“I want to forget. Make me forget, Ben.”
Did I hear her right? Fuck, all I can hear is the sound of my heavy breathing. I look into her eyes, and shit—she’s serious. This is happening.
“Bug, are you sure? ’Cause once I start, once I touch you the way I want to touch you—the way I’ve wanted to touch you for as long as I can remember, feel you under my palms, under my body, I—I don’t think I’ll be able to control myself.”
Her eyes flick to mine, sultry and heavy-lidded, and from that look alone, I’m pretty sure my dick just grew another inch.
“That’s what I’m counting on.”
Annnnnnd there goes another inch.
Holy shit.
This is really fucking happening.
I wrap my hand around the nape of her neck and just as I bring her breathtaking face a mere inch from mine, the mother-effing doorbell rings because I’m Ben motherfucking Catalano-Moretti and I’m pretty sure the gods have taken sides.
And it’s not mine.
Twenty-seven
Songs to listen to:
“Criminal” By Fiona Apple
“Be My Baby” By the Ronettes
“It’s Too Late” by Otis Redding
“Please” by Rhye
“All of You” by Betty Who
“All You Had to Do Was Stay” by Taylor Swift
Cady
I know what you’re thinking.
What about Blaine? What about sweet, talented, adorable, and sexy Blaine?
I know, okay? I know this is bad. Wrong, and I shouldn’t even be thinking about doing this, let alone actually doing it, but here’s the thing…I’m not thinking. My mind is completely blank—no, that’s not right, it’s not blank; it’s just fucking consumed with all things Ben motherfucking Catalano-Moretti. Not that I’m surprised in any way. It’s always been like that. His subtle charisma and the fascinating and infuriating way he manages to be incredibly sweet but also a complete asshole at the same time. He drives me insane—in the best way possible, and in the worst. He’s sexy—so fucking sexy. Like really sexy, ladies. The kind of sexy you would never think was possible and yet, there he is, walking around in his Air Force Ones and tight-ish jeans that make his ass look good enough to eat.
The worst part of his sexiness is that I know he knows he’s sexy, because, um hello? He has seen a mirror once or twice in his lifetime. But he doesn’t flaunt it. He doesn’t think he’s God’s gift to womankind. He’s humble and given the right compliment, he can even be a bit bashful, which just makes me love and hate him even more. Throw in the sweet words, the apologies, wounded eyes and promises and desires that are everything I’ve wanted from the get-go…and then on top of all that murky and magnificent mess, he had to touch me. But it was so much more than a touch; it was a damn brand. An imprint, stamp, a tattoo that could never be removed. And he barely even touched me! A caress to the face here. A cup of the ass there. A trace of the lip—and that’s where he got me. The kiss. His mouth, oh glory, his mouth should be illegal. It’s all sin and seduction. When Ben kisses, he demands. Demands nothing but visceral need, owning every thought, every emotion, every feeling—it’s all his. And I submitted. I had no choice, don’t you see?
I’m his.
No matter how hard I fight it, deny it, ignore it, run from it, it doesn’t change a damn thing, and that scares the hell out of me. He has the ability to walk away without a second glance—fuck, he’s done it before and he most likely will do it again whenever he finds something better. But me? I’ll shatter the second he leaves. Which is why I’m thanking the gods right now that we were saved by the ring of the doorbell, stopping us from committing a huge mistake that could never be taken back.
I hop off the counter to answer the door, needing the space to get my head on straight and my slutbag-libido in check. I take a few steps and he grabs my hand before I get too far, pulling me back against his warm and solid body. He brings his mouth to my hair and inhales.
“Tell whoever is going crazy on our doorbell to go the fuck away. We have business to attend to, sexy business.”
I can’t help it. I snort and shake my head—a teasing smile playing at my lips. Sexy business. Who is this dude?
Ugh.
I lightly shove him and duck under his arms, walking to the door without a word. I fling the damn thing open and am met with a thoroughly upended Miles.
“Your brother is a dick and a coward. A cowardly dick, he is!”
I sigh and hug my friend. “What did he do this time?”
