Other Side of Beautiful (A Beautifully Disturbed #1)
Page 7
“Dinninger, wait up.” I turn around. He’s following close behind me.
Having Benton here actually turns out to be helpful. The man stands several inches taller than most of the dude-brahs hanging around the bar hoping to get lucky in the bathroom during the show. And his good looks stand out to everybody with a working set of eyes. Including the bartenders, one of which slips him a piece of paper with her number on it as she slides him our beers.
As the overhead music stops, signaling that the first act will take the stage soon, the people go out of their minds. The squeezing masses pinch us closer and closer together from all sides. When the first chords reverberate through the amplifiers, the crowd goes absolutely freaking nuts. And the bar clears out as they push forward to get closer to the stage. They can have all of it. I just want to enjoy the show tonight, bobbing my head to the music. Most of the background chatter comes as screams rising above the chaotic thumping rhythm. Benton, who stands behind me, bends down to talk directly into my ear.
Chapter 11
Elle
He says, “I want you to call me Ben,” right as some drunkard sways past us, pushing my bottom against his groin. Benton grunts softly and I step away, but he grips the back of my shirt, pulling me back to the spot where we were touching. I have no idea what’s going on but continue with our conversation, because being clueless and admitting to being clueless are two very different things. Fake it until you make it, right? Anyway, he just asked me to call him Ben. That’s grounds for serious wigging out if any situation ever called for it.
I mean, Ben? “I’ve only ever heard Collin call you that.”
“He’s the only other one. It’s special reserve, I guess.” Special reserve? Did he honestly say special reserve? I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to figure out exactly what is happening between us. Suddenly his words click. The closeness of our bodies becomes unbearable as our conversations over the past few months come to mind, and his breath dances delicately against my skin, ruffling the fine hairs on my neck. His lips brush against my earlobe when he talks. He definitely said special reserve.
One of his hands rests on my shoulder, with the other he spins me around, brushing slowly down the length of my arm to take my hand, braiding our fingers together. “Why—why am I special?” I crunch down on a piece of ice from my glass to distract myself.
“Do I really need to answer?” Some kind of answer would help. Yes. Because I haven’t been special in years. Cricket loves to remind me. She lives to remind me how not special I am.
“What about Kelly?”
“What about her?” he asks, now brushing the fingers of his other hand along my cheek. Perspiration from the glass in that hand drips down, dampening the cotton of my T-shirt, clinging the fabric against my breasts. I feel his eyes on me, watching my chest raise and lower. But I don’t have time to worry about the implications of his words or eyes, because so close, I feel implications of my own.
“I thought you—” No time to finish, his lips brush against mine lightly. But lightly isn’t enough. Benton finds out just how not enough when I push him back against the counter. A repeat of New Year’s, maybe even worse than New Year’s, balling his shirt at his chest in my fist, practically climbing the poor man, desperately pulling his face closer, deeper to me. Ben is so hot; the kiss is so hot, I could quite possibly combust right here, right now. What am I doing?
We are no longer in a bar, no longer listening to music, and no other people surround us. Only Ben and I occupy the space in this paradoxical world I’ve somehow slipped into, where big girls like me get kissed good and hard the way Ben kisses me now. The kind of good and hard where I’m convinced we’ll both suffocate or suffer brain bleeds from oxygen deprivation, but he pulls back and I gulp the air the way a greedy child gulps soda from the bottle. He straightens, smiling, chest rising and falling just as heavily as mine.
How can something feel so very wrong, yet simultaneously so very right? How can he ask me to call him Ben? He doesn’t know the shitstorm of insanity that could come from his invitation. I never meant for him to want me. I’ve never done anything out of the way to draw his attention. I have the crush—me. He’s been my cross to bear, and I’ve bore him in silence. I mean, right? Didn’t I? Only Kelly would have known. She’s the only one I’ve ever told. How pathetic did I look all this time, thinking I was being so clever? I’m clueless…at life. Shit. Collin knew the whole time. That was his warning to me. All that stuff he’d said beforehand, about us eye-fucking, it was to make me uncomfortable, not Ben. I was just too clueless to understand that was his way of saying, ‘back off you’re spending too much time together.’
