# CHAPTER 9: The Infallible Plan That Backfired Spectacularly
Hello, my wonderful readers! It's me again, your ever-devoted narrator and friend. How is everyone doing out there today? I hope you're all ready for another rollercoaster ride through the lives of our beloved (and sometimes woefully misguided) characters. Buckle up, because this chapter dives deep into Bennett's psyche, where plans that seemed "foolproof" in the light of day turn out to be anything but when reality comes crashing down. Trust me when I say, today we're about to witness a man's grand strategy unravel in the most catastrophic—and admittedly hilarious—way possible. So grab a pastry (maybe not a cronut, though—we'll get to why), sit back, and let's dive right in.
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Our story resumes with Bennett standing just outside the zoo, mentally exhausted after another baffling morning of "community service" disguised as PR work. He's about to head out when Graydon, that imposing, cryptic figure, slaps a piece of paper against his chest and begins lumbering away like a bear who's just finished his morning business.
The paper bears nearly unintelligible handwriting: "Cougar Vajeen" and a phone number.
"That's for your friend," Graydon calls over his shoulder.
Bennett, ever the one to demand a proper introduction, calls out, "Wait, are you not going to introduce me or anything?"
Graydon halts and spins to face him, leveling the most critical of questions: "Is it a date for you or a date for her?"
"A date for her," Bennett replies without hesitation.
"Then good luck."
And just like that, the man disappears into the zoo, leaving Bennett holding a number that's supposed to solve all his problems. But before Graydon escapes into the building, Bennett shouts one final question: "Does he know?"
"He's expecting her call," Graydon yells back, and then he's gone.
*He's expecting her call.*
Those words hit Bennett like a freight train to the gut. This is what he wanted, isn't it? All part of the master plan? Then why does nausea rise in his throat like he's swallowed a gallon of spoiled milk? This was Nolan's suggestion, and at the time, it all made perfect sense. Set Bower up with a douchebag, let her realize what a great guy Bennett is by comparison, and then swoop in to save the day.
Simple. Foolproof. One of the best ideas he's ever had.
Determined not to second-guess himself, Bennett acts fast. He pulls out his phone and sends Cougar's name and number to Bower before he can change his mind. Because that's what an intelligent man does when he has a foolproof plan, right? Rushes headfirst into execution without hesitation!
There. Done. Now all Bower needs to do is go on a date with the douche, realize he's a scumbag, and come crawling back to Bennett, who will appear as the shining knight he truly is.
No, Bennett insists to himself, this is fine. This is great. This is magnificent!
He climbs into his car, cranks the ignition, and drives straight to the stadium for tonight's game, his mind already swimming with visions of how beautifully this will all unfold.
---
When Bennett pulls into the stadium parking lot, he's greeted by quite the sight. Nolan is emerging from his own vehicle, and the man looks like he's been through war, famine, and possibly a demonic possession. He's dressed in gray sweatpants, a red Pikachu shirt, and slides with socks, with enormous dark sunglasses that look like they belonged to someone's grandmother covering half his face. He's sucking on a lollipop and propping himself against Bennett's truck like he might collapse at any moment.
"What the hell happened to you?" Bennett asks, genuinely concerned.
"Dude, I've seen hell and somehow resurrected myself."
"What do you mean?"
Nolan tilts those ridiculous sunglasses down just enough to make eye contact. "Whatever you do, don't get the lamb at Quints." He presses a hand dramatically against his stomach, his cheeks puffing slightly. "Motherfucker, I might throw up again."
Bennett takes a cautious step back, because he's a good friend, but he's not a *hero*. "Jesus. Can you play?"
"If Michael Jordan can play after getting food poisoning, then so can I," Nolan declares with magnificent confidence. Then, without the slightest shred of pride, he wraps his arms around Bennett's. "But can you walk me into the stadium? My legs are a little wobbly."
So there they are, Nolan clutching Bennett like a life raft in an ocean, moving at a painfully slow pace through the stadium corridors. Bennett, being the devoted friend that he is, allows this. That is, until Nolan's cheeks puff out and a concerning gurgle works its way up his throat.
Never mind. Bennett is *not* that good of a friend.
