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The best part is his mom’s accompanying text.
“Should have sprung for the retouching package.”
I will never stop laughing.
“This is why she didn’t update my junior year picture on the mantel. Now I get it.”
Ben’s face as he slumps back in his booth. I can’t stop.
“Man, how did I think I was hot? That picture?—”
He shivers.
Sighs.
And I try to resist, hold out for even a minute, but when he just sighs louder, I crack. “Fine, you win! This picture is a travesty. You were, without question, the most attractive guy in school. Satisfied?”
“Were?”
My head drops forward. When I look up, he’s grinning, victorious.
We laugh, joke about bad pictures for a while, but eventually the conversation circles back to where it started. Ben and the bunnies. He isn’t embarrassed, doesn’t mind talking about it. Which I’m glad for because I’m not judging.
“Yeah, guess I get around.” He shrugs, taps his bottle to the beat of the music. His eyes come back to mine. “I like bunnies. They’re easy. Fun. Up for a good time. Know the score before they even leave for the club.”
The club, the bar, the party. The parking lot after the game. Details about Chicago’s naughtiest player, whispered by a coworker who has no idea who I’m living with.
“The score?”
“Yeah, that whatever happens between us— whether it’s one night or a dozen —hooking up is about getting off. It’s physical. Some mutual satisfaction. That’s it.”
“No commitments.”
“Exactly. No misunderstandings. No hurt feelings. And no expectations beyond that night.” He shrugs. “It’s easy, and easy is all I want.”
I should take what he’s saying at face value.
Who am I to question him?
It’s just… once upon a time, Ben Boerboom was the ultimate commitment guy. I knew him back when the only thing he wanted was to spend the rest of his life with one undeserving girl. The one I hated for breaking his heart and selfishly owed for giving me the chance to hold a piece of it for that short time.
I honestly thought he’d be married within a year of getting his first NHL contract.
Not to me. What happened between us wasn’t about forever. It was a rebound. I knew it going in?—
Wait.
I blink, a dawning horror building inside me.
“Boomer,” I wheeze. “Was I… the first… bunny?”
Ben chokes on his beer. Coughs and smacks the table. Eyes watering, he shakes his head until he can breathe again. “What?”
“I knew the score too,” I press, ticking off matching qualifiers. Physical. Mutual satisfaction. A dozen nights and no expectations.
His big hand waves between us, recapturing my attention. “Take a breath, Elliot.”
I gulp air.