“The easier question would be what didn’t he do? I knew it, Bug, I fucking knew he would this shit to me!”
I grip his shoulders and pull him slightly away from me, taking in his red-rimmed eyes and flawless hazelnut cheeks stained with tears. “What happened, Miles?” I ask again, and for a moment he freezes, his eyes skimming me over for the first time since barging into the apartment. Then his gaze flips to Ben, who is standing in the kitchen archway with his arms crossed over his broad chest, his face a mask of concern. But that’s not why I grimace. My face scrunches up guiltily when I see his hair. It’s standing up every which way; clearly, someone had their hands in there, raking and pulling, and that someone would be me.
“Oh, you dirty little sluts!”
“Miles, we didn’t do anything.”
“The fuck we didn’t?” Ben barks.
“Ben!” I hiss, giving him a scathing glare that he returns with a satisfied smirk. Ass. Hole.
“Ha! I knew it! I may be a blubbering hot mess right now, but I can still spot someone who has been thoroughly kissed from a mile away and girl, from where I’m standing, you weren’t just kissed, you were fucking devoured.” Miles swivels his head toward Ben and nods. “Kudos, didn’t think you had it in you, but hot damn, you made Daddy proud.”
“Please, never call yourself that. Ever.” I shiver in disgust. Miles just gives a little shrug and winks my way. “Now, stop trying to deflect. What happened with Dylan?”
Miles’s face falls instantly, his bottom lip quivers and the water works start all over again, making me feel like the biggest bitch in the Northwest. I grab his hand and haul him to the loveseat, pulling his head into my lap without protest. I run my fingers over his tightly lined high fade haircut as he sniffles into my white summer dress.
“What did he do, Miles?” I try again, hoping to sound calm and comforting when all I want to do is go super-punch my twin in the balls because Miles isn’t a crier. He’s nothing but a ray of fucking sunshine. You know that feeling you get after you watch an episode of Ellen? Try watching a week’s worth, back to back, and that’s Miles in a nutshell—hopeful, kind, joyous, and fucking hilarious at all times. Which means whatever happened broke his fucking heart. And I’ve had enough fucking broken hearts to last a lifetime, twice over. I feel Ben walk closer to us. I don’t dare look up. One messed up thing at a time. In my periphery, though, I see him sit down on the recliner, resting his elbows on his knees and his stupid hot face propped up on his fists.
“I’ll leave if you want me to, Miles. I know you barely know me and well, Dylan’s my brother, my best friend besides Bug, so I get it if you don’t wanna talk in front of me. But I like you, man. You’re a good guy, one of the best I’ve met, actually and…you did what no one else could. You helped bring my girl back to life and for that I feel like I owe you mine, or at the very least my support. I know Dylan’s a stubborn dickhead, it’s the Adams curse, but he also never does anything on a whim or without reason. Whatever he did, he did it because he had to, or thought he had to.”
“He fucked another guy and apparently they’re seeing each other.”
“What?” I squeal, jumping off the couch, my eyes wide and furious. Oh, that’s it. I’m about to become an only child.
“Why would he think he had to do that?” Miles asks pitifully, his voice breaking. He looks at both Ben and I with watery eyes, searching for the answer. I come up empty, having absolutely no clue
why Dylan would do that, which is crazy because I know that boy inside out. We’re twins. We don’t even have to communicate with words, we just know. Although lately, I’ve been feeling a sort of disconnect with him. Like our wires are crossed. I chalked it up to stress on both sides, but I guess I was mistaken.
“He’s scared,” Ben answers, surprising me. His eyes are on me, sharp and penetrating, but they quickly move to Miles, who has sat up with his knees drawn to his chest and his attention now solely focused on Ben. “He loves you. We can all see it. It’s blinding, impossible to miss. But that terrifies him. It’s too strong. Too…risky. He’s had the dream of playing ball in the majors since as far back as I can remember—”
“I would never get in the way of that! I’ve told him!”
