by Grey, R. S.
My eyes go wide. My cheeks burn hot.
“What?! No I didn’t!”
He chuckles. “Come on, Madison. It was all in good fun—part of your plan, remember?”
Of course. All part of my plan.
What’s my plan again?
“So even if that waitress hadn’t interrupted, nothing would have happened?”
“What kind of man do you take me for?”
A dangerously tempting one.
He smiles, and ah, yes. He knows exactly how I feel. I’m sure of it.
He’s not fooling me.
This friendship is starting to get messy. You can’t flirt and text and touch as much as we do without crossing some lines. Doesn’t he realize that?
I decide to put a stop to this conversation by sending him over to the ladder I asked Lenny to bring down. We have work to do. Today’s story time is winter wonderland themed. My dress is ice blue and I have a snowman clip in my hair.
I want to hang paper snowflakes from the ceiling for the kids. They’ll flip, and fortunately, Ben is game. He takes off his jacket and sets down his coffee before he climbs right on up. I hand him a couple of snowflakes connected to strings and then step back to watch him work.
His shirt rides up as he stretches to attach the first one, and I catch a few inches of his toned torso. I nearly lick my chops. Good thing he’s too busy to notice.
“Is that good?” he asks, in reference to the snowflake.
I mumble something inaudible then scurry back to my table. I’m glad I have a solid objective to get back to: arranging a pile of snowballs.
“Do you have plans later? Andy wants us all to watch a movie at his house.”
“Us?”
“You, me, Arianna, Kevin, Eli.”
It seems I have no choice. I’ll be spending the evening in Ben’s company, suffering, keeping my dirty thoughts to myself.
“And I told him to pick something scary,” he continues.
I glance back over, glad to see his shirt has fixed itself. Thank God.
“Why?”
So I’ll be forced to cower in fear? Sidle up close? Hide my face against his chest?
His brow arches. “Because you want to be bad, Hart. Blood and gore go hand in hand with that, don’t you think?”
So it has nothing to do with us touching. Fine.
I turn around and return to my task. We work in silence and I wonder if I should bring up the boyfriend search again as a way to test the waters between us. It’s an underhanded tactic, maybe even a little childish, but it’s the only tool I’ve got, so I’ll use it.
“I’ve been wondering,” I start. “How has the search been going for my nice guy?” He grunts, but I trudge on. “You know, since Andy rejected me…I keep expecting you to find someone to take his place.”
“I’ve been too busy at the firm to think much about it.”
His tone sounds stiff.
“Oh?” I start to arrange the name tags. “That’s understandable. You know what? Maybe you could find someone to invite to Andy’s tonight,” I suggest sweetly, as if getting my hopes up. “What better way to get to know someone than in a group setting?”
“Wouldn’t work,” he says brusquely, shutting the door on the subject.
I frown.
“Why?”
“The numbers would be all off. Andy has two couches and two chairs in his living room. With seven people, someone would have to sit on the floor.”
“So we’ll just bring in a chair from the kitchen.”
“Hand me another snowflake, will you?”
Ah, so he’s just going to ignore me then. Wonderful. It’s as if the whole topic bores him, which makes sense. He’s never been in my shoes. He’s never had to go years starved for affection, yearning to know what it feels like to just…
I resist the urge to groan and yank my hair.
He was right earlier—I did think he was going to take advantage of me in that hallway. I wanted him to!
“Madison. Snowflake.”
Right. I grab some off the table and walk over to the ladder so I can pass them off to him. My shoulders are sagged. My smile is wiped clean.
Even on my tiptoes, our hands barely touch. He stares down at me with a grim expression.
“Just…not tonight, okay?” he asks, his eyes imploring me to drop the subject. “Let’s just hang out with the group and we can figure out that boyfriend stuff later.”
I hate that he wants to shelve the topic. It might not be a big deal to him, but it is to me.
I thought we were getting somewhere. I thought I was going to back him into a corner so he’d be forced to come clean one way or the other. Instead, he chose a third route, one I didn’t even see coming: total indifference.
15
Ben
A warm front is moving into Clifton Cove today, the first of the season. I’ve been tracking the weather a lot this week. I turn on the morning news and listen to the meteorologist droning on about the terrible storm headed our way. They weren’t kidding. Last night, it rained cats and dogs, and it’s still drizzling right now. I see it through my office window.
I don’t mind though. With the rain comes the heat, not nearly as warm as it gets here in the middle of the summer, but it’ll be warm enough for a plan I’m debating putting into action tonight.
It’s been two months since I first started volunteering with Madison. I’ve endured two months of hanging out with our fledgling friend group, of forcing a distance between us and ensuring my hands stay to myself as much as possible. We text all the time. We’re building a relationship that neither one of us is acknowledging.
Her family still doesn’t know about us and other than the stunt I pulled in the diner, I’ve respected that fact. She never has to insist that I park around the block from her house when I drive her home. I do it because I don’t want to make her life any harder. I do it because spending time with her is the best part of my week, because when she’s in my car, I feel like…
I can’t finish the thought.
I’m a mess.
