by Cassie Cross
He laughs, tells me that they’ve graduated to talking about the stock market over breakfast after running a few miles on the treadmill. I tell him about Corinne (seems like Felicity has kept him updated on her life), about my site and branding efforts, about the book I’ve been reading before bed that I have difficulty putting down.
It feels comfortable, sharing things like this. Talking to him like we’re old friends. This is what I was worried about, why I tried to keep things physical between us. My relationship with Ben has always been dichotomous. Fiery and full of passion, but comfortable, like a warm sweater on a cold winter night.
It’s a dangerous combination.
“I’ll have to buy that book,” he says, finishing off the last bit of steak that was left on his plate.
“You should,” I reply with a smile. “It’s just your speed.”
“When they inevitably make a movie out of it, maybe we could go together,” he says tentatively. He’s testing the waters.
I grin. The prospect isn’t as unsavory as it would’ve been before. The more time I spend with him, the more time I want to spend with him. I want to know more about him, more about what makes him tick now that he’s older. It’s scary and exhilarating, like standing on a ledge that I’ve fallen off of so many times before, but knowing I have the strength to stay upright this time.
“Maybe we could.”
He grins, and that’s worth any of the lingering doubt or nervousness I feel at the answer.
“Not to push my luck here,” he says, leaning forward. My heart starts beating double time. “But Caleb’s become quite the cook lately, and he’s having a barbecue this weekend. Mia mentioned meeting you at the fundraiser, and she really liked you. She and Caleb both want you to come, and I’m extending the invitation.”
“Like a date?” I ask warily.
Ben shrugs. “That depends on you, Marisa. I want to date you, but I know you’re not ready to give me that chance. So, this could just be two friends going to dinner at another friend’s house, if that’s something you’re more comfortable with right now.”
“I think I’d like to go to dinner with a friend.” I catch the disappointment for a split second, and...god help me. “For now.”
He perks right up at that, his eyes so bright and earnest and unbelieving. “For now?”
I’m not going to commit to anything yet, but I find myself more willing today than I was yesterday. Not totally willing, but...able to be swayed, at least.
“For now.”
His responding smile is brighter than the sun.
CHAPTER NINE
Even though it’s not a scenario that my mind would’ve ever dreamed up, sitting around the table with Ben, Caleb, and Oliver makes me feel oddly nostalgic. The last time we were all together like this was my last year in college, and the cracks in my relationship with Ben were already too large to fill.
Caleb’s settling down, and Ben...well, it seems like maybe he’s on the verge of wanting to do that, too. Oliver’s the loner he’s always been. Mia is here with us, and so is Felicity. There’s an easiness and familiarity to our conversation, to just being together in the same place, that takes me by surprise. I can’t quite pinpoint why that is, though.
We’re at Caleb and Mia’s apartment, the remnants of some perfectly grilled steaks and veggies on our plates. Our bellies are full, and we’re laughing at a story Caleb is telling us about a trip he and Mia took to the farmer’s market this morning.
I’ve been here for hours, and it still floors me just how much five years has changed Caleb. I never could’ve imagined the guy I knew back in college living with someone like Mia, looking at her the way he does, talking about going to the farmer’s market like it’s one of his favorite things. It’s like one day we were all a bunch of college kids, and then I blinked and we were suddenly adults.
It makes me wonder if Ben really is serious about giving things another go. Trying to have an honest, adult relationship with me; one that’s not based on lies and full of infidelity.
Ben is sitting next to me, nursing a glass of wine. He’s wearing a dark-blue cotton shirt with the sleeves rolled up, giving me a nice view of his ridiculously muscular forearms. He’s relaxed, comfortable in a way that he hasn’t been when it’s just the two of us together. Maybe that has something to do with the conversation we had yesterday. All the stress of wanting is gone now that he’s finally put himself out there.
