The Awkward Path to Getting Lucky

by Summer Heacock

  “But wouldn’t that be an actual date?”

  We reach the block where his car is parked, and our pace slows to near glacial. “Yeah, I suppose it would be.” A mental mosquito scolds me for feeling disappointed.

  When we get to the sidewalk in front of his car, he turns to face me. “It’d be fine with me. In fact, I’d be very happy with that. But I don’t want to step on your rules.”

  I sigh. “I know they’re my rules, and I made them up and everything, but sometimes I kind of hate them.”

  He gives me a soft smile. “I understand. And since we’re being so honest, I would go dancing with you. I’d be willing to try a lot of new things with you.”

  My face burns around the edges, and I know I’m stepping out of bounds here. I also know I need to go home. I have a million things to do before I have to get up in a few short hours and shine on the small screen, followed immediately by helping Shannon get ready for the biggest presentation of our professional lives. And I know tonight is absolutely not a night to attempt any sort of therapy with Ben.

  But I’m not ready to just pack up and go home. I don’t want to see him drive away yet.

  “I can take you home,” he offers, possibly reading my mind. “At the very least, my car probably smells better than the buses. It does, right?”

  I giggle. “Yes. You and your car are both far superior to the buses.”

  “That’s a relief,” he says, opening the passenger door. “I mean, you always hope, but you never know.”

  He stands by the passenger side of his car, and his smile turns a bit awkward as he waits for me to do...anything. He rolls back onto his heels. “So.”

  “I think we should try again tonight,” I blurt out, to our very mutual surprise.

  He slowly tilts back onto his heels, swaying slightly. “I’m sorry, what?”

  Standing up straight, and feeling a semi-manic grin pull across my face, I say, “Yes, definitely. We should totally try the therapy tonight. I’ve got a good feeling about it.”

  Stunned, but also amused, he argues, “You have to get up before God. Plus, Shannon would kill us both. And I’m pretty sure that’s literal.”

  “What Shannon doesn’t know can’t hurt us,” I offer with an exaggerated wink. Standing in front of his car, I throw my arms up like one of those models on a game show, doing my best to convince the contestant that a lifetime supply of shaving cream is a great prize. “Come on, fella. Are you up for it?”

  He tilts his head, looking at me with what I hope is still a twinge of amusement mixed with deep concentration. The spokesmodel pose is making my arms ache.

  “Are you absolutely sure you want to do this tonight?” He sighs, grabbing at his tie. “Tomorrow’s a big day for you.”

  I drop my arms and bounce in place a little. “And I can think of no better way to preface it than by going for gold tonight.”

  He shakes his head ever so slightly, giving his tie a solid yank. “Okay, but if Shannon finds out, I’m fleeing the planet.”

  “Fair enough,” I say, gleefully climbing into the car. Watching him walk around, I’m all but vibrating in my seat.

  This is it. I just know it is.

  33

  We’ve made it to the key position. After weeks of false starts, we’ve successfully gotten naked for science.

  What an odd set of circumstances that’s led to me lying beneath Ben, out on one hell of a limb, in a room illuminated only by stripes of moonlight peeking in through my bedroom blinds.

  I’m fueled by near-militant determination, and if I’m being honest, a hefty dose of bravado. While it’s a questionable recipe, weeks of obsession and focus and stubbornness have pooled into a level of confidence I’ve lacked until tonight. There’s been no wine, no nethers-targeting anxiety meds, no panic attacks at buttons undone.

  I’m ready, and I’m thrilled.

  Ben’s face is visible amongst the shadows, and he’s a picture of quiet concentration. I’m struck by an urge to hug him and thank him for being so amazing with all of this, for the sheer presence of him, but somehow that seems like it would break the moment.

  The last few times I attempted this with Ryan, there was an established feeling of fear that if things didn’t work out, there’d be an unspoken sense of awkward failure. Maybe that was all me, but it was there, and I was so very aware of it.