He releases Nolan and steps back just in time for the man to let out an echoing belch that seems to vibrate the very foundations of the building. Bennett winces, his entire spine trembling from the sound.
"Oh fuck," Nolan groans, hunched over before standing tall again. He pauses, assesses himself, and then breaks into a grin. "Shit, that... that kind of helped."
"Jesus, dude, you're disgusting."
Nolan scoffs like a wounded aristocrat. "It's a burp, nimrod. Go clutch your pearls somewhere else."
The man then strolls into the stadium as if he didn't just release the sound of a dying whale from his esophagus. Bennett shakes his head and follows.
It's not long before Bennett brings up his latest development. "So, I went through with your plan."
Nolan, already beelining for the cafeteria, barely acknowledges him. "What plan was that? I offer up so many successful ones, I can't keep track."
By the time Bennett catches up to him, Nolan has grabbed four Powerades—two in each hand—and placed his sunglasses back on his head.
"Oh, I don't want any," Bennett says.
"They're not for you," Nolan replies breezily before walking past him again.
For a man who looked like death warmed over moments ago, Nolan seems remarkably fine now. Apparently, all he needed was to let out one glorious burp to purge his demons. Bennett wouldn't put anything past that guy.
"Don't you think that'll upset your stomach more?" Bennett asks, watching as Nolan settles into one of the recliners in the locker room with the grace of a king ascending his throne. He lifts the footrest, uncaps a Powerade, and starts chugging it like it's the nectar of the gods before flipping his sunglasses back down and cradling the bottle against his chest like a cherished stuffed animal.
"You fail to remember I'm a different breed," Nolan says.
"Yeah, never fail to remember that," Bennett mutters, taking a seat next to him despite knowing full well he's about to subject himself to emotional torture.
"So, uh... like I said, I went through with your plan."
"Oh, right. What plan?"
"The one we talked about, where I set up Bower with someone else so I could swoop in and look like the good guy."
"Oh, right," Nolan says with the enthusiasm of someone being reminded of a mildly interesting tax form.
"I texted her the guy's information before I left the zoo. Graydon got it to me today."
"Who was it?" Nolan asks. "I know a few guys on the team."
"Cougar Vajeen."
The reaction is immediate. Nolan straightens as if shocked by a live wire, yanking his sunglasses up so his bloodshot eyes can bore into Bennett with alarm. "Cougar Vajeen?"
"Uh, yeah, is that, uh... is that a problem?"
"Who the fuck's idea was that?"
Bennett feels beads of sweat beginning to form on the back of his neck. This is not the reaction he was hoping for. "Graydon. I told him I needed a douchebag, and that's who he came up with, or at least that's who his friend Hutton came up with."
"Dude, Cougar Vajeen is not the guy you want going out with the girl you have a crush on."
Panic, cold and suffocating, washes over Bennett. "Why?"
"Because he might be a douche"—Nolan pauses for dramatic effect—"but he's a charismatic one. I've seen him work his charms firsthand, to the point that with a simple wink, he's taking a girl back to his place."
"Wait, what?"
Bennett's hand shoots to his pocket, pulling out his phone, desperate to somehow reverse this catastrophic mistake. But his plans come to a screeching halt when he sees three text messages waiting for him.
From Bower.
*Oh fuck.*
*Oh God.*
*OH FUCK!*
**Bower:** Ahhh, you're amazing. Thank you so much.
**Bower:** Just looked him up, and holy shit is he hot.
**Bower:** Eeep! We have a date this Friday. I can't wait. Thank you!
A groan escapes Bennett's lips as he slouches into his chair like all his bones have turned to jelly. "Noooo."
"What?" Nolan asks.
Bennett lifts his gaze, eyes hollow, soul departing his body. "They're going out Friday night."
"Oh... shit." Nolan blows out a heavy breath, absorbing the gravity of the situation. Then he leans back, flips his sunglasses down, and uncaps another Powerade—this time handing it to Bennett like a nurse offering pain medication to a terminal patient. "Drink up, dude, you're going to need the electrolytes."
"Why?"
"Because your future is filled with a lot of tears and you'll have to hydrate."
"Stop. It can't be that fucking bad." But even as Bennett says it, his stomach churns like he's the one who ate the tainted lamb.
