Beverly Williamson was a regal woman who never left the house until her hair was perfect, her nails were manicured, and her outfit was coordinated. She wasn’t a particularly warm woman despite how fiercely she loved her family. But that love was shown in a way that included extravagant weddings while excluding demonstrations of overt affection. Ben couldn’t even remember the last time he’d done more than kiss his mother’s cheek in greeting. There were no back-slapping hugs amongst the Williamsons. No wide smiles or tearful reunions. Ben was simply expected to step back into his role in the family—which was that of a man who refused to grow up and get a real job—without any fuss. Sure, his parents were proud of him for accomplishing something so statistically unlikely as playing at the most elite level. But beyond that, they weren’t impressed with his choice of career. They’d supported his passion for the game when he was a child, but a game is all it would ever be to them.
“You are going to shave, right, dear?” she asked Ben.
He saw David’s smirk in the mirror and was overwhelmed with an urge to punch the fucker. “Yes, Mom.”
“Good. You look like a ruffian.”
Ben had to summon restraint from somewhere deep within him to keep himself from explaining that he paid good money every other week for a barber to trim and outline his beard. If he looked like a ruffian, he was a pretty fucking well-groomed one.
His mother studied him for a moment longer before giving her critique. “I’m still not sure about the gray. I feel like black would make Ben look less . . . boxy.”
“We’ve already planned the wedding around his schedule. We’re not going to change our color palette because of him,” David said.
Ben’s head whipped toward his brother. “Did you say color palette?” The words were out of his mouth before he could censor them. He was suddenly able to sympathize with Ryan’s Foot-in-Mouth Syndrome.
“Yes,” David replied, his over-enunciation of the word making his irritation plain. “Something wrong with that?”
Ben let an insincere smile spread over his face. “No, not a thing. And don’t worry. I’ll try to look less box-like.”
“Thanks,” his brother said.
“Not a problem.” Their tones had become increasingly hostile with each word, and at some point they’d gravitated into one another’s personal space.
His mother pushed between them. “Boys! Don’t you dare make a scene. I swear, you two are as bad as you were when you were children. Grow up.”
Despite her words, Ben and his brother continued to glare at each other, neither wanting to be the first to concede. And as Ben looked into his brother’s whiskey-colored eyes that very much resembled his own, he knew Beverly was wrong. They weren’t as bad as they’d been as children. They were worse.
David was four years older than Ben, and Ben had idolized him in that annoyingly clingy way only little brothers could accomplish. And while David had acted irritated by Ben’s perpetual presence, Ben knew he’d secretly loved the worship. There had existed a harmony between them: an invisible set of lines that neither would ever dream of crossing.
When Ben had begun to outgrow his brother’s shadow, those lines had become blurred. But it had been David who’d obliterated them completely when he’d betrayed Ben’s trust. And with them went every shred of affection or tolerance. Now all that was between them was something that very closely bordered on hatred. The realization that there was a very good chance that not only did Ben despise his brother, but the feeling really was mutual made Ben break eye contact and step back. “I need some air,” he mumbled.
His mom called after him, but he didn’t care. The tailor also tried to stop him, but Ben didn’t give a shit. He’d already paid for the damn suit, so if he wanted to leave the store while it was full of pins, then that was his right.
Ben threw open the door, hung a right, and walked about a hundred yards before he turned down an alley. Letting himself lean against a brick wall, his head drooped forward as he pulled in a few deep breaths. He couldn’t take this shit. People in his hometown had never understood him—never understood how dedicated he was to something no one ever thought held a future for him. Well, one person had, but that person had betrayed him as much as his brother had. Pulling out his phone, Ben scrolled through the names in search of a friendly voice. Someone who’d be happy to hear from him.
His brain immediately went to Jace and Gabe, but for some reason, he didn’t click on either of them. Instead, he selected another and hoped like hell she answered. When the call connected on the fourth ring, and the throaty sound of Ryan’s voice said, “Hello?” Ben’s body immediately sagged in relief.
