“We’re here now,” I mumbled, pulling her close.
I pressed my lips to hers, inhaling her scent, sweet yet complicated. We stayed like that for a while, wrapped in each other’s arms, kissing, exploring, and catching up on what we’d missed over the years.
“Okay,” I said with a chuckle as I reluctantly pulled back. “Stop attacking me. The movie’s starting.”
I was joking, but any more making out and we’d be back on the road on our way home.
“Tell me what you’d like.” I pulled over the cooler. “Brie? Apples? There’s also a cold pasta salad and mini grilled chicken on something that looks like a pretzel bun. Oh, and a crustless quiche.”
“Do you moonlight as a chef somewhere?” Murphy picked up her wine I hadn’t realized she’d set down until now. I’d been too focused on kissing her.
“Sadly, no. There are a lot of things I do well, but cooking isn’t high on the list. The Wayside prepped everything for me. It was a toss-up between these goodies and a stack of pancakes, but I didn’t think they would travel well.”
“Apples with brie sounds perfect. And salty pretzel buns are a close second to pancakes.”
Murphy slid all the way back toward the doorjamb again, and while I missed her closeness, I wanted her to eat. I set up all the little containers and handed her a fork and a plate. We nibbled and watched a disgruntled Molly Ringwald pout on the screen.
“I had a huge crush on Molly growing up,” I said, staring at the screen. “Guess I always had a thing for redheads.”
Murphy turned her focus from the movie toward me. “You watched Molly Ringwald?”
“I have an older sister. I didn’t watch anything I wanted until I landed at Pressman, and then I didn’t have a TV. I watched what you guys all put on in the lounge. God, if I never see The Bachelor again, it’ll be too soon.”
“I always hated that show. I think I was afraid my parents would sign me up for Millionaire Matchmaker.”
“Is that a thing?” I was pretty glad I didn’t have food in my mouth, because I probably would have choked.
“It’s a show I used to sneak and watch in college. Didn’t you ever just let loose?”
I shook my head. “No. First, I was set to be the tight end, and had a small sliver of hope of playing beyond college. It was a pipe dream, but then I tore up my ankle during a game and ended up playing special teams. It gave me time to focus on my science pre-reqs and pick up other little odd jobs.”
Murphy slid the food to the side, and still watching the movie, moved closer to me. With her head on my shoulder, she mumbled, “You must’ve never slept. I get that, though. My parents dragged me all over New York during school. I never really had a normal social life. Probably why I’m a mess right now.”
Trying not to be a creeper, I took advantage of her head on my shoulder to take a quick whiff of her hair. It smelled like the tropics, all coconut and citrus.
Forcing myself to focus, I said, “I slept some, but I did burn the candle at both ends. Sports gave me a free ride, and my brains got me through a lot of coursework, but I was ready to get out of there. When Geisel admitted me for med school, it was a happy day because I could be near my family. Dartmouth is only about ninety minutes away. Anyway, my point is, and forgive me for saying this, but I don’t get your parents using you as a puppet.”
Murphy swiped away a tear, and I suddenly felt like a jerk.
“Hey, I didn’t mean to make you cry.”
She looked up at me, her eyes glistening in the glow from the screen. “It’s not that. It’s you. You’re so strong in your convictions, balancing family and work and life. And I’m a barista, trying to do social media for a hippie making honey infusions.”
I brushed a coppery curl from her face. “That’s the best part about you, Murph. You’re figuring stuff out, making mistakes as you go. You’re real now in a way you couldn’t be back then, and I like it.”
“Really?”
“Really.” Taking her small hand in mine, I ran my fingertip over what I assumed was a blister from the espresso machine and pulled Murphy halfway onto my lap.
Our mouths touched again, and we made out while the movie played, until it was Molly’s turn to go to the prom in her pink dress.
Murphy and I sat there quietly, snug in each other’s arms, waves of unspoken memories flowing between us. It seemed strange to be so unbelievably comfortable and uncomfortable at the same time.
