by Lexi Ryan
She flinched. “It’s not like that,” she said softly. “It’s not a big deal. It’s just one of my steps.”
Ben pushed himself off the bed and paced the length of his bedroom. “Going out with Mark is one of your steps?”
“Sure, and it’s No. Big. Deal.”
He stopped pacing and looked at her. “Who are you? Because the Reese I knew wouldn’t sit there telling a guy she just slept with that he should be okay with her going out with another—with his brother.”
“I’m sorry. Did I miss something? Are we in some exclusive relationship now?”
“What? You need a ring on your finger to know I might be a little pissed about you going out with Mark?”
“I told you it’s not like that. It’s just a step. I’m faking my way through, remember?”
His jaw ticked. “Of course it is. God forbid you not complete one of Halie’s Holy Steps.”
“You, of all people, should appreciate those steps,” she hissed.
“Me of all people?”
“Halie’s the one who told me to have lunch with you the other day. She’s the one who convinced me to keep an open mind about what could happen while I was with you. It was my step eight.”
“Right. Because that’s what all of this is for. Everything between us, everything that’s changed in our relationship—it’s all because of that goddamn program.”
A chill snaked through her and she rubbed her arms. “I didn’t realize it was such a hardship for you.”
He looked at the ceiling. “Is this really the kind of girl you want to become, Reese? Screw one guy before you’re out the door to slide into bed with his brother?”
Her breath left her in a rush and she staggered back. Her jaw tightened. “Fuck you, Ben. You don’t get to control what I do with my body.”
“Oh, right. That’s Halie’s job.”
She crossed her arms. “You’re being unreasonable. Even Mark knows it’s a fake date. Just a step.”
“As fake as all the steps you did with me?”
“Ben—”
“Come on, Reese. Anyone with eyes can see that you’ve had a crush on my brother. Doesn’t it seem the slightest bit convenient that he’s showing an interest now?”
She froze. Outside. Inside. Cold wrapped around her and she could hardly move her lips to speak. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means that Halie got to him. She told him to take you out, to flirt with you and make you feel good.”
Another chill. Cold on top of cold. “Mark told you that?”
“No, but it’s pretty damn likely. That’s the way that woman functions. She came to me at the beginning of your program, asked me to ‘help’ you.”
Something frozen in her gut felt like it was breaking in two. “She did?” God, it hadn’t mattered that Halie had gone to Mark, but Ben?
“Then she wanted me to seduce you. Held the contract for the McCormack Manor job over my head. Makes sense that she got to Mark too. She was playing us against each other to make you feel good about yourself.”
She drew in a breath but her lungs wouldn’t take it. The air wouldn’t go in. “You did this because Halie told you to?”
Ben flinched. “Shit. I didn’t mean—”
“You’re such a hypocrite.”
He took a breath. “No. I wasn’t going to take the contract. I’m not going to. I gave that up. For you. But you’re going out with Mark? He hardly knew you existed before your makeover, but he’s the stud, right? He’s the real prize.”
“Are you serious?” Oh, God, that chasm in her stomach. It could just swallow her whole.
He pulled a hand through his hair. “You expect me sit back and pretend this is okay?”
The pain in her gut was spinning, a growing vortex that was beginning to scream in her ears. “How many years have we been friends, Ben? How many opportunities did you have?” She shook her head. “I wanted you and you knocked me down. You say Mark didn’t notice me until after the makeover, but I think you have it backwards. You didn’t want me before. You rejected the quiet, lonely caterpillar. You wanted Halie’s butterfly.”
“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted you.”
“You’re right. I don’t. But Mark? He wanted me five years ago, long before the makeover.”
“Five years ago?” He grunted. “Is that what he told you?”
“He didn’t have to tell me,” she said softly, her stomach pitching. She was going to be sick.
“What do you mean he—” Ben seemed to suddenly register her meaning and his eyes locked on hers. “No.”
“Five years ago. You said you didn’t want me. You told me not to ask you for more.”
His face contorted. “Reese?”
“I needed someone, and Mark was there. He wanted me.” She dropped her voice. “Still does.”
His eyes blazed, and she recognized the anger, the hurt. “Then go, Reese. Mark wants you? You want him? No one’s standing in your way.”
She shook her head. “I chose you, you asshole.”
“Really? You chose me? Was that before or after you fucked my brother?”
Part of her registered the pain on his face, part of her mind understood he was hurt, that these were words he’d regret later. But she had to put those parts aside and focus her energy on surviving, on clawing her way to safety and away from the icy vortex spinning wildly as it ripped her heart from her chest.
“Bye, Ben.”
***
Reese squeezed a pillow against her stomach and swallowed back the tears she’d been fighting since she left Ben’s house. God, why did it have to hurt so much?
She wanted to believe this was a bump, a little argument they’d move past, but the dread in her stomach felt so familiar and her red dress hung on the back of her bedroom door, reminding her of her old foolish assumptions, reminding her of the last time she’d dressed just for him and put her heart on the line.