And now, now I’m not so sure I’m able to back off. Not with the way his hands rest on my hips and he stares down at me like I just made him happy. Me? And I thought he and Kelly didn’t make sense. Our situation doesn’t make sense.
“So you didn’t come for Kelly?” The words sound ridiculous as they leave my mouth, but they’re the only words I can think to ask. My mind can’t process any other anything. I can’t tell Ben what I’m really thinking, not yet at least. There’s still so much for my brain to wrap around.
“Man, Brontë, took you long enough. I’ve been trying to get your attention since freshman year,” he says, petting my hair, smoothing it down my neck. And he leans in, kissing me again, pressing the length of us together.
Wait—what? He almost had me for a second. Trying to get my attention since freshman year? Romantic declarations and scotching kisses aren’t how my life works out. So I shove back to regroup, putting a minimum amount of space between us, just enough so I can look up and see his eyes. “If I’m so great, then why did it take you so long? Why didn’t you just ask me out? I call bullshit.”
His face rapidly shifts through a range of emotions—shock, anger, hurt, and then, and then a calm, almost embarrassed look spreads before he answers. “Would you have believed me?” he asks. “And there’s a lot for me to consider when it comes to you. I dated. Period. But you, you aren’t a date once and move on kind of girl.” Benton speaks so softly I almost can’t hear him over the music. Almost.
“No. I’m the don’t-date-at all kind of girl.”
“You know why men don’t ask you out?”
“Too many reasons to list.”
“You’re wrong. Men don’t ask you out because you scare them. You are the forever kind of woman, the kind a man will lose his heart to. It’s clear to any man who talks to you, and that scares the shit out of most men. The prospect of losing your heart so completely. It scared the shit out of me.”
“Yeah, okay.”
“I’m serious. Finally I grew the balls I should’ve had all along and decided I don’t care if I lose my heart completely, because you are worth it. All of it.”
Well, he knows the right words to say. Certainly a lot to process. I let him gather me in his arms so we can watch the concert together while I contemplate my next move. I think we’ve agreed to something here, but I’m just not sure what that would be. One thing I do know, we never make our way back to Kelly.
***
In the time before either Benton—Ben or Kelly wake, I watch him sleep, his even, shallow breaths, and it relaxes me. He wants to be with me of all people? I know he said he dated women more than once and he didn’t sleep with all of them. Where do I fall in? We hadn’t slept together last night. Do I get the whole weekend? I mean, we are stuck together for the time being. Will he want to sleep with me tonight? Sleeping with him can’t happen. How will my rejection affect our friendship? How will kissing affect us? Could I go back to just being his friend? We will have to, because if I know one thing about myself, it’s that I cannot picture a life where Ben isn’t in it. We’ve grown so close over these past few months. And if I lost Ben, I’d lose Collin too. The thought makes me sick to my stomach. And what about Bri and Errol? Would they still want me? Zena and Garret? No. I have to make us work no matter what. These people are my family.
A half hour later, Ben sits on the bed staring at me wide eyed as I leave the bathroom wrapped only in the bath sheet I’d brought from home. I only use my own towels, ones that drape down to my knees. A lazy smile spreads across his face.
“Well, this is worth waking up empty handed,” he says, pushing up from the bed. In two steps with his long legs and longer stride, his arms wrap around my waist and his lips brush lightly against mine. As I allow him to deepen the kiss, my heart pounds out a drumbeat in my chest.
“I’m really why you came?” I ask with my lips still pressed to his.
He pulls back, pinning me with his honesty. “You are exactly why I came. I’m going to shower, though, before Kelly gets up. Get dressed. We have a busy day ahead of us.”
