Annabelle Per-fect #2
He rubbed his fingers over the diamond on my left hand, never taking his gaze off of my face, and said, “Not anymore.”
Maybe it was because I was twenty-two and unsure, or maybe it was because I was twenty-two and totally sure, but I followed Ben out of the bar a few hours later.
I had to know more about him, I had to understand why I felt so immediately drawn to him.
Under the flood of the streetlight that, instead of a dingy, moth-ridden fluorescent stream, seemed like an enchanted glow under the spell of Ben, I started to come to my senses, even through the tequila haze I was in.
“Wait,” I said, suddenly feeling the two shots and two liquor drinks I’d had, “you could totally be a serial killer. I mean, this is nuts.”
Ben walked toward me, a smile playing on his lips.
I felt my back touch against the vintage CJ7 Jeep that my dad would have flipped for, my heart beating so loudly I couldn’t hear anything else.
He stepped closer, took my hand, and put it on his heart.
“Would one sweet, beautiful girl make a serial killer this nervous?”
I leaned my head back against the window. “No . . . no. I guess not.”
I’d never felt so totally out of control.
I’d never done something so unplanned. And it felt so good I didn’t want it to ever stop.
I felt Ben’s hand on my face, sweeping my hair behind my ear.
I looked up at him and smiled, his sparkling eyes boring right through me.
I felt like I couldn’t breathe, totally overcome with wanting to be closer to him, to know him more.
He leaned in and kissed me, my legs giving way.
If it hadn’t been for the car behind me, I probably would have fallen onto the asphalt.
As I reached my hand up to run it through his hair, I heard, “Quit kissing my boyfriend, you slut,” quickly followed by Cameron’s loudest, drunkest cackle.
I laughed too as she made her way toward the Jeep, sort of sideways and peering. The combination of the drinks and the kisses had made me a little sideways too. “You,” she said, falling into me, her mouth right on my ear, “have totally impressed me tonight.”
She leaned away, looked at Ben, swallowed with intention and said, “I mean, this girl, she always does the right thing. I mean, seriously, you have no idea. She’s like per-fect.” She made a hand gesture to punctuate the last syllable.
Ben laughed, and Cameron squinted at him. “And you,” she said, slurring, pointing her finger right in the middle of his chest. “I was in love with you until you pulled that sappy shit up onstage.”
Ben put his arm around my shoulders. “Sorry to disappoint.” He kissed my hair and opened the car door for me.
Cameron slid in right beside me, so I was in the middle of the front seat. I looked at her. “Whatcha doing there, sweetie?”
“Do I look like I can drive myself?” Cameron asked.
We both burst out laughing. “Oh my God,” she said. “I love you so much. I’m so proud of you. I mean, seriously, I love you.”
She hiccupped, and I leaned my head on her shoulder, smirking. “I love you too.” Then I whispered, “Do we know he isn’t a serial killer?”
Cameron shrugged. “He’s so freaking hot.”
I laughed.
“All right, girls,” Ben said. “I don’t know where I’m going.”
“Doesn’t look like it’s going to be home with me,” Cameron said.
Ben interlaced his fingers with mine. “Doesn’t look like it. I think I’ve found the last girl I ever want to go home with.”
I closed my eyes, feeling myself smile, and took a deep breath, wanting to memorize the moment. My best friend, the new love of my life. And then I groaned.
“What?” Ben asked. “Was that too much?”
“For me,” Cameron said. “In fact, I’m probably going to barf on the floorboard. But I would assume she just remembered she has a fiancé that is busting up her plans to shack up with you tonight.”
I slapped her leg. “That is so tacky, Cameron. I am not going to do that,” I hissed.
“Rip off the Band-Aid, baby,” Cameron said, producing two beers from her purse and handing me one.
We clinked the bottles, and I looked at Ben, feeling my heart melt. What was it about him?
“Hey,” he said. “If you aren’t sure, I can just take you home. You can sleep on it.” He stopped at a stoplight, put his lips softly on mine and said, “But I promise you that I wouldn’t let you dump your fiancé if I wasn’t sure we were supposed to be together.”
Cameron laughed. “God, you’re really too much for me. We never would have made it. But Ann, she loves all that sappy horseshit.”
I called Holden, feeling stone-cold sober. “The wedding is off,” I said. “I’m sorry, but I can’t marry you.”
And do you know what he said back? “Is this about the cruise control?”
“Yeah, Holden,” I said. “It’s totally about the cruise control.”