“Hey,” he said. “It’s me. Ben.”
“Hey there, sugar daddy. What’s going on? I thought you were with your family this weekend.”
Ben suddenly realized he had no real reason to be calling. What could he say? Hey, sorry I called, but I got all emo over the fact that my brother hates me and I needed to talk to someone who likes me even if I’m paying them to do so. He’d been vulnerable enough for one day, so he decided to deflect instead. “Did you just call me ‘sugar daddy’?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“No idea. Sounded good at the time,” she explained.
“But sugar daddies are old,” he griped.
“Well, if the shoe fits . . .”
“Hey. I’m not old.”
“You’re probably a little old.” He could hear the smile in her voice as she spoke.
He’d never been so happy to have someone fuck with him. “How is someone a little old?”
“You tell me. You’re the one who fits in that category.”
Ben laughed, and the genuineness of it was cathartic. “I’m twenty-nine. That’s not even a little old.”
“Oh God. Are you one of those people who’s been twenty-nine for ten years?”
“No. I’m one of those people who’s really twenty-nine.”
“Oh. Maybe it’s the beard. It’s camouflaging your youth.”
Ben immediately sobered at the mention of his beard, though he tried to keep his voice light. “Not you too. I’ve gotten enough shit about my beard for one day.”
Ryan hesitated for a second. Maybe his voice hadn’t been as carefree as he’d thought. “Why are people hassling you about your beard?”
“I don’t know. Why were you?” he teased, to steer the conversation back into the realm of fun.
But Ryan didn’t bite. “No, really. Who’s giving you crap? I wanna know so I can set them straight.”
“Set them straight about what?”
“About how fucking hot you are with a beard.”
It wasn’t what he’d expected her to say, but it was exactly the kind of thing he’d needed to hear. After a morning of being torn down, he needed someone to boost him back up a bit. “Tell me more. About my hotness, that is. I need to be sure I can effectively argue my side.”
Ryan’s laughter filled the line and washed through him like a balm. “Oh, sugar daddy. I don’t even know where to start.”
* * *
Ryan had almost immediately noticed the strain in Ben’s voice, and hearing it had made her distinctly uncomfortable. She didn’t like the heavy feeling in her chest at the thought that someone was responsible for making him sound that way. The ridiculous urge to punch that person in the face wasn’t altogether welcome either.
Despite her trying to tell herself this wasn’t her problem—Ben was her employer, after all—the fact that he had called her when he clearly needed to talk made her want it to be her problem. Maybe it was because he’d treated their situation as more of a growing friendship than a business arrangement from the very beginning. Or maybe it was because Ben was such a genuinely nice guy who treated even escorts well. Maybe it was a combination of both of those things. Whatever it was, it made Ryan want to be the person to cheer him up. And if stroking his ego was what he needed, it wouldn’t be much of a hardship to accommodate hi
m.
“If I have to pick somewhere, let’s start with your muscles.”
“What about them?” he asked.
“They’re hot. I wanna see them.”
Ben chuckled. “How do you know they’re hot if you haven’t seen them?”
“I have a very active imagination. And your shirts are usually really tight in the best possible ways.” She knew that comment shouldn’t surprise him since she’d accidentally made a similar one at the diner the night they’d met.
Ben scoffed. “They are not. My shirts fit perfectly.”
“Oh, they’re perfect all right. Don’t change a damn thing about them.”
“Noted,” Ben said with another laugh.
“And then there are the dimples.”
“You can see them through the beard?”
“Yeah,” Ryan said with a dramatic sigh. “They’re amazing.”
“They’re dimples. It’s basically having divots in your face.”
“No. It’s really not,” she argued. “Face the facts, Ben. You’re gorgeous. I know it’s difficult to accept, but you must accept the things you cannot change.”
“Are you quoting Alcoholics Anonymous right now?”