Ben’s arm brushes mine every time he takes a sip of his red, and it sends shivers down my spine. He’s not playing fair, even though I’m not sure that he’s actually playing this time around. Maybe he’s not trying to turn me on and is managing to do it anyway, just being himself. Of course, when I look at the muscles on his forearm tighten, all I can think of is the way they look when he’s holding himself above me in bed, his body pressed to mine, making me see stars.
More laughter pulls me out of my little fantasy, and I join in, not really sure what exactly is so funny. I missed whatever the punchline was, too busy fantasizing about Ben, which is just like old times.
Ben turns and gives me a curious look, like he recognizes that my laugh isn’t real, and he wants to make sure that everything is okay.
I just smile.
“Needless to say, we forgot the celery,” Mia says, giggling.
“Ugh, celery,” Ben and I say in unison. We both look at each other, a little startled, a little wistful. Our hatred of that foul vegetable was one of the first things we bonded over when we first met.
I grin as I say, “Ninety-five percent water.”
“Five percent evil,” Ben finishes.
This red-hot blush creeps up, probably working its way up from my frantically beating heart. Ben and I must be looking at each other like a couple of fools, because everyone at the table is watching us.
I clear my throat and give my head a little shake to bring myself back into the moment.
“So, Caleb,” I say, hoping a new line of conversation will turn the attention away from us. “I didn’t know you liked to cook; I remember ramen being your specialty back in the day.”
“That or ordering in,” Ben teases.
“Is this a new thing?” I ask.
“Fairly new,” he says, looking over at Mia. “I got tired of waiting for takeout, and figured I should at least be able to make something. It kind of grew from there.”
“Grew from there,” Felicity mimics, laughing. “Didn’t you want to go up to Maine this summer for private lessons at some farmhouse?”
I can’t tell if Caleb is pretending to be offended, or if he actually is. “That was going to be a group vacation, and we were going to do other stuff!”
“What kind of other stuff?” Oliver asks.
“Crabbing, sailing. You know, summer things.”
“The most WASPy summer ever,” Felicity teases. She brings her glass of wine up to her lips, and I catch Oliver smiling at her like she’s pure sunshine.
“No it isn’t,” Caleb replies defensively.
“Marisa.” Felicity looks over at me. “You and your family spent every summer in Maine, didn’t you? I remember Corinne telling me about it. Please, please let Caleb know the level of WASP we’re talking about here.”
“Felicity,” Ben warns, leveling her with a glare that only a brother can.
I did spend every summer in Maine with my family, Felicity is right about that. We stayed in my grandmother’s cabin, which my dad inherited when she died. My parents used it as a vacation home. A vacation home that they remodeled with money they stole from other people.
I look over at Ben, surprised that he even remembers any of that. The house, the way that we got it. I feel a rush of affection for him for knowing that this is a sore spot for me.
Since I’ve rightfully been so standoffish about his advances since he showed up at my doorstep that night nearly a month ago, I figure I should also acknowledge the little moments like these, when he gives me a glimpse at the kind of person
he is now, so completely different from the person he used to be.
I reach over and give Ben’s arm a gentle squeeze, then offer him a smile.
“I did. And I’m sorry to tell you this, Caleb, but it’s incredibly WASPy. You need cardigans, lots of cardigans. And pack plenty of boat shoes.”
Caleb glares at me, then shoots a pleading look in Mia’s direction. “She’s exaggerating.”
“I’m not,” I tease. “It’s exactly like that.”
“Babe.” Mia covers Caleb’s hand with her smaller one. “We’re going to have to talk about this.”
* * *
When we’ve finished eating, and we’re all talked out, Caleb starts taking the dishes back inside, insisting on cleaning up despite several offers from each of us to help. Mia is inside helping him. Ben and Felicity are over on the other side of the patio having some kind of disagreement, so I lean against the thick, ornate concrete railing, enjoying the gorgeous view.