Nolan leans in, his voice adopting a tone of grim certainty. "You can convince yourself of that, but let me tell you, it's bad. Cougar is unmatched. He has women crawling at his feet whenever he goes out. He has his choice of anyone, and when he chooses, he goes hard. Hard with his approach and hard with his dick." He pauses, glancing around conspiratorially before lowering his voice to a whisper. "Rumor is, he broke a woman's uterus once with his penis."
"That is not fucking true," Bennett splutters, bile rising in his throat.
"Either way, the man is charming as fuck, and for someone like you, who has a massive crush on the girl he's taking out Friday"—Nolan shakes his head solemnly—"let's just say he's your worst nightmare. And there is nothing douchey that will deter your girl away from him. And he's only going to ruin her, because any other man won't compare. Dick is too big, man."
"You're exaggerating."
Nolan pushes his sunglasses down his nose, fixing Bennett with a look of pure, unfiltered pity. "Six foot fucking seven," he says, counting off on his fingers. "Pecs bigger than my goddamn head. Thighs that have cracked a watermelon with one squeeze. And that dick of his? A fucking tree trunk. I've seen it firsthand. Tell me I'm lying."
"When have you seen his dick?" Bennett manages, horrified.
"Don't ask questions." Nolan holds up a hand with the dignity of a man who has seen things that cannot be unseen. "Just know your chances of being with this girl are nonexistent now. Unsure what Graydon was thinking, but welcome to the permanent friend zone, my guy."
And just like that, dread—heavy, absolute, and suffocating—fills Bennett's entire being.
"What the fuck, man!" he yells, his composure crumbling. "You were the one who told me to do this!"
Nolan presses a finger dramatically to his ear. "For fuck's sake, not so loud."
"No, you're the one who got me into this mess, now get me out of it. Tell your friend, Cougar, to cancel on her."
"No can do. He's not my friend." Nolan settles back, perfectly calm. "Also, this was not my fault."
"This one hundred percent was your fault!"
"No. I told you to get someone douchey, not an Adonis with a fucking jackhammer dick. *That's* on you."
"You said douchey, and Graydon said he was douchey. How is this my fault?"
"It's called research." Nolan takes a leisurely sip of his Powerade. "Did you even look the guy up before sending her the info?"
"No," Bennett admits, hating how hasty—how monumentally stupid—he was.
"That's right, because if you did look him up, you would have seen just how massive he is. And you're a big guy yourself, but to him, you're an ant. If you actually saw what he looked like, you never would have sent his phone number over."
He's right. If Bennett had taken one single, solitary second to google Cougar Vajeen, he would have seen exactly how "good-looking" this guy is. He would have marched right back into that zoo, returned the number, and asked Graydon to try again. But no. Instead, he served Cougar up on a silver platter to Bower, practically dabbing her face with a napkin and handing her the utensils to chow down on her own destruction.
What a fucking moron.
"Fuck." Bennett drags his hand down his face, the weight of his stupidity pressing down on him like a physical force. "What have I done?"
"Something incredibly stupid."
"Maybe... maybe they won't hit it off."
"They will." Nolan downs another Powerade with the finality of a death sentence. "Because I know Cougar, and there isn't one person that he doesn't hit it off with. Your only prayer now is that he won't like her. Any hope in that angle?"
Bennett shakes his head, because Bower is perfect. How could any human being with functioning eyes and a beating heart not like her? She's fun, beautiful, smart, quick on her feet, and outgoing. Nothing seems to bother her. And she's up for pretty much anything. She's extraordinary.
"She's... she's amazing," Bennett whispers, the words tasting like defeat.
"Says the guy with hearts in his eyes when he speaks about her," Nolan observes.
"She is." Bennett sinks deeper into his chair, visions of his future flashing before his eyes. "They're going to hit it off, date, and he'll end up fulfilling all of her sexual fantasies, and by next year they'll be engaged and I'll be asked to give a speech at their wedding about how I set them up despite being completely and utterly infatuated with her."
Nolan pauses, staring at Bennett through those ridiculous glasses for a long, agonizing moment. Then he nods. "Yup, that seems very accurate."
