“Hide?”
“You’re scared of your feelings for this guy. You forget that I know you. Your excuses may work on other people, but they won’t work on me.”
I shake my head and don’t answer her.
She smiles, patting me on the leg. “Just promise me one thing.”
“What’s that?” I ask warily.
“If he works up the nerve to tell you how he feels, don’t shut him down. Get out of your own way for once.” She doesn’t wait for a response. “Now, let’s talk about this walking-home-alone business. It’s about the stupidest stunt you’ve ever pulled.”
I blow out a breath. “Jesus, Mom, not you too. I amsotired of getting shit for this.”
She recoils like I’ve slapped her. “I hope you don’t talk that way in front of Ben. It’s so unbecoming. No man wants a potty mouth, sweetie.”
Chapter 17
I don’t think I can be friends with Ben anymore.
After my mom left on Sunday night, the anxiety I’d been keeping at bay started creeping over me like rising floodwaters. Between the awkward family feud he witnessed and my mom’s blunt analysis of our relationship, I hardly know how to behave around him anymore. It’s as though with dinner, we’ve crossed some invisible red line.
I’d be lying if I said I looked at Ben as just another friend. I actually lay in bed on Friday night re-creating all the ways and places he touched me: back graze, knee grab, bear hug, shoulder squeeze. It’s a new dance move: the Mack-arena. My body’s a color-coded Ben heat map at this point.
But another part of me is desperate to starve this attraction, bury it so deep you’d need an excavator and a miracle to find it. Ben and I are opponents; rivals in every sense of the word. There’s no world in which a nonplatonic relationship between us would end in anything but mutual destruction.
I wake up Monday with fresh resolve. This is lust, plain and simple. It’s his fault for carrying me home and awakening antiquated cavewoman urges I didn’t even know I had. As an evolved, feminist woman, I cannot allow these primal instincts to prevail.
But my newfound willpower lasts about as long as my commute. When I get back from a Monday all-hands and sift through the mail stack on my desk, a flyer catches my eye—and all my plans to avoid Ben fly right out the window.It’s perfect.I nearly cackle with evil glee.
I crane my neck to see if he’s in his office. Sure enough, he’s on the phone, pacing a hole in the carpet. I watch him for a minute, admiring one of my favorite looks on him: jacket off, sleeves rolled up. Business Casual Ben. He stops with his back to me, but his arms must be crossed because even from here I can see the shirt fabric stretched taut across his shoulders. I let my gaze drift down, eyes lingering on his tight—
Absolutely not.I shake myself. Where was I going with this? Right—the flyer.
I wait until he’s returned to his desk, then shoot him a text.
Me: I have BIG news.
Ben: Do tell.
Me: I have to show you.
Ben: How cryptic. Tell me about it over lunch?
I glance out the window and find him watching me, head tilted as if in challenge.
Challenge accepted.
Since Ben’s coming from a meeting, we agree to meet at the downstairs Dirksen Servery. I get there first and snag us a table, and as I’m unzipping my cooler I feel a tap on my shoulder. I turn and see John Conrad.
I greet him with a hug. “You’re back! How was it?”
As Senator Maxwell’s chief of staff, John frequently travels with him around Maryland to attend to state business, and he’d been gone all last week during the recess.
“It was good, but there’s a ton to catch up on, as always. I’m spent.”
You wouldn’t know it to look at him—he’s as eager and energetic as ever, his perfectly coiffed hair glossy as an oil slick. I smooth my own mane self-consciously.
“Thanks for sending me those briefing notes, by the way. I was actually wondering if you wanted to grab a drink some night this week? Catch me up properly?”