Yes, I have to make it work.
Chapter 12
Elle
“Where are we?” Ben keeps his fingers pressed over my eyes, blindfolding me.
“Come on, Brontë, quit whining like a girl.”
“I am a girl.”
“No, from what I saw this morning, you are all woman.” Well, those are just the right words to make me blush. I feel my cheeks light up brighter than a Christmas tree.
“You’re so cute when you do that.”
“What?”
“Blush. You seem to do it a lot around me. That wouldn’t be because you like me?”
“You know I like you.”
“Yeah, but I think it’s more than that. You really like me.”
“Wow, Sherlock. Can’t put anything past you. Because I typically let random dudes tongue kiss me.”
His voice hardens. “I sincerely hope not.”
“I was—” Ben cuts me off.
“I don’t want to picture some other guy’s lips on yours. Ever.”
“Really?” Kelly whines. “Are we there yet?” I forgot she came with us. Kel walked ahead after we parked the car. She’s been pissed off since we kind of ditched her at the show last night. It’s not like she didn’t get her fill of free drinks and admirers. Still, it was a terrible thing to do even if we had a good reason. I’m relieved she hadn’t heard me and Ben talking. However the aftermath of our weekend plays out, I don’t need Kelly’s input on the subject. At all.
Ben drops his hands, “Surprise!”
I’m not sure what I should be looking at. A middle-aged looking woman in a puffy pink coat, tapered mom jeans, and black snow boots holds a tight grip on a kid’s wrist as he writhes, struggling to free himself.
“Well, thanks?”
“No.” He tugs me by the hand inside the building on the corner, the smell making my mouth water. And then I look up at the menu board. “Duck dogs?”
“With duck confit.” He winks at me.
“But how?”
“You’ve only been talking about trying duck dogs for the past year and a half.”
“Finding this place took research, forethought.”
“I told you, you’re worth it. All of it.”
We place our lunch orders and wait. When the cook sets each of our dogs on trays for us up at the counter, we take them and walk back into the dining area to sit. Minimalist decor, the exposed brick wall is actually really pretty, making me acutely aware that we’re sitting in a little diner in a big city like Chicago. A few framed photos of Windy City celebrities who have eaten here at some point or another hang around the small eating space. Seriously, the duck dog is the best hot dog I’ve ever eaten, and made so much better by the company I get to keep. I feel very lucky to be here.
None of us can keep track of the conversation over the growing noise once the tables around us fill up. The order line stretches outside, and when I lean to the left I can see that it continues up the city block, even though the temps dip into the biting range. People lean against the windows and hover by the trashcans waiting for a table to open up. It would be nice to sit and talk a while longer, but we kind of feel bad for all those people who haven’t had lunch yet, despite their loudness.
With our bellies full and the impulse to brave the metro traffic, we end up in a completely different section of the city, surrounded by the tallest buildings, strolling by the waterless fountains turned off for the winter, eventually finding ourselves standing in front of the bean. You cannot visit Chicago without stopping at the Bean, a giant contemporary sculpture, a shiny, metallic spaceship shaped like a protein-rich superfood. Maybe it’s not a spaceship. But when I think of interstellar space travel, I think of the Bean.
“Ben.” Kelly practically sings his name. “Will you take our picture?” Then she holds out her phone to him, waving it like an impatient small child might.
“Ah, sure.” We pose, hugging one another with a foot kicked behind us and our cheeks pressed together, our red, chilled noses scrunched as if we smell something nasty. “But, it’s Benton, if you don’t mind. Just my thing…” She shoots me an impetuous, ‘but you called him Ben’ look. Like I have anything to do with who he does or doesn’t let use his nickname. Hell, I’m as blindsided he asked me as she is. The man knows how to make his own decisions. He doesn’t need me to do it for him.
