揃ye, babe,?Keeley says. 揟ell me how the sex was when he leaves your room.?
I hang up, and Ben turns to me. 揝o who抯 the lucky sixty-nine-year-old??
I roll my eyes. 揧our dad.?
He smirks. 揗y dad is dead.?
揟hat,?I reply, 搘ould explain why he抯 been so pleasantly quiet in bed.?
He looks absolutely staggered for a moment. And then he starts to laugh. I抦 not sure I抳e really heard him laugh before, at least not in a completely sinister way. I wouldn抰 have expected it to sound so卪ale, so pleased, all at once. I have to swallow my desire to smile in response.
After takeoff, I load up a movie while Ben makes himself comfortable, spreading his long legs wider, his knee almost brushing mine in the cramped space. He links his fingers over his very toned stomach梐gain, not that I notice梐nd closes his eyes. If his even breathing is to be trusted, he抯 fallen asleep. I have this inexplicable urge to look over at him, but we抮e halfway across the country before I finally give into it. My gaze brushes over his long lashes, his irritatingly imperfect-yet-perfect nose. I wonder how he broke it and why it抯 so goddamn hot to me, that small flaw. It抯 like an arrow pointing directly toward his generous mouth.
揂re you staring at me??he asks.
His eyes are closed. I have no idea how he even knew. Must be some skill he gained via his last pact with Satan.
揕ike I don抰 see enough of you already,?I reply and force my eyes forward.
揥hat are you watching??
I pause the movie and remove one headphone. 揝uite Fran鏰ise. You wouldn抰 like it. Subtitles, big words, no explosions.?
揑t does sound extremely unappealing,?he agrees. 揕et me guess: it抯 all about a woman抯 journey to tackle her inner demons and survive by acknowledging the hidden parts of herself??
It抯 irritating, how freaking often he抯 right.
揑sn抰 it just the worst when movies show women growing and succeeding on their own??
揑 prefer realistic films,?he says, his arm brushing mine, his muscular thighs spreading wider.
I don抰 know if I want to laugh or punch him, but that devil is in my chest, baiting me again, and it抯 never been harder to ignore him than it is right now.
10
The hotel lobby is full of older women wearing purple hats, though eleven p.m. seems like an unusual hour for a horde of senior citizens to be mingling in identical attire. Based on the amount of grumbling I hear while standing in the world抯 longest check-in line, the hotel is overbooked.
Thanks to both books and Hallmark movies, I fully expect the clerk to tell me there抯 been a mix-up when I finally reach the front desk. You and Mr. Tate will have to share a room, she抣l say. It has a twin bed, is only lit by romantic candlelight, and there抯 nothing else available in the entire state. You抣l be sleeping in his t-shirt, and he will be completely nude.
Instead, she simply tells me my room is ready. I will, apparently, not need to share a bed or somehow accidentally brush up against his erection. It feels a little anti-climactic if I抦 being honest.
His room is beside mine, so we head upstairs together, fighting for space in the crowded elevator. Neither of us has mentioned dinner or drinks, which is probably for the best, given the hour. I抳e had more than enough of his quiet laugh and his knee brushing mine for one night anyway.
He fumbles with his keycard while I fumble with mine. We抣l be sleeping feet apart. This shouldn抰 be a big deal, and it抯 not a big deal, but I抦 suddenly picturing thin walls, the sound of a stifled groan coming from his side. 搾Night,?I croak, flushing. I push the door open with unnecessary force.
And despite my best intentions, I listen more carefully than I should once I抳e climbed into bed. There抯 the slide of the closet door, the creak of a headboard as he leans against it, a news anchor抯 low, even drone.
I don抰 hear him groan even once, but God I can imagine it. I can so fucking imagine it.
I arrive in the lobby the next morning to discover Ben waiting. He抯 fresh from the shower, his hair still damp, his suit perfectly cut. He抯 clean-shaven but you can already tell it won抰 last. He looks like a model in an ad for expensive watches or men抯 cologne.
揧ou抎 probably move faster if you抎 wear relatively normal shoes,?he says, with a click of his tongue, glancing from my favorite black heels to his watch. His odious personality has come to the rescue again, squashing any transient feelings of lust I might otherwise have had.
揑 don抰 need to move faster,?I snap, 揵ecause I was early. And what抯 wrong with my shoes??
He holds the door of the car and climbs in beside me. 揧our outfit screams accidentally sexy librarian, but those shoes belong on a dominatrix.?