“I know. And he knows, too. Deep down, but it doesn’t matter. The fear…it runs too deep, the roots too ingrained. But he knows whatever lame-ass shit he says or does to you, you will always fight for him, for the both of you, so he does the one thing he knows will drive you away because in the end, he thinks you’re better off for it. Without him and whatever he has to offer, which he believes with certainty will never be enough.”
“Yeah, well, mission fucking complete. Goddamn it!” Miles jumps of the couch and starts to pace back forth on our new rug while I feel like my breath has been stolen from me—ripped right from my lungs. My stomach coils and turns over, inducing a tidal wave of nausea that overtakes me. I clutch at my heart, digging the heel of my palm into my goose-fleshed skin. For an agonizing second, Miles and Dyl’s troubles are long forgotten, replaced with the devastating possibility that I just got my explanation.
Ben fucked Lucy because…he didn’t think he was good enough for me?
What the ever-loving fuck?
I pin my blue eye on his. While mine are surely frantic and curious, searching for any sign of confirmation, his are unbearably sad, almost vacant. Lost, as if he’s trapped somewhere deep inside himself, a place I had no idea even existed. Which I suppose, is all of the proof I need.
Without thought or bearing in mind the consequences, inconsiderately disregarding my friend’s pain, I rise from the couch and take the few steps needed to reach Ben. His eyes follow me, tracking my small movements with inquiring eyes. I stand between his legs and he sits back, dropping his arms at his sides, just as I kneel in front of him. I’m pretty sure I have yet to find my breath, or maybe I just don’t feel it; I don’t feel anything but the pull, the undeniable draw to ease his pain, even if he’s the one who put it there.
I reach out and frame the side of his cheek with my hand. His sexy scruff there tickles the underside, forcing a shiver to run through me.
“How could you not have seen? I would’ve given anything, absolutely anything to be yours.”
“And that’s just it, Bug, I’m not worth it. I could never live up.”
“To what?” I ask, practically begging for the answer.
“To be what you deserve.”
I ignore the stabbing pain in my gut and try to zero in on what is more comfortable, an emotion I’m all too familiar with—anger. Motherfucking fury that has quickly turned into a rapid boil, just waiting to rise and flow right out of my big-ass mouth.
Here it comes, ladies and gents. The famous Moreno fire.
“Miles, babe, I love you and I’m so sorry my brother is a raging moron. I promise I will hand over his balls tomorrow and in the meantime, you can stay over and we can talk this shit out all night, but right now, Ben and I have some yelling to do so if you want to go ahead to my room—”
“Are you serious right now? I wouldn’t miss this even, if a young and shirtless Zac Efron barged in here begging for my black stallion, if you know what I mean. Girl, I’m staying.”
“Well, get ready for a show!” I toss behind me, my eyes narrowing on Ben, who looks more panicked as the seconds tick by. Good.
“Why are you so mad right now?”
“Seriously? How about because you made all of the decisions about our relationship without me! You don’t get to do that, Ben! I get to decide who is best for me! I get to decide who I want and who I love! You didn’t even give us a chance. You nipped it in the bud before it began and without a fucking word! You just shut me out and pushed me down, over and over, because you thought you knew better. You don’t know shit!”
“Bug—”
“No! We could’ve been something. We should have been something. You, Ben motherfucking Catalano-Moretti, you were something! You were everything! Don’t you see? How could you not see? You…were deserving. You deserved me. And I—and I deserved you.”
“And now?” Ben asks. Those emerald eyes of his imploring, waiting with bated breath for my answer. I can see it, written all over his face. He’s fucking terrified. I want to rush him, to wrap my arms around his trim waist, to reassure him, to lift the weight I know is sitting so damn heavily on his shoulders. I want to love him. To just fucking love him. But I do none of those things. I stand rooted to the spot, the damn rug like Gorilla Glue underneath my low tops.
“I don’t know. I wish I did. For the both of us. But, it’s all so fucked. I just don’t know anymore.”
And that’s the truth. It’s pathetic and irritating as all hell, but I’m at a loss here. My heart is being pulled in so many directions, and I’m second-guessing every thought that passes through my head. Apparently, I don’t know shit, either.