Since the picnic when she asked me if I found her attractive (in a hypothetical sense), we haven’t delved into feelings, no talk of romance and seduction and the urge I have to suppress every time I’m within ten feet of her. I want to kiss her, all the time—in that hallway at the diner, when she was curled up on the couch beside me at Andy’s house for movie night, when she’s reading a story aloud to the kids in the library, when she wears the green dress that matches her eyes.
I’m a man falling, though I’ve tried to convince myself otherwise.
For Christ’s sake, I’m supposed to be finding her some other guy to date.
Andy finds the whole thing truly hilarious. He thinks I’ve really stepped in shit this time.
“It’s so poetic, don’t you see? The universe is finally setting things straight for guys like me. All these years, I’ve had to endure women throwing themselves at you. Now you want Madison and she doesn’t want you. No, wait—she can’t want you. There’s a difference, and you’re having to really mind your manners. Have you even kissed her?”
“Get out of my office.”
“Oh man, no kiss? You’ve thought about it though, right?”
“I’m going to physically remove you.”
“I’d like to see you try—I’m heavier than I look. So, what’s your plan? Stay in the friend zone? Bet you’ve never been here before. It sucks, doesn’t it? Suffering day in and day out and knowing there’s nothing that can come from it.”
I stand up from my desk then, prepared to make good on my promise to forcibly remove him.
He leaps to his feet and holds out his hands to fend me off. “Hey, hey. Okay, I hear you loud and clear. You’re obviously a man possessed.”
I stop short and prop my hands on my hips.
“So what are you going to do about it?” he prods.
“I don’t know.”
He shakes his head, all humor erased
from his eyes. “I don’t believe you. In our first year of law school, you’d already outlined our firm’s five-year growth plan. You’re always ten steps ahead of everyone around you. It’s the way your brain operates. You want Madison—are you really not going to fight to get her?”
His words are a constant taunt through the remainder of my day.
Am I going to fight for her?
It’s a tricky situation. Her family doesn’t like me, and there’s not much I can do about that. I can’t shed my last name or make myself meek. I can’t minimize who I am, and I won’t, not even to gain their acceptance. In truth, half the things they assume are accurate. I did grow up privileged, and I’ve had the world at my fingertips. But, my mom’s death ensured that I know what’s most important in life. I want a family. I want a house that’s a home, not an empty shell. I want to love someone the way my parents loved each other, through thick and thin, through sickness and health.
As to my initial reservations about whether or not I’m the right man for her…well, maybe I’m selfish enough not to care about that anymore. Madison said she wants a nice guy, but she’s never been stripped down…seduced…desired. How does she know what she wants?
Maybe I’ll just have to show her.
* * *
Later that night, I’m standing in front of her house with a rock in my hand. I honestly can’t believe I’m doing this. Her dad could still be awake. A neighbor could spot me. I could misjudge my strength and shatter the glass.
A car turns the corner and I hit the deck, hiding behind the bushes until their taillights fade. This is ridiculous. If Madison lived on her own, I wouldn’t feel like a teenager right now. As it is, I could just call her and tell her to come outside, but this feels like it fits better with her plan. She wants me to make her bad. What’s worse than sneaking out of your parents’ house?
I push back up to my feet and cup my hands around my mouth.
“Madison,” I hiss, careful not to project too much.
Nothing.
Another car. Another few minutes hidden in the bushes. A wandering raccoon spots me and stares, judging.
I shoo it away and stand back up.
“Madison!” I shout, this time a little louder, and then I follow it up with a carefully tossed rock. I flinch, waiting for glass to break, but it pings right off. Such skill. Such mastery. I look back to see if the raccoon was watching.
A noise catches my attention overhead and I glance up to see her window slide open. A moment later, Madison’s head pops out.
“Ben?” she whisper-shouts. “What the hell are you doing? You’re crushing my dad’s azaleas.”
Whatever. Just one more reason for him to hate me.
I wave her down. “C’mon. You’re sneaking out.”
She laughs and then slaps a hand over her mouth, cautious of the noise. We both stay silent, waiting. A moment later, the house is still quiet. We didn’t wake her dad up. Yet.
“My dad only went to bed a few minutes ago,” she explains.
“So just be extra quiet when you climb down.”
“Are you serious right now? I’m not sure I can handle another injury to the head. Why don’t I just sneak out the front door?”
Sure, she could tiptoe downstairs and walk through the front door, but this night is not about playing it safe. Her window opens to a slanted roof. She can easily step out and then walk to the edge and lower herself down. I’ll be underneath her, prepared to ease her fall.
Of course, when I explain this to her, she doesn’t seem all that convinced.
I throw my hands up in defeat. “Do you want to be bad or not?”
She fists her hands then walks away from the window, and I think she’s gone for good. I’ll be standing out here alone all night. That raccoon’s going to get the last laugh.
Then her head pops out a second later and she groans. “Okay I’ll do it! Just let me change!”
“No need. Where we’re going, it won’t matter.”
I don’t hear the things she grumbles under her breath as she checks to make sure her dad is still asleep. A minute later, something hard falls out of the window and lands in the bushes.
