“If you only knew how many times I’ve had the exact same thought.”
He kisses me again and this time there’s a fierceness to it, a violent longing in his touch that wasn’t there before. He turns me so I’m pressed up against the door, and there’s no doubt we’re playing with fire here—but if he thinks I’m going to stop him, he’s got another think coming.
When he finally does break it off, I whimper my displeasure. A small smile teases his lips as he plays with my jacket collar.
“So what do you think? Was this a good enough first date?”
I don’t answer him. I just wrap my arms around his neck and lose myself in him for as long as he’ll let me.
Chapter 26
Over the next couple of weeks, Ben and I establish a routine of sorts. He picks me up in the morning (often with wet hair from a predawn workout and shower, which sends my mind down all sorts of filthy rabbit holes), and we walk to work together. Occasionally our schedules align enough for us to grab lunch, but as the tax vote draws nearer, Ben is so busy that his spontaneous drop-ins mostly become a thing of the past. More often than not, I don’t see him again—beyond some hungry looks through the window—until the end of the day, when we meet in the lobby for our walk home.
As agreed, we play things down at work, and though Ben doesn’t seem to care in the least who finds out about us, I sure do—not that anyone seems to notice or care what we’re up to. Part of me wonders if it’s because my colleagues don’t believe I’d ever date the opposition. For the first time, I wonder what that says about me.
Our nights are spent at home, low-key and coupley and extraordinary in their ordinariness. Ben repealed his own mandate and reinstated apartment privileges once he realized its fatal flaw: no home-cooked meals. Instead, we came up with a list of ground rules:
1. Bedrooms are off-limits.
2. Clothes must stay on.
3. Alcoholic beverages: limited to one.
This last rule was self-imposed—any more than one glass of wine combined with his intense sexual force field and I seem to magically forget rule number two.
Our rules don’t stop me from messing with him every chance I get. I trade my comfy, oversize loungewear for something skimpier and tighter. I leave my birth control out where he can see it. I ask him for a backrub one night, then channel my inner Meg Ryan and moan suggestively until he catches on and nearly tickles me to death in retaliation.
Post-dinnertime—otherwise known as Make Out on the Couch Time—is far and away my favorite part of the day. Despite our fleshly restrictions, we manage to push our PG-13 hookups as far as physically possible without actually crossing the line. While our clothes technically stay on, it’s a murky distinction at best.
“Kate,” he says between kisses one night, and I can tell by his ragged groan-sigh that he’s breaking. “You’re killing me. I want you so much. Please tell me you’re getting closer.Please.”
I’m a little stunned; he never acknowledges the toll the waiting is taking on him. He brushes me off whenever I bring it up, reiterating that there’s no rush, he’d never pressure me, that we have all the time in the world. The desperate longing in his voice tells a different story.
The thing is, Iamgetting closer. Not that I’m necessarily ready for him to sweep everything off a committee room table and kiss me senseless (his preferred method of taking things public—he’s kidding... I think), but Iamgrowing more comfortable with the idea of Ben and Kate: The Real Deal. Out and proud—if only to move us out of this sexless limbo that will surely lead to some sort of premature death from carnal combustion.
But it isn’tallroses. The personal-professional tension I predicted rears its ugly head daily in the form of avoided topics, awkward silences, and the unspoken agreement not to press each other for details of our workday. It’s as though we both know that to dig too deep is to shake the delicate foundation of our relationship in ways we’re not yet strong enough to withstand. To wit: When our bosses fall on opposite sides of a big vote, we tiptoe around the topic like we’re dodging land mines. When a controversial Supreme Court justice confirmation is all anyone can talk about, we stick to lighter subjects like our weekend plans, even as the issue looms larger than an elephant in the room.
While avoiding conflict is clearly the right decision for us—and ethically necessary, as well—I find myself becoming resentful. Resentful that our relationship isn’t normal and easy like Tessa and Luke’s, resentful of the circumstances that have forced us into our respective corners, resentful of the things I don’t know—can’tknow—about him. It’s as though there’s a velvet-roped VIP area of his life I’ll never gain access to, a private place inside him housing his professional ambitions that I’ll never know intimately. In my darker moments, I wonder how we’ll ever move forward if we can’t share our highs and lows, expose the deepest parts of ourselves without fear or favor.
It’s a delicate balance, one that fills me with hope and anxiety in equal amounts. Case in point: One night we’re making dinner in his kitchen when Ben’s phone starts blowing up. I don’tmeanto snoop, but since it’s sitting right there on the counter, I can’t help but see the texts stacking up on his screen like Tetris blocks.
Marcus: Did you see that email?
Marcus: Shit, you may actually have pulled this off.
Bill: Are you free? I just got off the phone with Hank.
Corinne: Wow, man of the hour! When can you meet up tomorrow?
The last one turns my stomach.Corinne knows more about my boyfriend than I do.Before I can ask him what’s going on, his phone rings.
“Hey, Bill,” he answers, then slides his eyes to me. “Uh, yeah, I can talk. Hang on.”
He squeezes my hip as he passes behind me, then disappears into his room and shuts the door.
And I can’t even ask him why.
As I stare at the closed door, I reflect on how many times a day I wish I could tell him something—celebrate an achievement, commiserate over a setback, or even just speak freely, without restraint—and the painful realization each time I remember I can’t.