The sun is setting, there’s a light breeze, and we’re far enough up that the city seems almost quiet and serene. Living in a brownstone, much, much closer to the ground, it’s not very often that I get to see New York’s skyline from this point of view. When you spend your day on crowded sidewalks, weaving in and out of pedestrian traffic, it’s so easy to forget how breathtaking this city can be.
“Hey,” Oliver says, mirroring my pose as he rests his forearms against the concrete. He gives me a warm smile. It’s the first time that we’ve spoken one-on-one besides a quick hug that he gave me when Ben and I first arrived.
“Hey.”
He takes a swig of the beer he’s holding, then playfully bumps his shoulder against mine. “It’s good to have you back,” he says earnestly. “I didn’t realize how much I missed having you around, until you weren’t anymore.”
I push my hair behind my ear, and smile at the ground. Oliver has always been incredibly nice to me. Even back when Ben and I were dating, whenever he was acting like a shit head (which was often), I could always count on Oliver to offer me a sympathetic ear or a shoulder to cry on.
“I’m not sure I’m staying,” I reply honestly.
He gives me a long, appraising look, and says, “You’re staying.”
The gall of Oliver’s answer angers me, sets my entire body on edge. A moment ago I would’ve teased him, but I’m feeling indignant now.
“What makes you so sure?”
Oliver seems completely unfazed by the change in my attitude, he just looks over his shoulder to where Ben and Felicity are still having their heated little argument. His eyes linger on Felicity, like he thinks I won’t notice, the lovesick idiot.
“He’s different now,” Oliver says, turning to me. “He’s changed.”
I let out a frustrated sigh. Where were all of these people fighting on my behalf back when Ben was still treating me like shit?
Like he can read my mind, he says, “We were on your side back when he was being a jackass. Trust me, I wouldn’t lie to you about this. You’ll see.”
I give him a skeptical look, because I’m not sure that I believe him. I want to, but I’m not sure that I do. That I can.
“He loves you, Marisa,” Oliver says. “He never stopped. It’s just that now that he’s grown up a little and understands what all of it means, he’s not trying to run away. Not like he was back when you guys were together.”
The sentiment is probably not as comforting as it should be.
“That’s what he was doing before? Fucking other women because he loved me so much?” The idea of it is so ludicrous that I can’t help but laugh.
“No,” Oliver sighs. “You scared him that much. The difference is that he’s not scared anymore.”
Ben said as much, but this coming from Oliver definitely gives me some more information to chew on while I figure out exactly what I’m going to do about whatever feelings I still have for Ben. There’s no use in trying to deny that they’re not there. They are. Now I’m the one who’s scared. Rightfully so, I think.
For no other reason than because the opportunity has presented itself, I take my chance to turn the tables on Oliver.
“What about that?” I ask, nodding toward Felicity. “That scare you?”
Oliver gives me a very sad, resigned smile. “It doesn’t matter. Nothing is going to happen there anyway.”
“Why not?”
“I’m no good for her.” God, I can tell that he actually believes that, and the thought of it is almost crushing. “Besides, Ben would beat my ass if I got involved with his sister, and I’d let him.”
“Ignoring the fact that you are so wrong about not being good for her, Ben doesn’t make decisions for Felicity,” I tell him. “Or for you, last I checked.”
Oliver presses his lips together, and looks out over the skyline, like he’s actually considering what I’ve told him.
He takes a deep breath and says, “I can’t. It’s...it’s not a good idea.”
“Who’s the scared one now?” I tease, bumping his shoulder with mine.
A long silence stretches between us as Oliver absorbs what I said.
“I’m sorry about what happened with your parents,” he finally says. “Well, about how it’s affected you, at least. I can’t say I’m sorry they got caught.”
“Thank you.”
“And I’m sorry that I couldn’t make the benefit.”
“I was only after your money, anyway,” I tease. “Money that you so generously donated, so thank you for that.”
He smiles at me. “Anytime. How’s Corinne doing?”
“She’s doing well. You know she’s strong.”
