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I wait for him to add to the comment but he doesn’t. He cleans the counter with a spray bottle.
“But that wasn’t your dad standing outside, was it?”
The scowl returns. “No, that’s her latest dipshit boyfriend.”
I squeeze the wine-soaked mop into the bucket. “So it’s just you and your mom? No brothers or sisters?”
He sets the bottle down with a thud and uses a blue cloth on the counter. “None.”
“I know you moved here the year I transferred to Black Mountain but I can’t remember where you’re from.”
“That’s because you never asked and I never told you.”
Ben sure does have this cranky hot guy act down pat. I make an effort not to roll my eyes.
“Where are you from, Ben?”
He turns around to straighten out the rows of cigarettes and chewing tobacco.
“Chicago area.”
“No kidding?” In spite of his grumpiness I’d really like to hear more. “I’ve always had a thing about Chicago. The University of Chicago used to be my dream school.”
He looks at me over his shoulder and raises an eyebrow. “And now it’s not?”
“No. I – well, I can’t move so far away. But is that where you were born? In Chicago?”
His expression shutters. Almost like a switch has been flipped inside his head. His head swivels once more to regard the wall of tobacco and he answers without looking at me.
“Yeah. I was born there.”
He’s lying.
The thought pops into my head and it’s an odd one. Ben would have no reason to lie to me about where he was born. We’re not even friends. He doesn’t care what I think. Yet something about his tone seems off. My dad always teases me about having intuition, which makes it sound like I possess a supernatural talent. I don’t. But ever since I was little I have planned to be a serious journalist someday and so I make an effort to detect clues in the world around me. I think of my future career as something similar to detective work. The objective is the truth. And based on Ben’s quick answer and the way he broke eye contact, I don’t believe he’s telling the truth.
I take the bucket in the back to dump the dirty water into the sink. The floor is as clean as it’s going to get so I rinse off the mop and put everything back where I found it.
By the time I emerge from the stockroom Ben is no longer behind the counter. He’s got his shirt rolled up above his elbows and he’s messing with one of the self-serve coffee machines. I don’t want to notice his forearm muscles or the broadness of his shoulders but I do. In fact I come to a full stop and spend a few seconds looking him over. No matter his attitude, Ben Beltran looks damn good in jeans and common work boots.
I’m staring.
I’m know I’m staring and I can’t stop.
And when Ben turns around he sees that I am staring.
I clear my throat and shake the moment away. “So what did you really tell the McGills to get rid of them? I doubt they were really influenced by a few bags of potato chips.”
He shrugs. “Doesn’t matter. They’re gone.”
“But they did come in here looking for me?”
“Yeah, your name came up.”
My heart sinks a little bit. No one who knows the McGills would enjoy the idea of being on their radar.
Ben notices my distress. “Look, they won’t be bothering you.”
I’m curious. Ben’s a big, strong guy. But the McGill brothers are criminally evil. I doubt they’d back off just because he tells them to.