“And what about earlier? What about…” he quickly tosses his gaze toward Miles, who is completely engrossed in the drama unfolding before his eyes. All he needs is a damn bowl of popcorn and a glass of wine and he’d be full-on Olivia Pope-ing. Accepting that we have no privacy, Ben turns his focus back on me. “What about the kiss? What about…what you said?”
“Let’s just…chock it up to a lapse in judgment. Decisions made on Mom’s Sangria, you know how little those can be trusted.”
Once the words are out of my mouth, Ben’s entire body sags, completely droops from head to toe, and if I’m not mistaken, his eyes glisten with tears, but he turns away before I see any fall. Unlike mine, which now feature a steady stream running down my face.
“Yeah,” he chokes out, the single word a wretched crack that hits me square in the chest, and I never wanted to take back words more in my life. But it’s too late.
“Ben, I—”
“I just remembered, I…fuck I’m too exhausted to even think of an excuse. I just can’t be here right now.” He scrubs his face before practically springing out of the recliner and walks over to the front door, turning toward Miles with his hand on the knob. “I’m sorry about my brother, man. I’ll talk to him and we’ll figure this shit out.”
Miles nods with a small smile and before I can even open my mouth, Ben is out the door.
“Damn, girl. What the hell was that?” Miles asks with wide, puffy eyes, gawking at me as if I’ve suddenly grown another set of tits.
“A fucking disaster. And I have no idea how to fix it.”
“You might want to try not being a salty bitch and I don’t know, go chase him down and apologize like the decent person I know you are…underneath all this shade.”
“Yep, that’s definitely a start.”
“Go, woman!”
“Yep, I’m going!” I jump up and race for the door but do a quick turnabout and wrap my arms around Miles, giving my bestie a squeeze I think we both need. “Love you, boo,” I whisper into his soft black cotton tee.
“Love you back, Bug.”
“We’ll get our shit together. All of us.”
“You first. Go!”
I stand on my tippy toes and kiss his lips before racing out the door without a glance or word behind me. I run through the hallway, reaching the elevator in record time. The minute it takes to descend is the longest freaking minute of my life and the second the doors open I make a dead sprint through the front lobby and right into the back of someone who is very solid, so solid that I bounce off the human shield and fall flat o
n my ass because I’m Cady and I wouldn’t expect anything less.
“Oh shit! I’m sorry—Bug?”
“Heeeeey.”
“What are you doing out here?” Ben asks as he offers me his hand, which I gladly take. A sigh escapes my mouth when his hand comes in contact with mine, the feel of his rough, calloused palms against my soft skin makes me want to hold on tight and never let go. But apparently, he has other plans, dropping my hand once I’m safely on my feet. “Cady?”
Oh! Right, he asked me a question.
“I’m a bitch. A total dick. A bitch-dick. That’s what I am. You’ve done nothing but try to make things right, and I just keep on being a massive bitch-dick at every damn corner. I’m sorry. I just…I don’t know what to do. I don’t know where to go from here. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. It’s all so fuckity fucked, and I feel like I’m flying blindly here.”
Ben sighs before his mouth inclines just the slightest bit on the left and before I can protest, he pulls me into his arms. They instantly wrap around my waist, pressing our bodies firmly together. My flushed cheek rests against his broad chest, the beat of his heart my very own melody in my ear. I slowly breathe him in and for a few seconds, inhaling his essence, I allow the sweet smell of rain—petrichor—wash over me, calm me, ground me, take me away to a time where everything was okay, where we were okay. A time when being enclosed in his warmth wasn’t a betrayal of myself. A time when we could be something more than the reckless mess we are now. A time that I both yearn for and want to go nowhere near.
“I’m sorry, too. I’m sorry for putting us in this place. For constantly pushing you away and now for pushing you too hard. I don’t have the right. I just…I want to go back. To that damn night. I want a redo. I want to go back so damn badly, Bug. I’d do anything to change what I did.”
“But you can’t go back. We can’t go back. You can’t rewrite history, Ben. We just have to start a new chapter.”
Falling Over (Falling In Series Book 3) Page 28