“Yeah,” Oliver says, tapping the bottom of his beer bottle against the railing. “You Blake women are pretty resilient.”
* * *
Ben offers me a ride home, sparing me what would probably be a never-ending cab ride. We chat about unimportant things in the back of his car as his driver weaves through the busy city traffic. When we pull to a stop in front of my brownstone, I invite Ben up against my better judgment.
He’s been so sweet and attentive all day, and I’m too worked up from being around him for hours on end to go to bed unsatisfied. Why should I, when Ben is perfectly willing to take care of that for me, and does an incredible job of it, too.
It seems like Ben is feeling just as unsatisfied, because he’s too impatient to wait for me to get my front door open. Once I turn the key in the lock, he has me pinned up against the door, his mouth hot and wanting, insistent against mine.
Somehow I manage to turn the doorknob, and the two of us stumble inside, our hands fumbling beneath each other’s clothing to touch any stretch of skin they can reach.
Once we’re safely inside, Ben moves us so my back is against the wall. While he’s kissing, and licking, and sucking on my neck, he rucks up the skirt of my dress, then slides his hand beneath the waistband of my panties.
His fingers go right to my center, and I grind against his palm as his hand starts working its magic.
“This dress has been killing me all day,” he says. His voice is all rugged and deep, full of want and desire.
“Yeah?” I whimper, as I fumble with the buttons on his shirt, wanting my mouth on his chest immediately.
“Mmm,” he replies, flicking his fingers inside of me. “I’ve been looking at your legs all night, wanting them wrapped around me. Sitting next to you at dinner was torture. Every time your arm brushed against mine, I wanted to pull you into another room.”
“To do what?” I ask, even though I know the answer.
He gets my arm free of one of my shoulder straps, then pulls my dress down and exposes my breast. He sucks on my nipple for a moment before he says, “To fuck you.”
I let out this breathy moan, I can’t help myself. He’s never really been the kind of guy who talks a whole lot during sex, but when he does, and when it’s filthy, it kicks me into overdrive.
“Why didn’t you?”
“Because I knew y
ou’d be loud, and I didn’t want you to hold back,” he says, giving my breast a little pinch. “Not with me.”
I arch my back, wanting every bit of my body to be touching him, hoping I can make that happen.
“Wrap your arms around my neck,” he says. His eyes are boring into mine, frantic with lust.
I do as he asks. He picks me up, and walks me over to the table on the other side of foyer. There’s barely enough room for me on it given all the bric-a-brac on top of it, but I don’t care about that stuff at this point.
As if he’s just realizing that we don’t have any room, he says, “Shit, let’s…” He’s looking around for somewhere else to go, and I don’t even care where he fucks me as long as he does it now.
“Just…get rid of it,” I say, my mouth close to his ear. I drag his lobe between my teeth, which makes him give my ass a squeeze. “Push everything off. Break it, I don’t care.”
Bless him, he looks even more excited at the thought of demolition sex, and a laugh breaks through the haze of lust that’s taking over, because he’s such a guy.
“Do it,” I say.
He does. Mail is flying, glass figurines are bouncing across the floor, and I just don’t care. He sets me down, and I’m working on the button on his jeans, my hands shaking as I fiddle with the zipper. I reach into his back pocket, and pull out his wallet, then find a condom tucked in next to a twenty. I rip the packet open with my teeth, then wait for him to shrug out of his boxer briefs before I roll the condom onto him.
After I spread my legs for him, I grip the fabric of his shirt between my fingers and pull. I never quite managed to get it all the way off, and that’s working in my favor right now. Then, I say the words that I know will send him right over the precarious edge he’s walking along. The point of no return.
“Fuck me.”
He growls—actually growls—as he pushes inside me. We kiss frantically as he pounds into me, making the table’s drawers clatter and clang as it bangs against the wall. Ben is sucking on my neck, his thumb working my clit, and I hang onto him for dear life as I come, burying my face against his shoulder.