“Oops! Sorry,” she cries. “I meant to say heads up.”
It must have been her phone. We’ll get it later.
Her slender leg peeks out of the window and then she hoists herself up and over the ledge. Okay, maybe in hindsight, she could have worn something a little more practical than a flimsy nightgown. Her hair isn’t even tied up. The long strands are blowing in every direction. She wraps her arms around her midsection and squeezes. It’s not that cold, but then I’m wearing jeans and a jacket.
She stands up there gazing down at me. I shouldn’t be thinking she’s beautiful, but Madison has a way of looking incredible in the least convenient moments.
Her nightgown cuts off at mid-thigh. From where I stand, I have a dangerously tempting view. I force myself to be a gentleman as I tell her what I want her to do.
“Lower yourself down slowly and by the time you’re hanging, I should be able to reach you. Got it?”
“Okay. I trust you, but I’m just wondering if I should go back in for some ice packs before we continue.”
“Madison,” I admonish. “C’mon, I’ve got you. I swear.”
She does exactly as I say and soon enough, her calf is within reach. I lock my hand around it and like the good guy I’m pretending to be, I don’t notice how silky smooth it is.
“Keep going. I can almost reach your thigh.”
“Don’t look up my dress!” she hisses.
“I’m not,” I insist, sounding deeply affronted.
But just to be clear, she’s wearing panties with a flower print on them—pink, if I’m not mistaken.
“Okay, lower yourself down a little more.”
My other hand skims up her thigh. This is the most I’ve touched her. Sure, there’ve been a few fleeting moments like at the tattoo shop and diner, but normally we’re on a strictly need-to-touch basis. Incidents include a game of leapfrog during story time (Her hands were on my shoulders. Her butt grazed my forehead as she jumped over me. Incidentally, I love that game now), and last week, I dragged her away from the library for lunch in the middle of the week. After our meals arrived, we both reached for the ketchup bottle at the same time. Our fingers accidentally brushed and you would have thought I’d just slid my hand into her panties. She stumbled over her words. I jerked the bottle away and then thrust it toward her.
“Here, you go,” I said.
“No. Go. You,” she responded.
Neither of us could form whole sentences for a solid five minutes.
Now, my hand is sliding up her nightgown. I’m lost to the feel of her thighs. They’re so smooth. I want them wrapped around my face.
“Ben! I’m going to let go now!”
Shit.
Reality slaps me across the face. Madison is dangling precariously from her roof. I’m the only thing between her and certain death, or at least a seriously rolled ankle.
“Not yet!” I hiss, trying to keep my voice down. “I need to get a better grip on you. Can you lower down a little more so I can get your waist?”
She tries and fails. “Ah! My hands are slipping!” she cries.
Everything happens at once. She lets go. I reach for her and…she lands daintily in my arms. It’s so unexpected that we both blink at each other in silence, trying to discern if there are any serious injuries we’ve yet to realize. Does she still have all her limbs?
“Are you hurt?” I ask hesitantly.
“I’m fine,” she says, wetting her bottom lip.
I’m not the only one here with their mind in the gutter.
“You weren’t a very soft thing to land on, though. Your chest feels like a rock,” she whispers, gaze on my mouth. “Am I heavy?”
I shake my head. Her eyes are two Jumbotrons blaring the kiss cam. She wants me to lean in and put my mouth on hers so bad, it’s a wonder s
he doesn’t scream.
But, we’re on a mission, so I set her down and lead her to my car.
We’re halfway across the lawn when she remembers something and doubles back. Oh, right, her phone. Except the thing she picks up and dusts off isn’t a phone. It’s a half-full bottle of whiskey.
She holds it up proudly as I open the door for her. “I have no idea where you’re taking me, but I figure this can’t hurt.”
Our destination is very close by and just as deserted as I hoped it would be.
Not many people want to be on the beach at night in early April. There’s still a chill in the air. A full moon hangs heavy in the sky, and a few waves lap lazily against the shore.
“Swimming at night? That’s dangerous,” she says, cradling the bottle of alcohol against her chest.
I didn’t take her for much of a drinker, much less hard liquor.
“Sure you need that?” I ask, watching her uncork the bottle and brace herself for a shot.
“Oh yes. Positive. I have a feeling I know what you’re going to suggest we do.”
We lean against my car as she takes short, shallow sips followed by howls of disgust. She wipes aggressively at her mouth and emits a passionate blergh sound any time the alcohol passes across her tongue.
“Think you’ve had enough?” I ask, tempted to reach out and take the bottle from her. She’s small. A little of that stuff can go a long way.
“Hold on. One more sip,” she says, bracing her shoulders and steeling her spine. I watch as she uses her right hand to run through the sign of the cross and then she tips that bottle back for a nice long swig.
When she’s done, she shudders. I cork the whiskey, set it in my car, and close the door.
“Okay. I’m ready,” she says, shaking out her hands. “I feel like there’s a fire burning in my belly now. Say the dare.”
“Skinny dipping.”
The two words make her mouth form a perfect O.
“Wait, I thought we were just going to go swimming.”
I arch a brow tauntingly. “Not bad enough, Hart.”