Although, a girl could get used to his kind of special treatment, treatment I have no intention of turning down because my “friend” has ordered up a heaping scoop of jealously for dessert. Once upon a time, there was a little girl who had all the attention she could hope for, more love and attention than she knew what to do with. And then she didn’t. Now she has it again. Do I think it will last longer than tomorrow? Of course not. But at the very least, Collin and I are part of our own exclusive little club now.
I might feel bad for Kelly if I wasn’t so happy he used the weekend to get with me instead of her. Now that I’ve had time to wrap my brain around the idea. Especially since Ben is one of the few men left on campus she hasn’t had a roll with. Thank goodness for the westernized educational system and all those freshmen and transfer students every year.
Our friendship, mine and his, stemmed from our writing. It’s what connected us as freshmen well before any attraction or crushes. She has never understood the life of a writer. It’s been years since I’ve actually written at home. Kelly is like a preschooler in that respect. Even if we haven’t spoken the entire day, the minute I sit down to write, she has a dissertation to discuss. Every single time.
It’s why she couldn’t just let me have one weekend. Kelly thrives on being the center of attention—the truest definition of an attention whore. I accepted her ways when I accepted being her friend and have always been content to let her shine. Never did I think me grabbing a sliver of spotlight one time would bother her so much. But she won’t ruin my good mood. Because today has to be the best day of my life so far.
When we drag our feet back to the hotel room just past 10:00 p.m., Kelly collapses on the mattress, not even bothering to change from her clothing. “You and Ben can share tonight.” Then she pops her earbuds in her ears, turning on music or something on her phone and spreads out, taking up all the space on the bed. Nice, Kel. Way to be mature. I wasn’t planning on sleeping next to her anyway, not when Ben still wants me. Not when our weekend is coming to a close. I plan on soaking up all the benefits ‘the Ben club’ has to offer until we step foot back on campus Sunday evening and our relationship resets.
Ben and I watch a movie, some thriller I’m only half paying attention to until we hear Kelly’s soft snoring again. He lightly brushes a finger across my cheek, and it’s my only warning before he’s rolling over pinning me underneath him. Beautiful. That long body of his rubs against me in all the right places. “I thought she’d never fall asleep,” he whispers into my ear. “I’m going to kiss you senseless now.”
My mouth goes dry. I both love and hate the reactions just his words can milk from me. So I lick my lip, which he takes as my acceptance before I ever get out my, “
Okay.”
Then he does. Until I’m breathless. Benton moves on top of me, his movements slow and purposeful, almost torturous in the sensation our grinding bodies create together. He caresses my face, my neck with one hand, while his fingers on the other stipple light touches against my stomach, pushing up under the hem of my pajama shirt, stroking the skin from my navel to my hipbone. If I didn’t know better, I’d call it marking his territory, making sure every inch of me is covered with his scent. His touch electrifies me. Ben doesn’t push for more, either. His hands never stray farther than that strip of skin while I, on the other hand, grip his hair, tugging a little harder than gentle. He groans his approval into my mouth, moving up my jaw to my earlobe, then the spot behind my ear. And it turns me on like I’ve never known a kiss could, feeling a lingering tingle throughout every erogenous zone on my body.
As he shifts in this beautiful, languid motion, the friction he causes between my nightshirt and skin has me crying out his name. I bite down on my bottom lip to stifle the sound, but he shakes his head and kisses me until I release my lip.
“Your reactions are beautiful, Elle. Don’t stop yourself, not for me. I love hearing my name through those lips.”
“It’s embarrassing. I mean, it was just a kiss.”
“Did it feel like just a kiss to you? Because it felt like more to me. And you never have to be embarrassed around me. Embarrassment is an emotion we feel when we don’t know how others will react. You always know how I’ll react to you.” Then Ben stops talking, using every bit of his mouth to show, not tell, his reaction to me tonight.
Chapter 13
Elle
As late as we stayed up, a lot of working our tongues without much talking, we still beat Kelly up and dressed, but we’d gotten up too late to partake in the continental breakfast the hotel offers.