  But with Ben, after all the hideous shenanigans we’ve survived on the quest to get to this moment, I know that no matter what happens, or how it ends, he will be here with me, fully invested in not making me feel like an ass.

  Shannon was really onto something with that whole “comfort and trust” sales pitch.

  I’m mentally jolted by a surge of affection toward Ben for giving me that security. For being here for me in ways I didn’t know I desperately needed someone to be.

  He shifts his weight above me, and I know the moment of truth is now.

  The bravado and determination trapdoor out from under me, and I’m quite suddenly thrown off course.

  The moment I’ve been desperately counting down to for weeks has arrived, and I’m stuck wondering if I’ve ever really thought any of this through. I’m seconds from doing something with Ben that I haven’t done with Ryan, or anyone at all, in a very long time.

  Am I ready to take this step with someone that isn’t him?

  Am I prepared to fail? Again?

  Am I even sort of ready for the potential impending physical pain?

  In this moment, lying beneath Ben, clinging to that limb, I realize, I am, in fact, not.

  And I’m terrified.

  The realization catches me so off guard, I lose my breath. Ben senses the shift and freezes. “Are you okay? What happened?”

  I look up at him and smile, resisting the urge to quip the fear away, even as amazingly unwelcome tears pool in my eyes. A sense of fight-or-flight kicks in, which is particularly troublesome when you’re quite literally lying naked under someone else who is equally unclothed.

  “I’m scared,” I answer honestly.

  “We’ll stop, Kat,” he says immediately, pulling away. “There’s nothing—”

  I put both hands on his face and keep him in place. “No, it’s okay. I want to keep going. I’m ready. I am very, very ready,” I say with a small laugh. “But I’m still scared.”

  The way he stares down at me, so sincerely, sends a wave of calm through my entire body. “For any reason, if you want to stop, we stop. Okay?” I nod. “I’ll be careful, Kat, I promise.”

  I fight a nearly irresistible urge to tilt my head up and kiss him. Keeping romantic trappings out of sleeping with someone is trickier than I’d anticipated. A decade of riding that bike has conditioned my body to assume a smooching position.

  “I believe you.”

  I know I’m ready. And not just because I’m hell-bent on being so. I’ve done the therapy. I know that even with the occasionally touch-and-go success of said therapy, I’m physically capable.

  Most important, I know Ben is right here with me, and I trust him.

  I give him the most confident smile I can muster, nod, and we’re off.

  I’m trying very hard not to focus on the specifics of what’s happening, but my mind is racing. There’s been a lot of buildup to this moment, and it’s hard to ignore what’s riding on it all. Butter’s right; I’m doing sex wrong.

  Ben moves very, very slowly. For a moment, I’m not even sure what’s happening, he’s moving with such care. I wonder if maybe I’m so cured that perhaps I’m overly so...

  Then I get my answer.

  “Stop, stop,” I whisper. Ben carefully retreats.

  “Are you okay?” he asks quietly.

  I shake my head and run my hands through my hair. “It’s...not working.”
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br />   “Do you want to stop?” he asks. He’s so calm, and there’s no pretense to his question, no personal agenda. My last few bouts with Ryan ended with me either going on with it rather than admit defeat—which did nothing but cause some genuine pain that I didn’t need to suffer through—or losing my patience and pushing Ryan away, ignoring the situation entirely.

  Shaking my head again, I close my eyes and say, “Just give me a minute.”

  He leans down and places his head near my shoulder, leaving me in silence. As much as one can in a coital entanglement, I suppose.

  I know I can do this, damn it. Sometimes therapy works better than other times, depending on how focused or stressed out I am. I’m not going to rush this. I’m not going to panic and throw a laundry list of rules at the situation.

  I’m going to get a grip, and I’m going to try again.

  Eyes still closed, I take a deep breath that reaches all the way down to my toes and let it out slowly. Then I take another. And another. By the third breath, Ben is breathing in time with me. I’m not sure if he even realizes he’s doing it. Over and over, we pull in slow, comforting, soothing breaths in tandem, then release.

