There’s no mistaking this look. He wants me. I may as well be naked.
“Kate.” The smile he gives me is somehow both calm and nervous. “Do you think about me even half as much as I think about you?”
I freeze. The world stops. If this were a TV show, there’d be a record scratch.
“I—I guess to answer that I’d need to know how much you’re thinking about me,” I stammer.
His eyes are locked on mine. “All the time. When I’m with you, when I’m without you. Since the day we met I’ve thought of almost nothing else. IpretendI don’t. That’s the killer, you know. The pretending. Pretending I don’t have feelings for you, pretending that being friends is enough. I’ve gotten really good at pretending. But goddamn, I’m so tired of it, Kate. Every minute I’m with you that I don’t tell you feels like one step closer to insanity.”
He reaches out and winds a lock of hair that’s fallen over my shoulder around his finger, like he can’t help himself, like he doesn’t even know he’s doing it. Like he’s tethering himself to me.
“I thought if I told you, I’d scare you off, or ruin whatever this is. And it’s good, what we have now. But it’s not what I want, and I can’t keep pretending.”
His voice holds a deep resolve. His expression is so honest and determined and sweet, I wish I had my phone handy so I could snap a picture. I’d make it my wallpaper and stare at it all day. I would, but it’s like someone’s pressed pause on me and I’m stuck in a freeze-frame. My hand is pressed to my mouth, where it’s been ever since the wordspretending I don’t have feelings for youfell out of his mouth.
“I kept thinking if I gave you enough time you’d come around and... I don’t know, want to ruin things too? Sometimes I think you do, but other times...” He squints at me, shaking his head. “I don’t know. I’ve been driving myself crazy trying to figure out the right way to do this, but what I finally realized is, if you find someone who makes you happy, don’t you have a responsibility to tell them? Just say it out loud and go for it?”
I haven’t taken a solid breath since he started talking and I’m slowly dying. Or maybe it’s his words that are making me light-headed. I’mteetering on the ledge of a high cliff, toes over the edge, trying to decide if I’ll fly or die if I jump. My heart is in my throat. His heart is in his eyes. Before he’s even finished speaking, I’m frantically trying to imprint the most beautiful words anyone’s ever said to me on my memory.
I lean into his hand, the one that’s been fussing with my hair, and his palm automatically opens to cradle my cheek. His face is just inches from mine.
I take a deep breath and leap.
“Of course I think about you, Ben. I think about you so much, it’s making me crazy. Where can I sign up for the ruining of things?”
About fifty different emotions kaleidoscope across his face in the span of a few seconds. Surprise. Relief. Joy.Desire.He slides his hand to the back of my neck and pulls me in until we’re nose to nose. His eyes search my face.
“Kiss me already,” I breathe, and his lips are on mine before I even get the words out.
When our mouths touch it’s more than a kiss; it’s a caress. Soft. Warm. Testing. Tasting. When I sigh into his mouth he presses closer, grunting softly and giving my lower lip a gentle bite. I squeak in pleasure and he sweeps his tongue against mine.
Somewhere in the deep recesses of my brain, I know there are people surrounding us, whispered conversations and prying eyes, but I register none of it. He’s my spinning center axis. My body has only one frequency and it’s tuned to the man in front of me. I only know Ben’s lips. Ben’s hands. He tilts my head gently, angling my face to possess my mouth a different way, and I reach up and tangle my fingers in his hair. It’s seconds. It’s hours.
When he pulls away, he rests his brow against mine and the breath that shudders out of him is heavy and rasping. His hand drops to the table and it’s shaking.
Eventually he lifts his head and scans over my shoulder, not meeting my eyes.
“Ben?”
He nods at someone in acknowledgment, raising his hand in the air and making a scribbling motion.
Check, please.
Chapter 23
The next few minutes are a blur.
Ben tows me through the restaurant.
We race across the parking lot.
We’re up against his car.
Ben is frenzied, eyes wild. His hands touch me everywhere: face, hair, back, butt. His kisses are desperate, like I’m air and he’s drowning. His body surrounds mine like a cocoon. I grip his arms and nearly swoon at the muscles I can’t even fit in my hands. I’m overcome by sensations: hard body, soft sweater, warm lips, jaw stubbled like fine-grit sandpaper.
In all the times I imagined this, my only thoughts were of him. How he would feel. Taste. The scent of his skin. The weight of his hands on me. What I didn’t account for wasmyhunger, my need. Now that it’s laid bare, it’s almost violent.
I’m lunging, pouncing, frantically trying to climb him. He’s so tall, and without my extra heel height I’m not getting the access to him I’m craving. My hands scrabble against his shoulders until he grabs me under my thighs and hoists me up. I lock my legs around his waist andcling to him like a spider monkey. I wrap my arms around his neck and devour his mouth. I want to consume him.
