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Ben is out of the car and waiting on the sidewalk, watching me. “Come on. My treat.”
“I told you, I’m not hungry. I’ll wait here. Not checking my list.” I lay on the sarcasm mainly because it pisses me off that I’d totally check it if he hadn’t said something. Ugh, I do feel like I forgot something. But why is that a bad thing? I just want everything to go smoothly for Sarah’s wedding. So, I make a mental note to check the backup list on my phone when the butthead finally goes to get the food he so desperately needs.
There’s hesitation on his face. Something I haven’t seen often, if ever from him. “Josie, I wasn’t making fun of you. I was just illustrating that I know you. Check it if you need to.”
“I don’t. You don’t know me. Or what I need. So please, just stop.” I feel more exposed right now than I did all those times I was paranoid to strip down to a swimsuit when we were teens. Now, I could care less. Mostly. But this makes me feel more vulnerable than being on display in a bikini ever did.
That self-assured look covers his face as his smile grows, his head shaking. “Of course, you don’t need me.” He takes a few steps towards the entrance, and just when I think he’s going to walk away, he abruptly turns and marches back to stand in front of me.
His eyes watch me while his palms press against my car on both sides of me, caging me in place. He leans slightly forward, his smiling lips moving next to my ear. “When you’re not in your car, you scratch your nail on your thigh.” His hand drops, his finger grazing over the fabric of my yoga pants in the exact spot where I do that very thing. The touch feels heightened compared to the sensation my nervous habit leaves behind. It feels right. And it shouldn’t. It’s Ben. The same one who will end up causing me misery, intentional or not. But that doesn’t stop my eyes from dropping to his mouth as he leans back slightly, then moves his lips near mine. I have the fleeting thought to close the distance, lean forward, and kiss him. But the words leaving that trap snaps me back to reality when he says, “Don’t forget there’s a backup list on your phone. I’ll pretend you’re checking for a message from Drewski, that way you can pretend I don’t know you better than he ever did.”
Motherfucker. I don’t know if I want to kiss him or slap him. Both. That’s what I want to do. And it’s the perfect example of what he’s always done to me. How he’s always made me feel. And he enjoys it entirely too much. Every twist and turn of my insides has been his to manipulate for as long as I can recall.
“Yet somehow, spending time with Drew never ended with an ER visit and my wrist in a cast.”
All the smugness slowly fades from his expression and the tightness that replaces it says I finally hit a nerve. Good. I rarely use the moment as ammo. Mainly because I don’t like to remember the day. But right now, it’s worth bringing up to shut down whatever the hell is going on between us in the parking lot of a freakin’ burger joint. And it works. And for the first time since he stepped in front of me today, I’m able to breathe.
Ben slowly backs away before turning and making his way inside the building. It’s a miracle I’ve stayed so cool while being so close to him because the only thing worse than recalling that day is remembering what led to that disastrous ending. A stupid kiss.
