He drops his forehead to the side of my head and I hear him laughing quietly. His mouth rests against my ear and I swear I can hear the smile in his voice when he says, “God, I’ve missed you so damn much.”
That one sentence affects me more than anything he’s said all night, and I don’t know if it’s because it felt like the old Fallon and Ben for a second, or if it’s because he removes his hand and wraps his arms around me, pulling me into one of his soul-crushing embraces. His forehead rests against mine, and I almost wish he would have kept going with the physical stuff, because that’s way easier than the emotional stuff.
As good as it feels to be back in his arms again, I’m scared I’m screwing up. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know if I should let him back into my life so easily, because the getting together part should be just as hard as the letting go part and this feels way too easy for him. I need time, I think. I don’t know. I don’t feel capable of making this kind of decision right now.
“Fallon,” he says, his voice low.
“Yeah?” I breathe out.
“Come home with me. I want to talk to you, but I don’t want to do it here.”
We’re back to this again. It makes me wonder if he’s being so persistent because there’s only a few hours left of November 9th and he wants to make the most of it, or if he wants me on all the other days, too.
I feel behind me for the door handle. When I find it, I push against Ben’s chest and pull the door open. When I slip outside, his hand is on my right elbow and someone else grasps my left elbow. I gasp, just as my eyes meet Amber’s.
“I was looking for you,” she says. “What are you doing in . . .” Her question comes to a halt when she sees Ben walk out behind me. And then, “Sorry to interrupt this reunion, but Teddy is worried about you.”
She’s looking at me like she’s disappointed in my decision to be making out in a dark closet with Ben while my date is in the same building, and Oh, my God, now that I think about it, that’s a really shit thing to do.
“Crap!” I say. “I have to get back to the table.”
Ben makes a face like that’s the last thing he expected to come out of my mouth.
“Good choice,” Amber says, eyeing Ben.
He can find me later. I have to get back to the table before Theodore realizes how pathetic I am. I follow Amber back to the booth, but luckily it’s loud enough that I can’t understand anything she’s saying. I can tell she’s lecturing me, though. We no more than slide back into our booth when Ben pulls up a chair and plops it down at the end of the table. He takes a seat and folds his arms in front of him.
Theodore puts his arm around my shoulders and leans in. “You okay?”
I force a quick smile and a nod, but I give him nothing more, considering Ben looks like he’s about to crawl over the table and rip Theodore’s arm away from my body.
I adjust myself so that Theodore doesn’t think I’m reciprocating his affection. I lean forward, away from his arm, as if I have something I want to say to Amber. Just as I open my mouth, Ben’s hand strokes my knee beneath the table. My eyes swing to Ben’s and he shoots me an innocent look.
Luckily, Glenn steals Theodore’s attention, so he doesn’t notice when my entire body tenses. Ben begins to rake his fingers up my thigh, so I reach beneath the table and flick his hand away. He smiles and leans back in his seat.
“So,” Amber says, turning her attention toward Ben. “Since we all just met you fifteen minutes ago and know absolutely nothing about you, since we’ve never been around you before, because we’re all complete strangers, why don’t you tell us about yourself? What do you do? Theodore says you’re a writer? Are you writing anything interesting? A love story, maybe? How’s that going?”
I kick Amber under the table. Could she be more obvious?
Ben laughs, and now that Amber just spat out the most random question in the world, Theodore and Glenn are both staring at Ben, waiting for him to answer.
“Well,” Ben says, straightening up in his seat. “As a matter of fact, yes. I am a writer. I’ve had a really bad case of writer’s block this year, though. Really terrible. Haven’t written a single word in 365 days. But oddly enough, I think I just had a major breakthrough a few minutes ago.”
“Imagine that,” Amber says, rolling her eyes.
I lean forward, deciding to join in on this cryptic conversation. “You know, Ben. Writer’s block can be a tricky thing. Just because you had a breakthrough a few minutes ago doesn’t mean it’s permanent.”