I had to wonder—this time around . . . was it real?
16
Murphy
“Thank you,” I said, and I meant it.
The movie had just ended and yet Ben and I continued to sit, our thighs touching as our feet dangled off the back of the Jeep.
“I like this,” he said, running the back of his hand along my leg. “Being with you.”
Ben kissed me, and it felt like the first time all over again. When our lips met, something electric happened. I’d read about it in books—sparks, fireworks, whatever you want to call it—but I’d never considered it a possibility for me.
For years, I’d been resigned to do what my parents wanted when it came to my relationships, and then I met Preston Parker on a dating app. Things felt natural and fun with him, but when I found out he was a graduate student where I worked, I knew the universe was out to get me.
“For years,” I mumbled without thinking, lost in the memory, “we’d gossiped about this person and that person and all the elephants in the room, and this time the elephant was me.”
“Hey, where’d you go? What was that all about?” Ben gently bumped my shoulder with his.
Ducking my head, I said, “Oh, it was nothing.”
“I don’t think it was. I wouldn’t think anything on your mind was nothing, Murph.”
Ben’s words were like a balm to my tortured soul. Pulling in a deep breath, I met his eyes.
“I’m not sure where you came from,” I blurted helplessly, “but I know I don’t deserve you.”
“Stop,” he said, and his lips met mine again.
A moan traveled up my throat, a reaction I could control even less than my verbal onslaught.
When big lights flicked on all around us, Ben pulled away with a frown. “We’ve gotta go. But let’s continue this at home.”
Squeezing my knee, he hopped off the back of the Jeep and helped me down. We quickly tossed the leftovers in the cooler, and of course, Ben walked me around to the passenger door.
“One more, okay?” he asked and swooped in for a toe-curling kiss without waiting for an answer. His tongue collided with mine, and I forgot about the spotlights being on and the cars all around us.
A quick blast from a horn made me jump in Ben’s arms, and he pulled me in tighter.
“Let’s roll. I’m not finished with you.”
Seated in the car, I watched Ben run around the front and hop in, ducking his head to slide his big frame inside the door, and I let a small sigh of happiness.
Ben fiddled with the radio as we pulled out of the lot and onto the road. It was blacker than black out, and for the briefest of seconds, I missed the bright lights and traffic of the city.
“This is so surreal,” I said, staring out the window. “Being out here in the darkness, driving along a pitch-black road . . . no taxis, no noise, no high heels clicking on the concrete.”
“I’m sure. I had all that noise when I was in Boston. It was energizing when I first arrived, but then I grew tired of it.”
“It feels like an extension of the old me. Of course, I miss the pace the most. I find it so hard to slow myself down sometimes.”
He nodded toward the classical music streaming from the radio. “That’s why I listen to this, especially when I operate. I may live here, but my job demands my hands and brain being fast. This slows me. It’s good for me, and my patients.”
“Bach,” I whispered.
“Yes, you know him too? Do you like this?”
I’d forgotten how many symphon
ies I’d attended as a middle schooler, and then again when I returned to New York from Pressman. “Classical tunes . . . I never would have thought. What else do you have up your sleeve? Show tunes?”
“Show tunes are definitely not my jam. This is, though. I guess I’m an old soul when it comes to music. I was wondering if you were too, that’s all.” His voice faded off in the end, like he was hopeful I was an old soul too. Like he’d found his people.
“It’s nice. Bach. I was sort of thrown into knowing it. My mom was, and still is, on the board for the symphony at home. It’s been her pet project for decades. We went a lot. Although, we had to go. I’m not even sure my mom likes classical music or would know an oboe from a clarinet, but she likes the prestige that comes with it.”
This made Ben laugh. His deep, raspy chuckle filled the car. “Why would she be on the board then? Just for the prestige? That’s what I don’t understand. I get that she did it for appearances’ sake, or your dad or whatever, but why? In the whole scheme of things, why live your life that way?”