  My hands, which until this moment have been resting on Ben’s arms, slide carefully up to his shoulders and then down his back.

  The sensation is almost alarming, being so aware of the way his skin feels against mine. His weight perched over me. It’s been so long since I’ve been anywhere near this scenario, and I’d definitely forgotten what an inebriating treat it is.

  Eyes still shut tight, I tilt my head until my face is resting against his shoulder, and we take in another breath. He smells of something wonderful. Soap, or cologne, or perhaps just essence of Ben. Whatever it is, I breathe it into every inch of my lungs.

  I think of the pamphlets and advice I’ve been given time and time again. Deep breaths, scented candles, taking things slowly. For the first time, if perhaps by accident, I find myself taking all those pointers at their word.

  Although in lieu of a Satsuma Dawn candle, I’m gluttoning myself on whatever it is that causes this Benly scent.

  He turns his head slightly so our cheeks are nearly touching and whispers, “Is everything okay?”

  Smiling against his shoulder, pulling my hands up along the comfortably warm skin of his back, I reply, “Can we try again?”

  He puts his forehead against mine and closes his eyes. I do the same and take another breath to my toes.

  I feel him moving, but this time, there’s progress. My breath catches in my chest and I dig my fingers into his ribs.

  “Keep going. I’m okay,” I say, both astonished and captivated by the feeling.

  My breathing has gone from measured and slow to short and ragged. Ben’s is quickly following suit.

  The more he moves, the farther my fingers push into the skin of his back. His head drops next to mine, his forehead on the pillow beneath me. With a shuddering whoosh of air, his lips brush past my collarbone. Past the exact spot the glory of edible glitter once resided.

  I am one small step away from needing to be physically restrained to keep from kissing him. This habit is not one to go easily into that good night.

  There are so many sensations dancing through my entire body, I couldn’t pick one to focus on even if I did have the mental clarity to try. My brain is racing with stimulus overload as fast as my heart is frolicking around my chest.

  The only thought that manages to ring clearly is a small, blissful part of myself reeling in wonderment at how in the damn hell I ever let myself go so long without this.

  34

  “Well,” I say, pulling my shirt back on. “That just happened.”

  Laughing as he ties his shoes, Ben replies, “It certainly did.”

  I feel weirdly numb and tingly all over. It’s not at all an unpleasant sensation.

  I had sex. Sex with Ben. Sex with Ben was just had.

  I’m not sure what I’d expected, but it was both trickier and somehow also easier than I’d imagined possible.

  My mind jumps back to specific moments of the success, and a flush makes its way through my entire body.

  “You all right over there?” Ben asks, pushing the end of his belt through the last loop. “You’re very quiet.”

  I turn to him, well aware that the cheesiest grin ever seen by human eyes is plastered on my face, and reply, “I am absolutely all right. How about you?”

  Smiling—I’d say sheepishly if I had to pick a descriptor—he carefully rolls up his tie and stuffs it into his suit jacket. “You know,” he says, looking bemused, “I honestly don’t even know the answer to that.”

  I sit up straight on the edge of the bed. “In a bad way? Are you all right?”

  He laughs and pulls his jacket on. “Not in a bad way. It’s for sure been an interesting night, but no, not in a bad way.”

  “That sounds like something we should talk about,” I say, back to feeling overly chipper.

  Still smiling, he says, “Definitely. But not tonight. You’ve got to be up in a few short hours for your television debut.”

  I groan, but—unable to banish the happy from my face—hop up off the bed. “I suppose that’s true. And hey,” I say, walking over and playfully slapping him on the arm. “Thanks to you, I’ve got therapy out of the way tonight, so I can head straight to bed.”

  He rolls his eyes and lets out a small chuckle. “Yes, I’m nothing if not practical.”

