holding a grudge over that crate.”

Bennett had bought a very expensive dog crate for Hump when we stayed at his place but on demonstrating it, he’d accidentally locked my dog in. That would have been fine if he hadn’t then bent over the crate and dropped the keys inside.

“He was eyeing me in a way I haven’t seen since I watched Steve McQueen inThe Great Escapeat Christmas. Please don’t ever give Hump a motorcycle and an escape route. He’ll end up living on an island in South America under an assumed name.”

His whimsical words make me chuckle and relax a little. These flashes of humour are what’s made me stick around for the last couple of months. It’s like he lifts his armour just long enough to seem fallible, but sadly, healwayslowers it again.

“Stan, it’s Raff. Am I interrupting?” Raff’s voice comes from the door.

“You,” Bennett says in a tone more suited to greeting war criminals.

There’s a startled silence. “Yes, me,” Raff says. “I have the uneasy feeling that I’m being blamed for something. It’s not exactly an unusual circumstance, but I do like to be able to fully claim my bad behaviour.”

Bennett huffs. “We were talking about this ridiculous idea of a concert.”

I groan. “It’s jazz-funk. Not abseiling down the Eiffel Tower.”

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