Leaning my head back into the headrest, I closed my eyes. “That’s what we do. We do what we don’t want to because everyone is watching. You know in the movie Ocean’s Eleven, when Anthony Garcia says something like, ‘Someone is always watching in my casino?’”
Ben nodded without interrupting.
“That’s my life. Someone is always watching. Was, I guess,” I said. The words came flooding out of my mouth faster than women running into a surprise sample sale on Fifth Avenue. “Now that I’ve been excommunicated and shunned and won’t fall on my sword, it probably doesn’t matter anymore.”
“What happened?” Ben turned his head for a second and then back toward the darkened road. A pair of headlights hovered in the rearview, but nothing came from the other direction.
Disbelieving, I glanced at him. “You really didn’t google me?”
“Nah. I don’t do that.”
“It’s amazing to me how genuine you are. And always have been.”
“It’s called being a real person. I have feelings, emotions, and I live by them.”
“That’s how I’m trying to be. Better to myself, gentler on my insides, kinder on the outside. Does that make sense?”
He nodded, again not interrupting.
I watched him push his hair out of his eyes and wanted to move the conversation to something lighter, like why doesn’t he get his hair cut? But my heart wouldn’t let me.
Resigned to finally having this conversation, I said, “You know I worked at Columbia. In student advising.”
“Yeah, I think so.”
“Well, it was a cushy job in the business school, highly sought after, and I landed it as my first job out of college. Family name, strings pulled, all of it.”
I cleared my throat and stared at Ben’s profile, trying to gauge his reaction. He appeared to remain nonplussed, keeping his eyes on the road, but his features relaxed.
“I moved into an equally cushy apartment on the Upper West Side, near Columbus Circle. I didn’t make many new friends because I was still tied to my parents’ world. Their events, their social circles, and their finances. I was able to live and do things many of my peers weren’t able to, but I wanted to date. Really date. So I tried a dating app. It was awkward and strange, but felt like I was finally in the real world like a regular person. You know?”
Ben laughed again. “I don’t know, but I understand you wanting to do something on your own. Something like the common folk.”
I frowned. “When you put it like that, it sounds crass.”
He gave me an apologetic look. “That’s not how I meant it. I’m only trying to understand the divide between how you lived and how mostly everyone else did or does.”
“Yes.” My reply was soft, but he’d hit on the truth. “The divide was gigantic. Anyway, I met a guy online. He said he was twenty-five, and I was thirty-one at the time. We went for coffee and hit it off. He was fun and exciting, from New Jersey, and said he was an entrepreneur. I never checked or asked a lot of questions. Then we went for a drink, and he walked me back to my apartment and kissed me good night.”
“Sounds pretty normal.”
“Well, he must’ve gotten a load of where I lived or maybe he knew beforehand, I don’t know. We went for one more coffee and shared another kiss outside my building before he called the Post and outed himself as a Columbia student having relations with an employee.”
“What? It was a setup?” Ben looked at me for a second, his blue eyes blazing with fury.
“I don’t know. He led them to believe we were more intimate than we were. He also didn’t explain he was a graduate transfer student and twenty-five. It didn’t matter, though. My name was smeared and my reputation ruined. My parents weren’t interested in explanations or rebuttals. They wanted me to do some sort of ridiculous penance like community service, even though what I’d been accused of wasn’t against the law, and publicly date someone of their choice. But I couldn’t do it.”
“So, you came to Vermont? For a do-over? A new life?”
“Well, I tried to stay in my job for a year, but I couldn’t stand the curious looks and the cold shoulder people gave me. I thought if I just put my head down and did my job well, people would forget. Truthfully, I don’t know if they did or not because my parents certainly didn’t forget. I had to escape, and so I did. I guess it was a cowardly move.”
“What? No way. It was brave, standing up to generational wealth and all those tired standards.”
