I’m shaking my head before he’s even finished the question. “No thanks. Are we done here?”
“You won’t even consider it?” He touches my arm as I start to turn toward the door. “What do you have to lose?”
Clearly he doesn’t realize that’s the worst way he could’ve framed it. “A lot, actually. Namely that fall internship we’re about to be competing for in front of the world?”
“Yeah, but that doesn’t have anything to do with what we do outside of work, right?” he says, indignant. “I wanted to ask you out before they called us in for that meeting, and it hasn’t changed anything for me in that regard. We can both still work, still compete just as hard. It won’t make a difference if we’re friendly with each other or, well…more.”
I shake my head, rubbing my temples.More.“That’s not—no. Maybe it doesn’t make a difference to you, but I can’t be distracted. And I’m not about to look like the silly teenage girl with a silly teenage crush on her coworker. This job is all I care about right now and I want to be taken seriously. I don’t need anything to take away from that.”
“I’m distracting, huh?” Benny says with a little smirk, takinga tiny step forward, but only to reach for something on the shelf beside us. “You’vebeanthinking about me, too?”
He’s holding a bag of dried pinto beans. Good gracious.
“Food puns are not going to help you.” A total lie. Food puns are one of my favorite things, right up there with sweet tea and days I don’t have to set an alarm clock. But he already knows too many of my weaknesses.
“Come on, Reese’s Cup.” He puts the beans down and goes for something else. “You won’t regret it. I’m afungi.”
Now he’s holding a tiny pot in which someone is growing mushrooms. Jesus H. Did he stock these shelves himself ? Did I walk right into his master plan? I cover my face with my hands.
“Spice up your life!” He grabs a jar of thyme, which is more herb than spice, but I doubt that matters to the boy right now.
“Really, though, we can keep doing our thing at work. I’m certainly not going to stop pursuing the fall internship, and I know you’re not either. We just won’t tell anyone about our, er, personal lives. We’ll keep it on the down low.” He crouches and I wonder momentarily if he’s adding charades to this whole bit, but he’s reaching for the bottom shelf. “I wouldn’t want anyone to get…Jell-Ous.”
A box of mother-effing gelatin. “This is absurd,” I say, although my resolve is weakening to the consistency of the mix he holds in his hands. “What if I just don’t like you like that, Benny? Is that a good enough reason?”
He steps back, his face falling. “Oh. Well, yeah.” His voicesoftens. He reaches up to readjust his cap, which I’ve determined is his nervous habit, and lets his hand linger to scratch the back of his neck. “But I thought—or, well, I hoped—”
“I didn’t say I don’t.” I cut him off before I’ve thought twice about it. Just seeing him wilt like that melted my cold heart even more, dammit. I sigh. “Just…what if.”
He looks back up at me with the widest, most hopeful eyes, and I know I’m screwed if I don’t get out of this pantry stat. Benny Beneventi is truly wearing me down with shockingly little effort. I don’t understand this overwhelming urge to agree to a date with him despite knowing that it’s a terrible idea. Somewhere between the arms and the empathy and the terrible pun-laden lines, he’s gotten to me.
“One evening. Just a few hours and you never have to see me again outside of work if you don’t want to.” His eyes roam around the pantry, clearly scanning for his next food victim. I tap my foot as I wait. “Lettucehave a chance.”
I narrow my eyes at the leafy bundle he’s holding. “That’s arugula and you know it.”
“I’ll get on my knees and beg if I have to. I’m not kidding.”
Looking into his earnest face, I believe him. And then he bends one knee and starts to drop to the floor. I grab his arm. “Don’t do that. You don’t know what’s been on this floor.”
He straightens back up, grinning like a kid on Christmas. “Is that a yes?”
I look to the ceiling and let out one more long, hard exhale,summoning every ounce of the good sense my mama raised me with to overrule my dumb, impulsive heart. “Benny, I can’t. Not now.”
Looking back down, I meet his dejected puppy eyes for only a second before I turn for the door, and this time, he doesn’t stop me. “I’ve gotta get back to work, okay? And if you want this job as bad as I do, you probably should too.”
Stepping out into the hallway, I let the door fall shut on Benny, and on all the possibilities I can’t let myself consider.
If I thought my rejection was going to change anything about our working relationship or deter Benny from being his typical Benny self, I quickly learn I was mistaken. That evening, only a few hours after I left him in the pantry, he sends me a YouTube montage of Sylvester Stallone in the Rocky movies training for his fights, with the caption, “Me preparing for our showdowns.”
He’s a resilient little booger.
It’s only a few minutes before we start filming our first competition-style video on Thursday, and I’m reaching back to tie my apron around my waist when I feel myself getting tugged back by the strings.
“What the—”
“Gooood morning, Reese’s Cup.” Benny’s voice is at my ear.
I whirl around and look him straight in the face as I redo the knot at my back. “Benji.”
