Page 87 of Line Change

I came before the elevator returned. Ben swallowed, tucked me back into my jeans, and stood with a hard-on tenting his sweatpants like he hadn’t just made me late.

“I hate you,” I whispered.

He opened the door and checked the hall. “You need to go.”

I made it to the elevator on legs that didn’t work right. Ben was still watching through the crack in his door when it closed.

Tonight, he’s drinking a beer beside me while Micah tries to convince him that foosball requires strategy.

This is different. Ben isn’t squeezing Marlowe’s in before he takes me home. He showed up for Tessa, let her hug him, and handed her a gift bag he chose himself. He has spent most of the night listening to people who don’t care how many faceoffs he won last game.

For once, I don’t have to leave Marlowe’s to have him beside me.

“I need another drink,” Tessa says.

The bottle in front of her is still a quarter full. She wants one before Micah remembers the foosball table and disappears, so I get up.

“I have it,” Ben says, starting to move.

“It’s her birthday. I’m buying.” I pick up the empties. “You can go lose to Micah.”

Ben looks toward the table in the corner. “I’m not losing to Micah.”

That’s all it takes. Micah gets up and tells Ben to prove it. Ben follows him without asking whether I’m coming, which shouldn’t make me as happy as it does. The last time he was here, he barely left my side.

I carry the bottles to the bar and order another round. By the time I get back, Micah is bent over the foosball table arguing that a spin should count, and Ben has both hands flat on the edge while he tells him it doesn’t.

Tessa has moved to the far end of the tables, away from the worst of the traffic. I set her beer down and take the empty chair beside her.

“Thank you.” She lifts the bottle but looks past me toward the game. “Micah likes him.”

“Micah likes anybody who plays that thing with him.”

“He’s cheating,” Tessa says.

Ben blocks a shot and sends the ball hard into Micah’s goal. Micah complains. Ben resets the men for the next serve without giving him the point back. “Yeah, Pope’s going to hate that.”

“He came with you?” Tessa asks.

“Yeah.”

Tessa watches Ben line up the next shot. “Are you two leaving together?”

I take a drink. “We’re in one car.”

She looks at me then. I know I didn’t answer her.

Ben looks over from the foosball table. He finds me immediately, like he needed to check I was still here. Micah scores while Ben is distracted and celebrates loudly enough that people at the bar turn around.

Tessa watches my face. “Nol.”

I want to tell her.

The need comes up so hard it hurts. Ben has been sleeping beside me nearly every night. The man she watched walk stiffly into Marlowe’s for the first time now gets on his knees when the possibility of being caught makes him hard. Somewhere in the last week, I realized I want him as my boyfriend and have no fucking idea what I’m supposed to do with that.

I can’t say any of it without telling her something about Ben he isn’t ready for anyone else to know.

I hated this when I was younger. Every guy I touched became a fact I had to keep away from hockey. I learned how to leave separately and tell stories with the important part missing. Even after I stopped lying, I left enough unsaid that nobody could quote me if I didn’t want them to.