"I fucking hate you."
"Don't hate the plan, my man." Nolan cracks open yet another Powerade. "Hate the execution."
---
Night falls, and Bennett finds himself exactly where he doesn't want to be: lying in bed, face buried in a pillow—*her* pillow.
If you're thinking, *Whoa, dude, that's coming off as pathetic*, then congratulations, you would be absolutely right.
It *is* pathetic.
And yet, here he is, inhaling deeply, holding onto the one thing he has left of her: the faint scent of her hair and skin embedded in these cotton fibers. His heart aches with a longing so profound it feels physical.
With one final, regretful sniff, Bennett forces himself out of bed. He drags his feet to the bathroom, brushes his teeth, and slips into a pair of sweatpants that ride dangerously low on his hips—a side effect of all the training he's been doing.
He takes a moment to examine himself in the mirror. Over the past two years, his waist has become narrower, his shoulders broader. His muscles are more pronounced, his skin almost feels tighter around his bones. He's in the best shape of his life. Burly, broad, athletic—a physique sculpted by sweat and discipline. But what good has that done him?
None.
Absolutely zero.
Splashing water on his face, Bennett wets his hair and heads to the kitchen to make a protein shake. Water droplets fall from his hair as he grabs the milk, and suddenly—
*Knock, knock, knock.*
Bennett glances at the clock. He didn't order anything, which could only mean one thing. Excitement pulses through his veins like an electrical current as he sets the milk down and strides toward the door.
Thank God he brushed his teeth.
He opens the door, and there she stands, a vision in black and white. Bower wears a pair of form-fitting black leggings and a white off-the-shoulder crop top that reveals just a hint of her collarbone. Fuck, she's so beautiful.
"Good morning," she greets him with a brilliant smile. "I can see that you're ready for the day."
"Late night. Just got out of bed," Bennett manages, trying (and failing) not to stare.
"Ooo, did you go out?" she asks, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.
"No, game went extra innings."
"Did you win?"
"No," Bennett answers flatly, still nursing the sting of the loss.
"Yikes, that's not fun." She gestures toward his apartment. "Are you going to let me in, or are you going to make me talk to you out here?"
He pushes the door open, and she walks under his arm, her hair brushing against his skin as she passes. It takes everything within him not to become visibly affected by her proximity. His entire body is screaming at him to pull her closer.
Fuck, he's so pathetic.
It's only when she sets a bag on his kitchen counter and turns to face him that Bennett notices she brought something.
"What's that?" he asks.
"Cronuts. Want one?"
"Not really part of my diet," he says.
Her eyes travel across his torso, taking in every line and curve, and Bennett has to suppress a shiver. Then she clears her throat and smirks. "I think you can spare the calories."
She moves to his kitchen, grabs two plates, and emerges with two enormous, pink-frosted cronuts.
"Raspberry flavored," she announces before lifting herself onto the counter with the casual grace of someone who's entirely too comfortable in his space.
Bennett joins her, leaning his hip against the counter. He picks up his cronut and takes a bite just as she does.
Her eyes widen. Then they flutter shut as a soft moan escapes her lips.
Nope.
No.
Can't have her doing that.
"This is so good," she breathes. "It's like sex in my mouth."
"Huh?" Bennett chokes.
"Better than an orgasm."
Okay, the cronut is good, but it is *not* that good.
"If you think this is better than an orgasm," Bennett says carefully, "then clearly you haven't been with the right people."
"Clearly." She takes another bite and moans again, and Bennett has to grip the counter to steady himself.
"Can you... can you not do that?" he pleads, trying to hold it together.
"Do what?"
"Moan while you eat?"
"Why?" She grins, all teeth and mischief. "Turning you on?"
Yeah.
Bennett looks away, his jaw clenching. She laughs and nudges him with her foot.
"Oh my God, Bennett, a food moan is turning you on."
"No, I mean... maybe, it's just... it's been a little bit since, you know, and I don't need you moaning like that. It's too sexual, and you have me reading those books, and it's just—"
"They made you horny," she finishes with delight.
"Hell..." Bennett lets out a deep, resigned breath.
