by Zoey Dean
Anna thought about this a moment. “Maybe she was being honest, too; at the time. Maybe afterwards, she had all these feelings. For some people, it’s hard to have sex without love. Impossible, even.”
“You’re talking about yourself,” Ben proclaimed gently.
“Yes. What did you think I would have done if you just told me about it?”
He looked off into the distance. “Thought less of me. Definitely.”
Well, that was honest, at least.
“Can I take you somewhere? Not my house or the boat; I mean some place to celebrate your graduation. How about Grace on Beverly Boulevard? The bartender makes this killer drink called an Orange Blossom Special. You have to try one.”
One part of her wanted to call Caine, say that she and Ben had reconciled, apologize profusely. And another part of her … didn’t. Not because she didn’t want to be with Ben, and not because she didn’t love him. So what, then, was keeping her from flinging herself into Ben’s muscular arms?
“I’m always … reacting to you, Ben. You saved me on the airplane. You whisked me off to Jackson Sharpe’s wedding.”
“You’re still thinking about that?”
“I am,” she hesitated for a second. “It’s almost as if … you’re the center of the universe for me. It’s been like that ever since I met you. And now I think maybe … I should be, instead of you. The heroine of my own life.”
“From where I sit, you always have been.”
She was surprised. “Really? Well, that’s good. But I need it to be true from where I sit, too.”
“Hey, there.”
Anna looked up. Caine was leaning out the driver’s window of his blue F-150 Ford pickup. His eyes flitted from Anna to Ben and back to Anna, questioning.
“The guy from the movie line?” Ben was aghast. “Tell me you’re not going out with him.”
“I’m not,” Anna assured him. “Not in the way you think. He’s my friend.”
Ben reached for her hand. “C’mon. Blow him off.”
“I could,” she agreed. She got up and kissed Ben’s cheek. “But I’m not going to. Thank you for coming. We’ll talk soon, okay?” With that, she walked around to the passenger side of Caine’s truck and got in, doing everything she could not to turn back and look. She wasn’t sure what she was doing exactly, but inside somehow, it just felt … right.
“Juggling guys?” Caine wondered aloud.
“He just showed up. We talked.”
The truck inched forward. “So, you good?”
Was she? Tonight was an ending; not so much with Ben, but of her high school self. Tomorrow would be … something else. She hoped Ben would be a part of that. But this time she’d be the active heroine, the one behind the wheel.
Was she good?
“Yes,” she told Caine as they finally made it to the end of the driveway. She realized just how true it was. The summer, new adventures, Yale, her entire life—all of that lay ahead of her.
She was very, very good.
