Totally and Completely Fine(69)

“My first drink was a Smirnoff Ice,” Allyson said.

Everyone at the table visibly shuddered.

“Hey,” she said. “I was a teenager. You take what you can get.”

“I stole whiskey from my dad’s liquor cabinet,” Ollie said. “A cigar too. I’d never been so sick in my entire life.”

“You went all in,” I said.

“Sure did,” Ollie said. “What about you? Lauren? Peter? First drinking stories.”

“Mine’s boring,” Peter said. “Flat beer from a keg in someone’s basement.”

“Mine was beer too,” I said, but didn’t elaborate.

Because it had been a beer stolen from one of Gabe’s ever-present six-packs, and I’d never fessed up to taking it, even though he accused me of it for months after.

“I was never a big drinker,” I said.

“Me neither,” Ben said.

He smiled at me.

With each passing moment it became harder and harder to remember why the whole Ben thing was a bad idea. Why I needed to stay away from him when all I wanted to do was crawl into his lap and thread my fingers through his hair. When I wanted to give his necklaces a tug, pulling his lips to mine, feeling the cool steel of his ring against my hip.

Ben’s hand was back on my leg. He squeezed gently.

I tried not to sigh audibly.

Across the table, Allyson yawned. Loudly.

“I am exhausted,” she said.

An actress she was not, though Juniper’s was getting emptier and emptier by the moment.

“Are you ready to go back to your place?” Peter asked, about to rise from his chair, but Allyson put a hand on his shoulder.

“Why don’t you stay out?” she said. “I’m sure Ollie could give you a ride home.”

“I’d love to,” Ollie said, taking Peter’s arm and pulling him back into his seat.

Peter’s face was bright red.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“Absolutely,” Allyson said, before turning to look at me. “You’ll get the check, right? Let me know what I owe you?”

What she owed me.

Ha.

I imagined it hadn’t been easy to be the odd man out during this hormonally charged meal, but she left the table with a smile. There was a long pause.

I ate one of the remaining french fries even though they were cold.

Ben cleared his throat.

“You know,” Ollie said, “I have a great bottle of wine at my hotel.”

“I love wine,” Peter said.

“Great,” Ollie said.

They both got up as if it had been choreographed.

“Have a good night,” Ben said, draping an arm over the back of my chair.

“We will,” Ollie said.

They left. And then there were two.

“I can drive you home,” Ben said.

“I can walk,” I said.

“Or you can let me drive you home.”

“Okay.”

I ate another fry. Ben played with my hair, his hand out of sight. I didn’t stop him, even though I knew I should. This whole thing felt dangerous. The restaurant was mostly empty, but now, without the others to provide the illusion of a group outing, it was just Ben and me at our table. If we stayed too long, people would begin to talk.

It should have made me nervous. Instead, it just made me hotter.

What was wrong with me?

“I thought about what you said this afternoon,” Ben said. “You really only have yourself to blame.”

I almost choked on my fry. “Excuse me?”

“You were the one who raved about Juniper’s,” he said. “And told me about the gym, and Birds and Beasleys, and the Panhandler—”

“You’ve been to the Panhandler too?” I asked.

It was an all-purpose store at the far end of the walking mall that mostly specialized in cooking and baking supplies.

He nodded. “Talked to the owner for a while about whether or not raisins belong in cookies. He was pro. I was against.”

“You talked to Rich about cookies?” I asked.

“Nice guy,” he said.

“Is there anyone in town you don’t know?”

He shrugged. “There are a few people I’m hoping to get to know better.”

I narrowed my eyes at him.

“I’m talking about you,” he said.

“Yes, I gathered that,” I said, and sighed. “What do you want to know?”

“Don’t look so excited,” he said. “I’m just curious.”

“You’re curious?” I echoed. “I barely know anything about you.”

“Ask,” he said.

“What about your mother?”

He leaned back in his seat.

“What about her?”

“You don’t talk about her,” I said, knowing I was digging into something very personal.

“She died,” he said. “When I was fourteen.”

“Oh,” I said. “I’m sorry.”

“Thank you,” he said.

“Fourteen,” I said. “Isn’t that when—”

“My father sent me to boarding school?” Ben took a sip of water. “Yep. Right after the funeral.”