She laughs loudly, the sound echoing through his kitchen like music. "Do you see why I'm the way that I am? My vibrator has had three new battery changes. I'm wearing it out."
Bennett glances at her, caught between shock and amusement. But of course—this is Bower. He should expect nothing less from her.
"Your hand must be rubbed raw." She grabs his hand, examining his palms with exaggerated concern. "My God, the calluses on your palms. Your poor dick. It must be like fucking a cheese grater every time you jack off." She looks up at him with wide, innocent eyes. "Is your dick okay?"
"My dick is fine."
"Just fine?" One eyebrow raises skeptically.
"Can we not talk about this?"
"Ooo, you seem to be in a mood today. Everything okay?"
*No.*
*It's not okay.*
First, you look hot as shit and you're not even wearing makeup—which, of course, is his favorite. Second, you smell so fucking good that it's taking everything within me not to push you against the wall and run my tongue up your neck—or rub my pillow all over you for an extra boost in scent. And third, you're going on a date with a guy that you're probably going to end up marrying, all because I failed to do the research before giving you his information.
"Just tired," Bennett says instead.
"Well, I can leave if you want to get some more sleep."
"No," Bennett almost answers in a panic, catching himself just in time before clearing his throat. "I mean, no, it's okay. I was up anyway."
"Okay." She eyes him for a moment, her gaze searching. "If this is about the horniness, I can possibly see if I can find someone for you."
"I'm fine. It's not. Sorry." Bennett shakes his head, but she presses on.
"Why are you apologizing?" She nudges him with her foot again. "You don't need to apologize. Honestly, I don't know what I'd do without you at this point. I'm so lucky that you live here and have been willing to help out. I thought bringing a cronut over might be nice given your sweet tooth, but I'm seeing that maybe the morning after a late night might not be the best choice."
"No, it is," Bennett says quickly. "Just, yeah, forget I even got weird." He looks into her eyes, losing himself for just a moment. "Thank you for the cronut. Feel free to bring over pastries every morning if you want."
"Don't tease me." Her eyes brighten with a new idea. "There are enough pastries in this city to try something new every day for a year. Ooo—" She gasps, excitement radiating from her. "We could start a food blog about pastries. Kind of like what Nolan does with his breakfast burritos."
"That would require me caring about social media, and I don't care in the slightest."
"Yeah, you don't seem like someone who would care." She pauses, a thoughtful expression crossing her face. "Maybe we can keep the reviews to ourselves. Start a notebook, rate them."
"I could get on board with that," Bennett says and takes another bite of his cronut. "What would you rate this?"
"Well, given my moaning, I would grade it pretty high. Oh, maybe we can rate it by moans? How loud and long it made me moan."
"Or we can go by stars. Stars are pretty universal." Anything to put an end to the moaning around him.
"Ugh, boring, but fine." She examines the cronut like a sommelier appraising fine wine. "Are we talking solid one through five stars here, or can we go with decimals?"
"I think we can go with decimals."
"You're a real savior." She studies the cronut some more, considering. "Okay, I think I'd give this a four-point-two-seven."
"A four-point-two-seven?" Bennett echoes, amused despite himself. "How the hell did you come up with that?"
She shrugs. "Just felt right."
Bennett shakes his head because she's weird but really fucking cute. "What about you?" she asks. "What would you give it?"
"If we're giving oddball numbers, then three-point-eight-two-three."
Her mouth drops open, literally, and she sets her cronut down as if he's offended her ancestors. "What? Three-point-eight-two-three? Have you lost your mind? That's outrageous."
"How is that outrageous?"
"Because"—she picks the cronut back up, holding it like a sacred artifact—"this hybrid of a flaky, buttery croissant and ooey-gooey donut is easily no less than a four-point-one-seven-two-nine, and you go and give it a three-point-eight-two-three?" She shakes her head with exaggerated disdain. "You're no longer invited to offer ratings with that kind of tomfoolery."
"This coming from the person who uses a four-point-one-seven-two-nine as a rating."
"I'm impressed you remembered those numbers, because I couldn't have told you what it was if you asked me."
Bennett chuckles, warmth spreading through him. "My point exactly. I think decimals have to be taken out."
"Decimals are what makes the world run smoothly."
