Page 25 of The Fix Up

Of course, she was still working, wasn’t she? This was a job, after all. The lines were getting as fuzzy as the slippers on her feet. She’d certainly never had a job like this one, but she’d also never had a client like Ben.

Ben.

He was crouched on the living room floor fiddling with the television, so he didn’t see her come in. Behind him was a massive nest of blankets and two giant bowls of popcorn.

“Wow, you take movie night pretty seriously.”

He looked up and grinned at her. “My dad has BALSAC, I have WoHaReHa.”

“WoHaReHa? That sounds like a medical condition.”

He laughed. “WoHaReHa—another acronym. Work Hard, Relax Harder.”

“I didn’t know you could relax hard.”

“You can do anything hard if you put your mind to it.” He grimaced. “Okay, that sounded dirtier than I meant it to.”

Holly grinned and moved into the living room, settling into one corner of the blanket nest. She grabbed an orange bowl filled with popcorn and shoved a handful into her mouth. “Oh my God, real butter.”

“Damn straight. It’s the only way to eat popcorn. Can I get you something to drink?”

“I don’t suppose you have root beer?”

“With or without ice cream?”

“I think I might love you.”

He laughed and flicked something on the television, bringing the giant screen to life. He stood up and walked toward her, dropping the remote onto the blanket beside her. “I’ll be right back.”

He disappeared around the corner as Holly grabbed another handful of popcorn and thought about how nice this was. It wasn’t normally how she’d behave with a brand new client, but there was nothing normal about this arrangement with Ben. Professionalism aside, there was something about him that made her feel like she’d known him for years. Like they were old college buddies or pals from middle school.

Of course, “buddy” and “pal” were the furthest words from her mind as he strode back into the room wearing navy fleece pants and a snug gray T-shirt. He was holding two root beer floats, and she couldn’t decide which sight was more delicious.

“Here you go,” he said, handing her one of the mugs. He shoved his glasses up his nose and sat down beside her, pulling a pile of blankets over his legs. There were at least three feet between them—a nice, platonic distance—but she could feel the warmth of his body even from this far away.

“What are we watching?” She took a sip of her root beer float, enjoying the creamy fizz on the back of her tongue.

“Plan 9 from Outer Space. Have you seen it?”

“I’ve never even heard of it.”

“Excellent. It was made in 1959, and it’s considered by many to be the worst movie ever made.”

She gave a dry laugh. “And we’re watching itwhy?”

He grinned and spooned up a bite of ice cream. “Because it’s so bad, it’s gloriously, tragically awful. You’ll see.” He dropped his spoon back in the mug, then picked up the remote and flicked a button.

He scrolled through a menu on the television screen as Holly snuggled back against the blankets and took a sip of her own float. It was creamy and delicious, with the perfect proportions of soda to ice cream. She watched the screen as the credits gave way to a grainy, black and white image of a funeral. She nibbled another handful of popcorn as the film segued into a parade of lurching zombies and flying saucers trailing along on strings.

“You weren’t kidding,” she said around a mouthful of root beer float. “This is terrible.”

“I know.” He grinned and reached into her popcorn bowl. “Isn’t it awesome?”

“Kinda. Did you just steal my popcorn?”

“Mine’s gone. You have plenty.”

“Not if you keep snarfing it like that.”

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