“Yes,” she replied simply. “It’s the serenity prayer. Is it working? Did it bring you serenity?”
He hesitated as if he were actually thinking it over. “No. But you did.”
The words were soft and genuine, and she instantly flushed at the acknowledgment. “Well, good. I’m glad.” Ryan fidgeted on the couch to get comfortable. She wasn’t entirely sure what to say. They’d seemed to move past whatever had been bothering Ben initially, and she was hesitant to bring it up again. However, avoiding the obvious wasn’t really Ryan’s forte. “You sounded kind of bummed when you first called. Wanna talk about it?”
“Honestly?” he asked.
“Of course.”
“Not really.”
Ryan laughed. “Fair enough.”
“I don’t . . . it’s not that I don’t want to share it with you or whatever. But complaining about my family makes me feel like a bratty teenager. I’m a grown man. I shouldn’t let them get under my skin so much.”
“You can’t help how you feel, though. And family usually gets under our skin the quickest because they’ve had the most time to learn which buttons to push.” When Ben didn’t say anything, Ryan forged on. “I want you to know that you can talk to me if you need to. You’re probably one of the least judgmental people I’ve ever met. I’d be happy to return the favor. Anytime. So keep it in mind.”
Ben remained quiet for a moment longer before speaking. “I will. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Okay, enough about me. What are you up to?”
“Um . . .” Ryan scrambled to think of something to say, since what she’d been up to was googling how to be an escort. Her search had been . . . interesting, but not useful in any constructive ways. “Messing around on the computer.”
“Looking at anything fun?”
Ryan pursed her lips before responding. “Yup.” At least her answer was honest.
“You’re being very evasive,” he said, a tease clear in his voice.
“I am not.”
“You are too.” He drew in a loud breath. “You’re watching porn, aren’t you?”
“What? No! Of course not.” Jesus Christ. They’d had a touching moment and now he was accusing her of watching porn. Ben’s mood had swung more in the past ten minutes than when her mom had said she and her boyfriend were giving orgies a try. That was an interesting conversation.
“It’s nothing to be ashamed of. Everyone watches it.”
“I am not watching porn.”
“Then what are you doing?”
She suddenly wished she could go back to talking to sullen Ben. “I’m googling you,” she finally said.
“Why?” Ben sounded both curious and wary.
Ryan quickly clicked on images and typed Ben’s name into the search bar. A page of pictures loaded. Goddamn the man is sexy. “I’m seeing what you look like without a beard so I can give a more thorough analysis.”
“Oh yeah? Come to a conclusion?”
Ryan scrolled down the page. There were action shots of Ben on the ice, photo shoots, magazine spreads, red carpet photos, and casual pictures. She wasn’t sure which she preferred. There was no doubt the man could wear the hell out of a suit, but there was also something appealing about Ben in jeans and a T-shirt.
A throat clearing interrupted her analysis. “You okay over there?” Ben asked, his voice trying, and failing, to conceal a laugh.
“Yes,” she replied, drawing out the word to convey annoyance she didn’t really feel. “I’m just trying to be thorough.”
“Well, the suspense is killing me. What’s the verdict?”
“Inconclusive. You’re impossibly attractive with or without facial hair.”
Ben laughed. “You’re really good for my ego.”
Snorting, Ryan replied, “I somehow doubt your ego needs much help.”
“Nah. Everyone can use a little boost from time to time.”
They were quiet for a minute before Ben sighed. “I should get back. My mom is probably getting ready to send out a search party.”
“Sounds serious.”
“You have no idea. Oh! That reminds me. You’ve saved me from my parents’ minister’s daughter. So thank you for that.”
“Should that make sense to me?”
“My mom was trying to set me up for the wedding with some girl I haven’t seen since high school. And my memories aren’t all that favorable. I’ve never been more relieved to have a date for something in my life.”
