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Chapter 5: Ben
I'm in the zone, going through every file on the Senator’s computer one by one, looking for the proof I need. This might be the easiest hacking job I've ever picked up. His passwords are all the same: his first name followed by 69. Even his security pin is 6969. I mean, come on. I could have used a challenge.
I only need half my brain for this job. The other half is wondering where Lilah’s been. I haven’t caught so much as a glimpse of her since the mowing incident. She didn’t even come out to yell at me when I cut my grass this morning. So disappointing.
I find the file I'm looking for, make copies, and send it to the major news outlets and police from his own email address. I put a base-level encryption on the file so he can't delete anything without the help of someone who has at least double his IQ. It’s a low bar.
I'm backing out of the system when I'm startled by the beeping of my security alarm. Somebody or something tripped the sensor by my front door. Judging by the time, it's probably just a fox or the raccoons again, but I quickly pull up my app and check the video feed. Lilah is on my porch.
Why is Lilah pacing my porch? Better question, why is Lilah pacing my porch at 2:45 in the morning? I try to turn the volume up, but the cameras have terrible audio quality. I make a mental note to replace them as I watch her.
The way she’s pacing suggests she's not in trouble… but unless I’m mistaken, she’s drunk. The little stumble and sway are a dead giveaway. I hurry to the door in my pajama pants. I don't like the thought of her being outside, alone, in the middle of the night. Does she have any sense of self-preservation at all?
When I open the door, Lilah has her back to me and she's walking away. She either doesn't notice or doesn't hear the door open as she takes another step and mutters, "... stupid. So, so stupid."
"Lilah? Are you ok?" I ask quietly, trying not to startle her. She lets out a terrified scream before wheeling around to face me and clamping her hands over her mouth. Mr. Miller's dog barks his head off three houses down.
"Sorry," she whispers guiltily, her eyes wide.
She's wearing a short red dress, all hips and curves and long stretches of leg. She's so beautiful and looks so soft and touchable. I've never wanted a woman like I want her. It's like a physical ache to be this close and not touch her. I'd do almost anything to touch her, taste her, and feel her writhe underneath me.
Great. And now I have half a chub just thinking about it. I'd feel guilty, but she looks me up and down, taking her time as she licks her lips. I nearly groan out loud. How can such a tiny gesture be so fucking sexy?
"Sorry," she repeats as she shakes her head a little, seeming to get a hold of herself. "It's so late. I didn't mean to wake you up."
There's a slight slur to her words and even in this light I can tell her makeup is a little smudged. She's definitely drunk and it’s so damn adorable, but now I’m going to spend every night worried out of my damn mind about whether or not she’s getting home safe.
"I was up... but are you ok? You seem a little drunk." I grin at her as I lean against the door frame, crossing my legs and hiding Mr. Happy before he makes an unwelcome debut.
"I'm not drunk! You're drunk!" she says indignantly before hiccupping. "Ok, I'm a little tipsy. But I'm not drunk!" The black lace bra peeking out of her dress and the mussed makeup are telling another story. I’m torn between wanting to see more of that bra and worrying about her. Something about her sets off every protective instinct I have... but I’m still me, and I can’t help pushing her buttons.
"Why are you drunk—excuse me, tipsy—and pacing my porch at 3 am?" I ask her with a chuckle.
"My sister got engaged, and we were celebrating downtown."
I nod at her like this explains everything.
"And Sven dropped me off at home." She hiccups and examines her shoe, covered in grass clippings, scowling at the green flecks. It’s hard not to smile at her lips pursing like--
Hold up. Who the fuck is Sven?! And why is this douche dropping her off but not making sure she gets inside? Especially when she’s dressed like this? I hate him already.
"Why do you look mad?" She squints at me and sways a little.
"I'm not mad. It just seems like your date should have made sure you were safe inside before driving off." Do I sound sour? Absolutely. I do.
Lilah cackles, hunching over and wrapping her arms around her stomach as she laughs like I'm the funniest guy in the world. She's giving me an amazing view down her dress, but I turn my eyes skyward, cursing my mother for raising me to be a decent guy. I only peek once, because it’s a damn fine view.
"You're jealous of Sven?" she wheezes.
"I'm not jealous, he just sounds like a douche," I retort.
"He's my friend's 50-year-old driver. And he’s gay. I'm not dating him."
That's a relief. She's still giggling, little hiccups mixed in as she wipes a tear from her eye.
"Well, as happy as I am to give you a good laugh, why are you out here in the middle of the night?" I ask.
Lilah pulls her back straight and sets her shoulders, a stern tilt in her eyebrows. "I came off to you!" She jumbles up her words and does an adorable pause as she looks up at her eyebrows. My eyes go wide and all the blood in my body rushes south as I imagine her getting herself off. "I came to tell you off." She sighs as if she’s frustrated, and squeezes her eyes shut. "I'm-not-that-drunk-you-just-make-me-nervous," she whispers in a single breath.