After he’d found out about his girlfriend dying, Reese had been there for him, been a friend. That’s what he’d needed, and she couldn’t imagine anything else. He’d been a mess, and she’d been there, never questioning their relationship or his intentions. Being his friend hadn’t been a decision, just the natural response to his tragedy. But as months came and went, she realized that she was no longer the almost-girlfriend. Graduation had come and gone and she’d passed up a good job offer back in Kentucky and accepted a permanent position with WJRK. She waited out the anniversary of Lisa’s death, waited out the long summer after.
Then Ben had asked her to join him for a fancy dinner with the local homebuilders, and she thought their holding pattern had finally come to an end.
Wearing a little black dress and her mom’s pearls, she’d waited for Ben to pull her close during a dance, to brush his lips over her neck, to reroute their relationship to its original course.
Before she knew it, the evening had ended and they were sitting in his truck, nothing changed between them but her expectations.
“Thanks for coming tonight,” he said with a grin. “I hate this part as much as my dad does, but unlike him I understand rubbing elbows is necessary if you want to stay alive in this business.”
“I liked going,” she said softly, clutching her purse in her lap. “I don’t remember the last time I had an excuse to dress up.”
“You clean up nice.” He reached for the radio and winked at her, sending a little shiver of anticipation up her spine.
“Ben?” She swallowed down her terror and forced herself to ask the question that had been haunting her for months. “Are you ever going to kiss me again?”
His fingers froze at the radio dial.
A car alarm sounded down the street. A dog barked and someone shouted.
Suddenly, the closed car didn’t have enough air. Reese’s cheeks burned and her skin was tight and hot.
Ben dropped his hand from the tuner and he squeezed it into a fist at his side. He turned to look out the window,
away from her. “I thought we were friends.”
Her eyes slammed shut, her heart plummeting. “We are.”
“Don’t ask me for more.” His voice was so low she almost couldn’t hear him. “I can’t.”
“So, we’re just supposed to go on pretending that our night together never happened?” God, why was she still here? Was she really so pathetic? Begging for an explanation?
When he turned to her, the pain in his eyes revealed how fresh a year-old wound could be. “I regret everything about that night, and I would take it all back if I could.”
And that really said it all, didn’t it? The most passionate, intense night of her life, and he’d regretted every minute of it.
She flinched and reached for her door handle. “Goodnight, Ben.” She stumbled from the car and toward her apartment. She didn’t cry. Couldn’t—not when her tears would be as much for him as for herself. She understood, and yet that didn’t keep the shattered pieces of her heart from tearing her insides to shreds.
A week later, she’d found herself drinking a beer next to Mark. Luke had just opened his new bar and they were all making a habit of supporting his venture.
“So, are you and my brother ever going to get together?” Mark had asked.
“I can honestly say we are not.” She did her best to sound like she didn’t care. Maybe she pulled it off. “I’m the type of girl whose friendship guys value, blah, blah, blah.”
Mark grunted. “I don’t.”
“What?”
He shrugged. “I don’t value your friendship.” His eyes dropped to her mouth. “I’ll prove how little I value it, if you’ll let me.”
She’d needed that, needed that moment. They’d laughed, and the next morning, she’d woken up in his bed in a panic. Because, want to or not, she still loved Ben.
She made her walk of shame back to her apartment and found Ben there with a bottle of wine and a handful of skeeball tokens. She’d recognized it as a peace offering, and she’d accepted. Because she missed him. Because she told herself she didn’t need more from him. And because, though she wouldn’t admit it to a soul and denied it when Trish or Masey dared suggest it, she believed it was only a matter of time before Ben made his move.
A couple more years passed and she found Lance flirting with her, buying her a drink, and asking her how much longer she was going to let “that carpenter guy” lead her on.
How many times was she going to let Ben break her heart?
Reese squeezed her pillow tighter and buried her face in it. When her phone buzzed, a look at the display told her Mark was calling.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Ben was two-and-a-half beers into what he intended to be a most-excellent drunk when Mark walked into the PitStop.
Cries of “Hawk! Hawk!” filled Ben’s ears and made him want to hit someone. Preferably a tall, dark, and famous someone who shared a bunch of Ben’s DNA.
“How’s Chicago’s biggest asshole?” Ben called, a little too loudly. “Thought you had a date tonight. Or maybe you’re done with her now and here to spit in my beer.” He pushed his glass across the table toward his brother. “Or was there something else of mine you wanted to ruin?”
Too late, he saw Reese behind Mark, then registered the pain on her face. Shit.
Slowly, she pushed Mark aside and approached Ben’s booth, her dark eyes shimmering. Anger? Tears? Both?
They stared at each other, and Ben could hear his heart pounding in his ears. Funny it could still do that—beat—when for the last two hours it had felt like nothing but a mass of concrete weighing down his chest.
“I waited for you,” she said softly. “Months, I waited. And then you told me you didn’t want me.”
“I wanted you.” He took in a shaky breath, shot a glare at Mark. “Everyone knew that. Mark knew that.”
“You wanted me? Is that why you told me you wouldn’t be more than my friend?”
“I was terrified, Reese.” He reached for her, but she stepped back. “I didn’t want to lose you.”
