“You’re lucky I’m making you dinner at all after the heckling you did.”
He raises a finger in dispute. “I did notheckle. I merely asked a simple question about his numbers not adding up. He should have been prepared for it.”
“You heckled,” I reiterate, selecting an onion as he trails behind the cart. “I thought your head was going to explode. You were sighing so much, I’m surprised you didn’t pass out.”
“If he said ‘wealth redistribution’onemore time...” he says, then shakes his head. “The important thing is, I’ve proven how open-minded I am. Good luck beating me now.”
“It’s hard to beat you without a task,” I remind him.
“Be careful what you wish for, Katie Cat, especially after that nonsense I just suffered through.” He furrows his brow. “Why are you picking out grapefruit? Is that for tomorrow’s breakfast?”
I sigh loudly. “You need a task.” I tear off the bottom of my list and hand it to him. “Go next door to the liquor store and get the things on that list.”
“Your wish is my command.” He starts to leave before turning back, leaning on the cart with an elbow. “Now, don’t try to check out before I get back. I’m paying for this.”
“You’re darn right you’re paying for this. What do you think, I’m cookingandbuying?”
He’s chuckling as I shoo him away, and I finish gathering the rest of the items on my list without his meddlesome snooping.
I’m playing it cool, but I’m pretty anxious about this dinner. There’s been a noticeable shift in our dynamic over the last couple of weeks, a simmering undercurrent of tension that coats every one of our interactions like pollen in springtime. I see or hear from Ben every day, whether it’s a spontaneous drop-by, a lunch, a text, or more recently, when he seems to magically finish up work the same time I do so he can walk me home. I tell myself I’m letting him because it’ll get my mom off my back, but I’m not sure who I’m trying to fool. Those walks are the best part of my day.
Another thing that’s changed? The amount of flirtatious physical contact between us has skyrocketed. Every one of his hugs, hands on the back, and playful hair ruffles triggers deep theoretical analysis when I’mlying in bed at night. I’m sure a casual observer wouldn’t bat an eyelash at our low-level PDA, but compared to how we behaved before? We may as well be publicly fornicating on the steps of the White House.
Stephen’s taken to calling us “friends without benefits,” and it’s excruciatingly accurate. It’s bizarre, this romantic purgatory I’ve found myself stranded in. I’ve never had a guy best friend before (a straight one, anyway); is this what it’s like? Constant flirting with no hope of it leading anywhere? If so, I’d like to unsubscribe. Delete my account. I’m so sexually frustrated, I could scream.
By the time he gets back from the liquor store, I’m ready to check out. He insists on carrying all the bags, so I load him up like a pack mule. Between his massive workbag, the liquor bags, and the grocery bags, I’m thanking God he can bench-press twice my body weight.
His building reallyisclose to mine—like catty-corner close. When I realize, I widen my eyes and whisper,“Stalker,”but he only laughs.
Ben’s phone starts ringing as he’s shouldering into the apartment. Since my hands are free, I pluck it out of his pants pocket, trying to ignore their dangerous proximity to his crotch.
“You have a FaceTime call fromMom,” I report, unable to suppress my grin. “How sweet that you’re FaceTiming now, too.”
He groans. “I did it once and created a monster. Just let it ring through.” He heads in the direction of what I assume is his kitchen.
“Sure thing,” I tell him, then pressACCEPT. This should be fun.
“Hi, Mrs. Mackenzie? This is Ben’s friend Kate. He has his hands full, but he wanted to makesurehe didn’t miss your call.”
Ben’s head swivels one hundred eighty degrees. He’s Linda Blair inThe Exorcist. His look of abject distress has already made this little gamble worth it.It’s payback time, buddy.
The woman on the screen has shoulder-length brown hair the sameshade as Ben’s, round cheeks, and a friendly smile that’s familiar. “Oh! Kate, it’s so nice to meet you! I’ve heard so much about you. And please, call me Susan,” she chatters in a lilting Texas twang. Her eyes are lit with excitement as she takes me in, her effusive hopefulness radiating through the screen like sunshine. She may even be more transparent than my own mother.
Moms.I guess once you’re single past a certain age, they’re all the same.
“You have? Well, isn’t that just so sweet of him?” I say, playing up my southern accent. I keep an eye on Ben’s agitated form in the kitchen as he frantically tries to free himself from his plastic web. “I’d justloveto hear what he’s told you.”
He’s across the room and snatching the phone out of my hand before the words are even out. “Never mind that, Mom.” He shoots me a dirty look.
You don’t screen moms,I mouth to him, then call out, “Nice to meet you, Susan! Hopefully we’ll talk again soon.”
I’m snickering as I head into his kitchen and busy myself unloading and organizing the dinner ingredients. He has basic cooking utensils, but it’s pretty sparse. I open drawers and find one dedicated entirely to takeout menus and another full of assorted tools. Apparently Ben is really into pliers, because he has like six pairs. If I have jewelry that needs fixing, I’ll know just where to go.
His mom’s voice drifts over from the living room. “Oh, Ben, she’s lovely. She’s as pretty as you said.”
I freeze.
“Mother,” he says sharply.