  My mind is catching up with the rest of me, and the reality of the night starts settling in. I did it. I successfully ran the gauntlet, and with days to spare until my deadline, at that. I haven’t thought of how I’ll approach Ryan with ending our little time-out sooner than anticipated, but I can’t wait to tango out of this holding pattern and get back to what life was like before the big special bomb went off.

  Walking into the living room, we head toward my front door together. In the dorkiest way possible, I bump into him with my shoulder. “Thanks,” I say, the full-body flush taking over again. “For, you know, tonight. For everything.”

  As we step outside onto my tiny porch, the door closes behind us, and he turns and faces me. “I’m really glad things worked out, Kat,” he says kindly. “And I’m glad I got to be a part of it.”

  One corner of my mouth pulls up. “I very literally couldn’t have done it without you, fella.”

  His hand reaches for his tie, coming up empty, and he nervously pats his stomach. “Well,” he says, “good luck in the morning. I know you’ll do fantastic.”

  “Thanks,” I reply. “And seriously, thank you so much for being here. I know this has been a weird few weeks, and I can’t thank you enough for all you’ve done, Ben.”

  “My pleasure, Kat.”

  I reach past him to reopen the front door, but when he shifts to move out of the way, we miscalculate and my fingers trail right across Ben’s stomach, just below his ribs. As soon as I realize what I did, my brain prepares to make a joke, to laugh it off.

  But the return of the tingling, warm feeling that’s shooting through everywhere that’s not my brain is what propels me forward.

  I kiss him. I don’t even know why. Maybe it’s the residual tension from our experiment. Maybe it’s a leftover urge from feeling his mouth against my neck again. Maybe I’m so grateful to be moving on, my mind chose this as a proper celebratory event.

  The only thing I know for certain in this moment is right here, right now, I just really, really need to kiss Ben Cleary.

  At first, he’s so surprised by my sudden change in direction, he jumps. My hand, my errant, miscalculating hand, finds its way back to that exact spot on his stomach, just below his chest, and my fingers pull against his shirt. My other hand wraps itself around his waist and digs in. The memory of how my fingers felt in this ex
act spot—without the intrusive fabric of his shirt in the way—just moments ago makes my stomach feel like it’s fainted.

  For just a moment, I’m kissing nervous Ben. But once his lips catch up to his brain, the Ben I met the night of the edible glitter makes another miraculous appearance.

  His hands jump to my face, and oh my god, is he good at kissing. Like, superiorly good.

  I realize what a glorious opportunity I’m missing and yank my hand from his waist, making the journey up his chest to his jaw. His perfect, angular, put on this earth possibly just to test my self-restraint jaw.

  He’s got one hand tangled in my hair, the other arm wrapped around my back, pulling me against him in the most agreeable way possible.

  “Woo, yeah!” a random passerby whoops out at us from the sidewalk. The sound jerks me out of my moment, and I pull away with a laugh.

  “We just got wooed.”

  Ben touches his forehead to mine and tries to catch his breath. “Can’t say I’ve ever been wooed before.”

  I lean back against my door for support and wonder when the feeling will return to my legs. I realize I’ve got the collar of his shirt clutched in my hand and am trying really hard to remember when I grabbed it.

  “We kind of just trampled your rules there.”

  Pulling in a flimsy breath—doing everything I possibly can to keep the unwelcome thoughts of how amazingly wrong what I just did was at bay—I swallow hard. Why did I kiss him? And more important, why is that at least the third time tonight I’ve wanted to?

  I push those questions and the hundred others on their heels into the abyss, and offer, “Eh. I’m sure Ryan’s doing a hell of a lot more.” That thought is just as troublesome as the others. I flop my hand through the air and add, “Plus, I’m celebrating the night. We can call it another free pass.”

  Ben pulls back quickly and stares at me. “Wait, what?”

  I reach up and push some hair away from my face. “A free pass. Like we did the other night?” He looks at me incredulously and steps away from our little front door cocoon. “What’s wrong?”