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What? “Everyone calls you that.”
“You didn’t used to.” His voice is low, teasing. “You stopped after prom. But even before, every now and then, you’d slip and call me Ben. And one night, you admitted that in your mind, it’s who I always was.”
I swallow as memories of the night he’s talking about rush my mind.
The summer wind blowing through the open windows of his room.
His arms and shoulders flexing as he held himself above me.
The feel of him filling me again and again, finding that singular spot so deep inside.
His name on my lips as I gasped. Ben.
The breathtaking satisfaction that filled his eyes.
He wanted to hear it again. Wanted to hear it every time. And so I confessed that in my mind, it’s who he was. And then I spent the next eight years thinking about the heated way he looked at me after.
I close my eyes, grounding myself in the now. Because thinking about looks like that one is as much of a problem as me getting carried away on the dance floor. At the grocery store. While we’re waiting for the coffee to brew… basically anywhere our paths have crossed in the last two months.
We have a past, so it makes sense my mind would make a rare foray into it. But lately it’s been happening more than it should. Still, it wasn’t until tonight that I was actually in danger of acting on that old attraction. And that can’t happen.
Our friendship means too much to risk over something I don’t have room in my life for. That neither of us is looking for.
I clear my throat. “You’re right. In my mind, you’re Ben. You always will be. But after all the time and distance, it felt kind of presumptuous… And maybe it’s just easier to keep things straight that way.”
His crabby hmm pulls another laugh from me. Pulls me a step closer because it feels so good to be there. “So, you want me to call you Ben?”
“Want a lot of things.” His brows bounce as he rolls backward against the wall so both shoulders meet the brick. His head tips back. “Including a peek at your red-hot, lacy thong with my number embroidered on the front.”
I watch him as he watches the ceiling, the light from the window painting the hard-cut planes of his face in stark relief. His throat bobs, and the solid mass of his chest rises and falls with each breath.
He’s gorgeous. And looking at him like this? “Sometimes I forget that things aren’t the way they were between us. I get caught up in dancing and laughing and how easily we fall into place together, and I forget about the lines we aren’t supposed to cross anymore.” I take a breath and let it go slowly. “So I call you Boomer to remind myself that things are different.”
That reminder is the only thing keeping me from reaching out and touching him the way I used to. Catching his belt and tugging him closer. Sifting my fingers through his hair.
Don’t think about it.
He nods, pushing himself off the wall to cross the room. He toys with a mic stand and straightens a stack of boxes.
“How’s that working out for you?” he asks, still facing away so there’s no reading his expression, the slant of his smile, or the light in his eyes. Even his voice gives nothing away. “Calling me Boomer keeping you on the straight and narrow?”
He knows it’s not. “Ben.”
He rubs at the back of his neck and turns. “And did saying my name suddenly tempt you to cross all the lines?”
I know what he expects. A simple, straightforward no way. But I can’t give it to him.
“Honestly, more than I want to admit.”
He runs a hand over his face, letting out a slow breath. “Yeah, same here.”
10
Ben
Ha! Her face.
Guess she thought she’d be the only one dropping truth bombs tonight. And yeah, I kind of surprised myself too. But now that we’ve cracked open this can of worms, a part of me feels relieved. Because even though she hasn’t been back that long compared to how long she was gone, this girl has become the person I want to talk to more than any other. No one gets me the way she does. So yeah, I want to talk to her… even if it’s about her.