Then I hung up, Cameron cranked up the radio and the three of us sang “Don’t Stop Believing” at the top of our lungs.
We dropped Cameron off, and, before she half fell out of the truck, she drunk whispered, “Listen. Holden schmolden. Ben Hampton is a foooxxxx. And you just know he’s crazy awesome in bed. Text me later.”
Then she slammed the door. “Will she be all right?” Ben asked.
I laughed. “Oh yeah. This is basically sober for her.”
He put the truck into gear and said, “She’s right, you know.”
“How’s that?”
“I am awesome in bed.”
I raised my eyebrow. “Oh, yeah? You sure about that?”
He shrugged. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
It disturbed me how much I wanted to know.
But I also got those nervous butterflies in my stomach because I hoped he knew I wasn’t going to sleep with some guy I just met, no matter how taken with him I was.
Which is why I was so relieved when Ben pulled into the parking lot under the bright yellow sign of Waffle House.
“I’m in more of a sleep mood than a waffle mood,” I said.
But Ben took my hand and pulled me out through the driver’s seat anyway. And I realized that I would have followed that man anywhere.
We walked into the brightly lit restaurant and Ben called, “Hey, Hilda,” to the aproned woman standing behind the counter with her pad in her hand. She had to have been in her seventies, and wouldn’t have weighed eighty-nine pounds soaking wet. But she lit up like a schoolgirl when she saw Ben.
“Well, hey there, handsome,” she said, her voice raspy from what sounded like decades of smoking. “The usual?”
He nodded.
“What about for the little lady?”
Ben looked me over. “Two eggs over medium, bacon, and coffee that’s more cream and sugar.”
I looked at him in astonishment. “That’s exactly what I order. How did you know that?”
Ben shrugged. “I just know you. I can’t explain it.”
“So,” Hilda said, handing us our coffee cups. “I ain’t never seen you with a girl, Ben. I thought this whole time you came in here every night to see me.” She cackled.
I laughed behind my hand and, inside, was bathing in relief. Ben was clearly a regular here, and he wasn’t stumbling in with a different girl every time.
“You come here every night?” I asked. I couldn’t imagine being able to keep a body like Ben’s eating stuff like this.
“Well, I come every night I have a gig in Charlotte. Which is a lot of nights.” He grinned, increasing those butterflies in my stomach. “What can I say? I’m a sucker for Hilda.”
I smiled, feeling giddy and alive.
“So,” Ben said. “You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. I’m assuming the fiancé dumping wasn’t over cheating. And I assume you didn’t really call off an engagement over some cruise control situation. So what’s the deal?”
I took a sip of my coffee, feeling myself sobering—and waking—up. “He’s just not the one.”
Ben rolled his eyes. “Obviously. That’s me.”
I was so fully and completely charmed by Ben.
And, when I looked in his eyes, it was like I knew him too.
Sitting across the table, I instinctively felt that I understood him better than anyone else ever would, that I could see what was inside of him.
“So,” I said, taking my first bite of egg. “What’s your story?”
“I have a feeling,” Ben said, “that the only part of the story I’ll ever care about again is just beginning.”
“So this Waffle House late-night breakfast is the beginning of a Gabriel García Márquez–style love story?”
“God rest his soul,” we said in unison.
“That was pretty creepy,” Hilda interjected.
Ben laughed. “Love in the Time of Cholera is my all-time favorite book.”
I gasped, mid–bacon bite. “Shut. Up. Mine too. My grandmother and I read it every year. She says it’s a reminder of what true love should look like, of what you should find before you get married.”
“My mom says that exact same thing.” He paused. “Of course, she should’ve waited a little longer.”
“Why is that?”
“Because my dad cheated on her.”
“Oh no.” I shook my head. “So they’re divorced?”
Ben rolled his eyes and took another bite of waffle. “No. My mom’s a sex therapist who believes that sometimes sex is just sex.”
Even the word coming out of his mouth gave me those butterflies again. I shifted nervously in my seat as Ben smiled at me. I gave him a haughty look and said, “Just so you are aware. I’m not sleeping with you.”
He gave me an amused look. “You’re not?”
“No. I just met you, for heaven’s sake.”
He laughed, his fork in the air, mid-bite. “I know that, Annabelle. I told you: I know you.” He shrugged. “But if you’ll come home with me—just to talk”—he put his hands up as if surrendering—“I promise I won’t put any of my irresistible moves on you.”
He wiggled his eyebrows, and we both burst out laughing.