“I agree. They’re tired, but those standards are—were—a way of life for me.”
“You’re moving forward, not backward, Murph. That’s all I know.”
We’d been so deep in conversation, and my thoughts were so heavy and disturbing, I’d lost track of time. On a long exhale, I realized we were back at my place.
“Sorry the conversation got so down toward the end,” I said as Ben parked.
“No reason to be sorry. I’m glad you decided to open up.”
“And we had a great time at the drive-in. Can’t believe I’d never been. Can we go again sometime?”
Ben turned in his seat. “Definitely,” he said, and then his lips were on mine.
Not wanting my neighbors to see me making out, I asked, “Want to come in?”
“Also definitely,” he mumbled, his lips tickling mine. Then he jumped out and opened the door for me.
“You don’t have to do that every time, you know?”
“I do.”
With no further argument, I took Ben’s hand and led him to my door. I’d never been so assertive, but something about this felt perfect and right.
“I feel bad that you’re still far from home,” I said when I locked the door behind us.
“Is that your way of saying I can’t stay over?”
I dropped my head in my hands. “Oh God. You must think I’m so naive or spoiled.”
Ben shook his head while turning and backing me into the door until my shoulder blades were against the wood, his hardness pressing into mine. “Don’t worry, I wasn’t going to stay. I’m liking this, taking my time with you, Murph.”
Then he kissed me. Not with a sense of urgency, but taking his time just like he’d promised.
“As for my place, it’s on the other side of Montpelier, but it’s not a big deal. I drive at night to get to emergencies.”
Our lips locked again, and Ben’s hand slid down my back, eventually grabbing my butt—my ass? My former New York socialite self couldn’t reconcile with this newer, more casual and hip version of me.
“You feel so good,” he murmured, pulling me out of my head as he leaned further into me.
It wasn’t forceful and it didn’t hurt. In fact, it felt so alpha, or caveman, or in charge. Whatever, it felt great, and I wanted more. As I leaned further into Ben, a low moan or maybe a growl made its way from my mouth.
“Was that me?” I said breathlessly.
“That was you.”
>
Ben broke free from my lips and kissed his way down my neck before running his tongue over my collarbone. Then he knelt lower, lifting my shirt and pressing his mouth to my nipple.
First, he sucked through my silk bra, before pulling the fabric down and blowing warm air on the chilled skin. Goose bumps spread all over my body as he continued to suck on me and then blow warm breaths.
I didn’t want to admit I’d never had this type of sensation before. Yeah, I’d been groped or felt up in the past, but it had been a while. And it had always felt so cursory—obligatory and unemotional.
Moaning, I couldn’t help the sounds coming from my mouth. My head banged back into the door, and Ben was kneeling on the floor, pulling my jeans down and tugging my panties to the side. It happened so quickly, I couldn’t remember if I’d done any maintenance down there. It had been a long time since I’d had the full monty in Manhattan. Now, I was all about quick and down-and-dirty trimming.
A deep rumble came from Ben’s chest, and then his mouth was on me there. All over me, devouring, licking, nipping. With a long swipe, he released my most sensitive spot from his mouth, and said, “I’m sorry if I’m rushing you. I had to taste you. I’ve been waiting . . . well, years.”
He didn’t say another word until I came apart, all over his mouth, face, tongue, whatever you want to call it. It had never happened like that for me. This was a rebirth or something. Sometime between Ben spinning my back toward the door and now, I’d become a highly sexual woman.
After sliding my panties back in place and pulling my jeans up, Ben rose to his feet and trailed a long line of kisses over my collarbone and up my neck, finally landing on my mouth. He tasted like me, and it was so intimate, I thought I might combust.
“See?” he said, smiling against my lips. “Not only am I not staying over, but I’m not even seeing your bed.”
“What about you?” My head spun with confusion. I’d never been in an intimate situation where sex or intimacy wasn’t quid pro quo.
Friendzoned (The Busy Bean) Page 12