"Why are you like this?"
"Unsure." She smirks, then nudges him once more. "There you are, the easygoing guy I know."
"Was here the whole time."
"No, you weren't, but nice try." She wipes her hands on a napkin, and Bennett recognizes his moment to steer the conversation toward something more promising.
Not wanting to dwell on his earlier weirdness, and desperate to show her what a fun, compatible guy he can be, he says, "So when are you going to invite me over to your place so I can see it?"
"Ooof, that will be a little while."
His brow furrows in confusion. "Why?"
"Everything is still in boxes besides clothes. Haven't had much time to unpack since I've been either helping my boss, running errands, or too exhausted after the day to even think about unpacking."
"You can't live like that, Bower. You have to unpack." Bennett feels a surge of determination. "I can help you."
"No." She shakes her head and hops off the counter. "You've already done so much for me."
But Bennett moves faster. He presses his hand to her hip, gently but firmly, keeping her in place against his kitchen cabinets. Her eyes shoot up to him in surprise, wide and curious.
"I'm serious," he says, dropping his voice to a softer register. "Let me help you."
Her eyes search his for what feels like an eternity before she speaks. "But you're... you're so busy and you've already done so much. I can't ask you to do that for me."
"You're not asking me to do anything." Bennett takes a step closer, watching her expression morph into even greater surprise. "I'm offering."
"I know, but—"
He moves in closer still, close enough that he can feel her heat, smell her perfume, hear her breath catching. "I have an afternoon game on Saturday. I can help after that. We could order pizza and tackle all the boxes. Get it done so you can retreat to a home after you get done with work."
She swallows, her voice barely above a whisper. "You, uh, you would do that?"
"Of course I would." He releases her hip, the loss of contact nearly painful. "But you're paying for the pizza."
She lets out a breathy laugh, the tension between them easing. "Okay, says the multimillionaire."
"If you want the muscles to come work for you, then you're going to have to pay up."
"And the way to the use of your muscles is through pizza?"
*No,* Bennett thinks, his heart hammering in his chest. *It's you. It's always been you.*
"Pepperoni with mushrooms." He winks, then shoves the rest of his cronut into his mouth, using the food as an excuse to keep himself from saying everything he actually wants to say.
And there, in the quiet morning light of his kitchen, Bennett is left with one undeniable truth: this woman is going to be the untangling of every good intention he has. And he'd let her do it all over again if he could.
---
## Reader's Impressions & Star Rating
Oh, my heart! This chapter was an absolute masterclass in internal turmoil, comedic relief, and painfully relatable regret. Bennett's so-called "foolproof plan" is like watching a train wreck in slow motion—you know what's coming, you desperately want to look away, but you simply cannot. His gradual descent from confident schemer to "I've made a massive mistake" is both hilarious and heartbreaking. And that scene with the pillow? Absolutely gutted me.
Nolan, as always, provides the perfect comic counterbalance with his Powerade-chugging, food-poisoning-surviving, "different breed" energy. His proclamation about Cougar Vajeen's anatomical gifts had me laughing and trembling in equal measure.
And the cronut scene? Pure cinematic gold. The tension between Bennett and Bower is electric, and watching him spiral as she casually discusses her vibrator while visibly checking him out is a moment for the ages. The man is losing his mind, and I am here for every single second of it.
This chapter manages to balance gut-busting humor with genuine romantic tension and anxiety. Poor Bennett—he's fighting a losing battle against his own heart, and the countdown to Bower's Friday date is ticking.
**Rating: ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ 4.8 / 5 Stars**
## Next Chapter Prediction
Oh, I can already feel the angst building! Bower has a date with the legendary Cougar Vajeen this Friday, and Bennett is absolutely dying inside. Mark my words, he's going to do something overly dramatic—either showing up at the restaurant "by coincidence," sending Nolan as a spy, or falling into a spiral of jealousy that ends with him doing something rash. And Bennet's promise to help Bower unpack on Saturday? That's going to be emotional torture for him, especially if her date with Cougar goes well. The question is: will Cougar actually be as charming as Nolan claims, and will Bower be swept off her feet? Or will there be a twist that sends her running back to the one person who genuinely cares about her?
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