“Of course! Just name the day.”
“Great.” He beams, gesturing to the empty seat across from me. “Want some company? I was just grabbing something before our two o’clock. Can I get you anything?”
“She’s all taken care of.”
Ben shoulders between us, claiming the empty seat and setting down a tray piled with a veritable mountain of food. From where I’m standing I see a sandwich, a container of yogurt, a bananaandan apple, a massive chocolate chip cookie, and two water bottles. He slides one over to me and starts unwrapping his sandwich, ignoring John entirely.
“John, do you know Ben Mackenzie?” I blurt, trying to compensate for Ben’s rudeness.
John flashes Ben his practiced politician’s smile and holds out a hand. “I think we’ve met before. At Riordan’s retirement lunch last year?”
Ben’s eyes flick to me. “Sounds about right.” He shakes John’s proffered hand and I watch John wince a little.
“You were at that lunch too?” I say to Ben in surprise. “Huh, so was I.”
“I’m pretty sure the entire district was at that lunch.” His eyes land on John’s lapel pin and he snorts under his breath. He picks up his sandwich and takes a massive bite, effectively eliminating his ability to converse.
I narrow my eyes at him. Whatever happened toI don’t choose my friends based on party affiliation?
John’s gaze slides back to me, his signature smile a little strained. “I’ll see you at two, then?”
“Absolutely.”
I inject as much warmth into my voice as possible in an attempt to defuse this weird tension. He nods at me, shooting Ben a dark look as he heads off to join the lunch line.
I sink into my chair and level a glare at Ben. “What wasthatall about?”
He frowns, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “What waswhatall about?”
“Are you PMSing or something? You were so rude to him.”
“I don’t have time to make small talk with every Tom, Dick, and Harry who wants to stand over you and drool.”
“He wasn’tdrooling,” I hiss, glancing anxiously toward the line. I think John’s pretending not to watch us. “He’s my colleague. Kind of like howyou’remy colleague?”
He makes a face. “He’s such a politician.” He sayspoliticianlike others might saySatan.
“Um, hello? We work for politicians.”
“We might work for them, but that doesn’t mean I’d want todateone.”
Whoa.“Who said anything about dating him? He’s mycoworker.”
“Pretty sure I just heard you agree to go out with him.”
“That’s to catch up onwork. He’s been out of town.” I don’t know why I feel the need to justify this. “Anyway, moving on.”
“So what’s your big news?” he asks, munching on his apple now.
I thought you’d never ask.“I know what you’re doing for our bet!”
“You actually going to follow through this time?” he taunts, and I make a face.
Over the past couple of weeks, I’ve tossed out a number of potential bets designed to make any dyed-in-the-wool conservative squirm: an immigration rally, an LGBTQ+ Pride parade, a climate change seminar. The only problem is, every time I propose something, Ben agrees readily, even actingexcitedabout going. Maybe he’s bluffing, but since the reaction I’m going for is moreextreme painthanenthusiasm, I keep demurring at the last second. Even more vexing is that he’s playing coy about his plans for me, saying only that “he’ll know when he’s hit on it” and “you can’t rush genius.”Eye roll.
“Well, don’t keep me in suspense. What will I be doing?”
I pluck the flyer from my purse and slap it down on the table. “Oscar Vega is holding a fundraiser, and we’re going.”