Ryan almost blurted out that it wasn’t a date as much as a business meeting, but she thankfully caught herself before she voiced the words. “I’m glad I could be of service.”
“Yeah, me too. I’ll talk to you when I get back in town, okay?”
“Sounds good,” she replied.
“Good. And Ryan?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
Ryan knew he wasn’t thanking her for being his date to the wedding this time. This appreciation was much more heartfelt, and it made her happy in ways she’d rather not think too hard about. “You’re very welcome.”
Chapter Nine
Ryan crossed her arms as she sat in the passenger seat of Ben’s black Tahoe and continued to glare at him. But clearly the past twenty minutes of it hadn’t been enough to prompt him to reveal their secret destination. “I know you’re trying to be cute by not telling me where we’re going, but you’re failing miserably.”
Ben laughed at her, the jerk. He’d picked her up at ten a.m. on a Wednesday outside the diner where they’d initially hatched this whole elaborate escort plan, and then told her they would be driving about thirty minutes outside Philadelphia.
She’d initially thought it was an odd time of day for a date, but Ben said where they were going tended to get busy later in the afternoon. Which only served to ramp up her curiosity. “If you don’t tell me, I’m going to think this is a kidnapping and alert To Catch a Predator.”
Ben scrunched up his face. “I’m pretty sure that show catches guys trying to hook up with underage girls on the internet.”
“I’m sure there’s an equivalent for twenty-six-year-old escorts who’ve been abducted by professional athletes.”
Ben chuckled again. “Where do you come up with this stuff?”
Ryan shrugged, but the beginning of a smile teased the corners of her lips. “It’s a gift.”
Turning to look out the window, Ryan tried to think of something else to say. She wanted to know how the rest of his visit home had been, but after their phone call, he hadn’t brought it up again and she’d been hesitant to ask him about it. It was clearly a sore subject, and she didn’t want to sour their second “date” with questions he probably didn’t want to answer.
Thankfully she was saved fro
m obsessing over it for too much longer because Ben pulled into a lot and parked. “We’re here,” he said.
“Why are we at a place called Ice Zone?” Ryan asked as she looked up at the large, windowless building.
Ben already had his door open and was exiting the truck. “I thought it would be a good idea for you to get to know what I do a little better.”
Ben evidently took her silence for assent because he shut his door and then walked around to open hers. “You ready?” he asked.
“Uh, yeah. Totally.” She moved to get out of the car, but was harshly wrenched back by the seat belt she’d forgotten to unbuckle.
“Oh, shit, are you okay?” Ben asked.
Nope. “Yup. I just spaced out.” She hit the button and released the belt. But instead of feeling better to be free from the restraint, she felt much worse. Because now she had to get out of the car and walk into a place that was her version of hell frozen over.
Ryan had been ice-skating one other time. She’d been six, and it had been for a classmate’s birthday party. The only thing she’d gotten out of the day had been seventeen stitches and a fear of ice skates. But Ben had brought her here so she could see him in his element, and turning him down wasn’t something she wanted to do. So she slid from the car and waited while he grabbed a bag from the trunk. She raised an eyebrow at him.
“My skates,” he said in response.
“Oh, so I have to rent a foot disease while you use your special, hockey-player skates?” she teased.
“Yup,” he replied, his eyes twinkling with happiness. Happiness she hoped she didn’t ruin by dying.
They walked to the entrance and up to the counter where they were greeted by guy in a flannel shirt. “Welcome to Ice Zone. What can I do for you today?”
“She’ll need a pair of skates.” Ben turned to her. “What size are you?”
“Seven,” Ryan replied, hoping Ben didn’t hear the wobble in her voice.
“Coming right up,” the guy working the desk said.
Though unlikely, Ryan said a silent prayer that they were all out of size seven skates. Or maybe . . . “I didn’t bring socks.” He couldn’t expect her to put her foot in a rented shoe without socks. Could he?
The Proposition Page 6
