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My hands are off her almost as fast as they were on.
She gives me a warm smile and sweeps her phone off the counter on her way out.
Part of me wants to follow, hang out some more. Because it feels like a wall came down between us, and now that it has, the teenager in me is dying for more of his favorite buddy. But I don’t want to push too hard too fast. Friendships aren’t rebuilt in a day. So I keep my feet glued in place, contemplating if ten seconds is enough figurative space before I leave too, or if I should give it thirty.
“Hey, Boomer?”
My head snaps up to where Lara is back, swinging through the cutout doorway like her hand is a hinge.
I can feel my fucking ears turning red, being busted loitering like a weirdo. But I fake like I’m cool. Ish.
Chin jut. Smirk. “S’up?”
S’up? New low achieved.
She knows it. I know it.
But damn, I love that telltale flicker at the corner of her mouth. She bites her lip, and I tell myself to look away, but I don’t. I fucking can’t.
“Some friends from work were telling me about this fair going on this weekend. Taste of Lincoln Avenue, I think?”
“Yeah, it’s awesome.” My favorite thing about staying in Chicago in the off-season is the summer festivals. “Like a huge street party. Food. Bands. It’s cool. You should check it out.”
She nods, lifting a slim shoulder. “Want to go?”
5
Lara
I don’t know what prompted me to invite Ben.
Or why he said yes.
Or how something I figured would be a couple hours of easygoing distraction somehow became a day-into-night, citywide tour of neighborhood street parties, live bands, whiskey tastings, beer gardens, and most recently, talking for hours in the back corner booth of Belfast Bar.
What I do know is that I can’t remember having a better time… at least not in the last eight years.
And God, it feels good to laugh like this again.
Ben sits back, smiling over his beer before he takes a long swallow.
I’m momentarily distracted by the way his throat moves up and down, how even the muscular column of his neck is attractive.
Like his big hands and the every-which-way quality of his hair.
And those little lines at the corners of his eyes that weren’t there the first time I looked into them.
“So, Elliot,” he starts, but then leaves me hanging until I reply, “Boomer.”
The corner of his mouth twitches, just the one side. Just enough for that panty-melting dimple to wink at me.
Even the elements of his face are flirts. Given the fact that my plans, and probably his too, ensure there’s no chance of anything coming of it… that flirtation is pure fun.
“Got a guy back in Denver?”
“Nope.”
He waits. Blinks. And then gives me the kind of pointed look that has me wondering why I even try to resist. When this man wants information, he gets it.