She nodded. “Yeah, and that was your choice. Fine. And I slept with Mark. Probably stupid, since I was still in love with you—”
Ben drew in a shaky breath. She’d been in love with him.
“—but it was my choice,” she continued. “I wasn’t yours. You. Didn’t. Want. Me. You didn’t want me until I changed my clothes and hair. You didn’t want me until I looked like this. Mark? He wanted me from the beginning. Just as I am.”
Behind her, Mark dropped his head, studied the floor.
Ben swallowed.
“So don’t talk about me like I did you wrong, Ben. Don’t talk about me like I was stolen from you.”
“I didn’t expect you to run to my brother,” he said, trying to explain, trying to get her to see how much he hurt.
“But I did. Because I needed to be wanted and he wanted me. I’m not some toy that someone ruined before you could got a chance to play. I made mistakes. Not telling you about what happened with Mark? That was a mistake. But you made mistakes too.”
“What did you want from me?” He slammed his palm against the table. “Every time I looked at you, I felt guilty. For wanting you when I was supposed to be grieving. For wanting you when I was with Lisa and you were just this cute girl at the bar. I felt guilty for what I’d been doing while she was dying.”
Sympathy softening her features and he hated it, wished she’d look angry again.
“I didn’t want to lose you too,” he said.
“I know.” She stepped back. “All I wanted was for you to be brave enough to try. I know you were scared, and I wanted to be worth the risk.” She took another step.
“Reese—” But he was talking to her back because she was on her way out the door. Leaving him. Again.
Fuck.
Ben closed his eyes and when he opened them again Mark sat in the booth across from him.
“Fuck off,” Ben muttered, but his heart wasn’t in it, and Mark didn’t take the bait, just signaled the waitress for a beer.
They were quiet a long time, studying their beers instead of facing each other.
“Why Reese?” Ben asked finally. “Dad, the company, whatever, I can deal. But Reese?” He made a fist, as if that could release the ache in his chest.
“You’re not the only one who loves her,” Mark said softly.
Ben looked up, and the ache intensified because the truth was in Mark’s eyes.
“You know why I first fell for her?”
Ben looked away. He didn’t need to hear this. He, of all people, understood falling for Reese Regan, understood wanting her even when he set his mind against it.
“I wanted someone to look at me the way she looks at you.”
Ben grunted. “Are you kidding me? Women crawl out of the woodwork for you.”
Mark lifted a shoulder. “They want The Hawk. They want someone who will flirt with them, someone who will push the boundaries and make them blush. Some of them even want sex. But they don’t want me. They sure as hell don’t respect me.”
“I didn’t realize you wanted respect.”
“When Reese looks at you, her whole body goes soft. Like she’s found happiness. Like she’s come home and never wants to leave again. No woman has ever looked at me like that. I wanted what you had, and I fell for her. And I’m sorry as hell about that because I didn’t want to fall for your girl. But I did anyway. And, damn it, Ben. How long was I supposed to watch you lead her on and turn her down? I waited. You told her you didn’t want more, and I made my move.”
“And this time?” Ben said, his voice gruff.
“I asked you at Dad’s retirement. You said you were just friends and I believed you. I wanted to believe you, but when I saw you all over her on Thursday night, I let it go. Do you have any idea how hard that is? Just bowing out to my little brother? And then you act like a fucking undeserving dick.”
“I didn’t want to lose her,” Ben heard himself say again. He was staring at the
door like an idiot. As if she might come back through and throw herself in his arms. “I was so scared to lose her.”
“But you did.”
***
When Lance had left Reese, she’d taken a week of vacation from work and had spent the entire seven days sitting on her couch in her bathrobe, watching sad movies. She’d cried and grieved—for what they’d once had and for what she’d only hoped they might have. Trish and Masey took turns checking on her, bringing her therapeutic ice cream and listening to her rant about the man who’d broken her heart.
She’d been with Lance for three years, and it had hurt when he left. Her pride and her heart were wounded, but with some tending she’d been able to return to life, return to normal.
After her week-long ice cream binge, she’d called Ben and asked to meet him at the PitStop. They’d done shots together, shared a few choice words about Lance, and it was almost like her time with Lance had never happened.
Her fight with Ben hadn’t left her like that. She didn’t feel angry. She didn’t want to call her friends and rant and rave over how he’d done her wrong. She didn’t want to talk about it at all. She felt empty. Her heart hadn’t been broken, it’d been ripped from her chest and taken hostage.
So she’d poured herself into her work—easy to do with the masquerade ball approaching this weekend. She hadn’t let herself grieve or scream. And when her cell rang and the screen told her it was Ben on the line, she hadn’t answered. She already knew what he’d say, how he’d propose they resolve their problems, and she didn’t want to hear it.
Now, in her office, two weeks after he’d taken her heart hostage, it was no different. She hit the button on the side of her phone to send the call to voicemail, though she knew he wouldn’t leave one.
She wouldn’t avoid him forever. Eventually, she’d take the call, she’d listen to him suggest they go back to being friends. Eventually, she’d decide how she was going to respond to that suggestion.
But not until after this weekend. She couldn’t afford to break down before she made it through Saturday night.
“You’ve been quiet this week.”
