I ogle his backside as he leans over to switch off the TV. If I had loose change handy, I’d toss some at him and watch it bounce off. When he turns back around, I run a quick audit. Today he has on a silvery-green tie with a pattern of tiny diamonds all over it. His shirt is neatly tucked into navy suit pants, his brown leather belt right at my eye level, though I refuse to let my gaze stray south of the equator. His sleeves are haphazardly rolled to his elbows, a heavy-looking watch hugging his left wrist, and all I can think is:Forearms. Hair.His casual handsomeness makes my stomach hurt.
I need to quit noticing everything about him. Maybe if I pinch myself every time I do, I can train myself to stop, like one of Pavlov’s dogs. Or I could try electroshock therapy. Hypnosis.
I want to squeeze my eyes shut and crawl under my desk, but I force a smile instead and watch him eat. He’s like a human vacuum cleaner, devouring everything in his path.
I prop my chin on my hand. “So do you really believe all that stuff?”
“You’re referring to...?”
I nod toward the TV.
“Ah.” He finishes chewing, then swallows. “Passing that bill wasn’t going to change anything and you know it.”
“So I guess we shouldn’t try.”
He takes another bite, not answering.
“How does it feel to be on the wrong side of history?”
“Upholding the Constitution feels great, actually, thanks for asking.”
I roll my eyes.
“Look, you really don’t want to debate me on the Second Amendment. I will nail you to the wall.”Sweet baby Jesus.
My mind immediately goes to A Bad Place. I’m in Christian Grey’s red room of pain and Ben’s got me in wall restraints. He smiles seductively as he skims down my torso with a riding crop.
When he speaks again, I nearly seize out of my skin. “You’ve been warned.”
“Right, because ‘assault weapons for everyone’ was what our forefathers had in mind when they wrote about a well-regulated militia.”
“You werethere? Please tell me about your conversation with the framers of our Constitution.” Ben is feisty today.
“So you think anyone should be able to order a gun on the internet, no questions asked?”
“Notnoquestions asked.” He hoovers his last bite, then eyes my untouched wrap like a stalking predator.
“Don’t even think about it.”
As he smirks, a disturbing realization settles in my gut. I’m about to ask a question I don’t want the answer to.
“Doyouown a gun?”Please say no.
He blinks at me. “Of course I do. I’m from Texas, Kate.”
I taste acid. I want to rail at him. I want to howl in frustration. I want to erase the last ten minutes of my memory,Men in Blackstyle.
“What?” he asks. Guess my crappy poker face is betraying me again.
“That’s just...sodisappointing.” Understatement of the century. I feel like throwing up.
“Why?” He looks genuinely interested. “I shouldn’t be allowed to defend myself? Exercise my American right to own a firearm?”
“You should do whatever you want, Ben.”
I’m suddenly drained, my desire for debate dead and buried. As if I needed another reminder of why we’ll never work.
“You’re the one who picked this fight. Defend your position.”
