Chapter 18
Lucy
I keep my arms tucked around my body, and I power walk as far away from that party as possible. My mind keeps replaying Benson grabbing Paxton and slamming him against the wall. Why the hell would he do that?
There was blood splattering. Alcohol went flying.
The sound of the party halted to their fists hitting each other.
All the guys were panicking, trying to pull Benson off.
And the worst part is that Gianna acted surprised when she had been pushing Paxton towards me all night.
She was so determined to get me ‘laid’, and she orchestrated the entire thing like she knew this would happen.
“Lucy,” Benson calls out, and I wonder why he’s out here. He’s a foot taller than me, and it’s so not fair that he’s already caught up. Fucking athletes. “Lucy, wait.”
I have nothing to say to him, so I keep walking. What he did back there was reckless.
“Lucy, please.” He catches up. He’s on my left now, walking next to me at my pace and not touching me. I keep my eyes forward, but I notice his split lip. He slides his hoodie over my head. I put my arms through the sleeves, inhaling his scent, and keep walking.
“Don’t follow me,” I mutter.
He says, “I’m walking you home.”
That makes me stop in my tracks. He walks in front of me, so I look up at him. His lip is actively bleeding. It drips down into the river off his chin. His face is red and swollen. Blood soaks his shirt. “I don’t need you to walk me home.” I step around him and keep walking.
He grabs my arm, and the touch sends a shockwave through me.
“Why did you do that?” I snap.
He releases my arm and sighs. He gently wipes the blood from his chin. The back of his hand is covered in dry blood. He answers, “Because he was going to kiss you.”
“It was a game.”
He nods. “Yeah, I caught that part. Game of spin the fucking bottle.”
“And you thought that hitting him was going to –– what?”
“Stop him.”
I scoff, rolling my eyes.
He says, “It was Gianna setting it up.”
I stare at him, crossing my arms. I already knew this, but hearing it is different.
“She was testing me.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I fucking failed. And I’m a hockey player, babe. It’s just in me to see red and swing. You see my face? Paxton hit me back.”
My heart spins, twirls, and ends up in a knot. Babe?
He continues, “See, my sister pulled the circle together. My sister put you next to Paxton. My sister was the loudest one clapping when the bottle landed on you. Lucy, she –– she was suspicious, and now she got what she wanted.”
I look into his eyes. “How drunk are you?”
He steps forward, and I wince at his bloody face.
“I’m not that drunk, baby.”
Baby?
“Benson—”
He drops to one knee, and my heart is fluttering outside my chest. He grabs my hand, and his I’m not that drunk, baby echoes in my head because this man is as drunk as can be.
Somehow, his hands are on my hips instead of my hands.
He pulls me toward him, looking up at me.
I stumble over my feet. My nerves are jumbled.
His hands are large and warm against me. What the hell is he doing?
“Lucy,” he says, pulling me closer. “Will you go on a date with me?”
Okay, we’re back to first names. That’s settling. But wait, what did he just ask me?
He looks up at me. “I know what I did back there was stupid. It was so fucking stupid, but I couldn’t see you kiss someone else.
I’m sorry. And I promise that I was planning to ask you this tonight anyway.
I’m going to talk to my sister.” He leans his head against my stomach and says, “I just really wanna take you out, baby. Will you let me?”
I don’t know what to say because his face is flush against my stomach. I’m trying to calm my racing pulse.
I pull back, grabbing his face to make him look up at me. “You shouldn’t have hit him, Benson.”
He nods. “I know.”
“Why are you fighting for me?”
“Lucy,” he pleads.
“I’m serious. We have known each other for less than a month.
We kissed once. I tried to end this five hours ago and you flirted me out of it.
And now you start a fight in your own house over me.
With an old teammate. In front of your sister, who I live with.
I want to know what you are doing. What were you thinking? ”
He stares up at me. He gets off one knee, standing to his full height, towering over me.
“I liked you better on one knee,” I joke.
He drops back down and grabs my hand. My heart sinks. “Forgive me for being an idiot.”
“Okay, get up,” I whisper, ushering him up. I hear a car in the distance, and it reminds me that we’re not completely alone.
“Go out with me?” he asks.
“Just get up.”
“Then answer me.”
“Benson,” I beg.
“Give me an answer,” he says, looking up at me and grabbing my waist.
“Fine.”
“Fine, you’re going to answer me, or fine, you’ll go out on a date with me.”
I lean down and say, “Please get up right now.”
He shakes his head. “Answer me.”
“Yes! I will go out with you!” My heart races. Half from rage but the other half is that he’s drunk.
His face Camdenks into a wide grin. He stands, hugging me with him. My feet lift off the ground. I squeal, grabbing onto his hard shoulders.
“I love to hear it,” he says, walking forward and swinging me around.
“Benson,” I plead, chuckling. “Put me down!”
He sets me on my feet, and I’m lightheaded when I look up at him. His smile is still big, and his lip is still oozing blood.
“You need to get cleaned up.”
He wipes his lip and says, “I forgot I was even bleeding.” He looks down at his hands. “Shit. I’m a mess.”
I nod. “You sure you’re not drunk?”
He grins, looking at me. “I’ll walk you home.”
The rest of the walk is mostly silent. We go down Hawthorne Street to the corner.
We turn onto Main. We pass the Vietnamese place — the lights are still on inside, but the chairs are up on the tables, and the cook is behind the register counting out the till.
He keeps walking on the roadside of the sidewalk.
We reach my building. I stop on the bottom step. I turn to face him.
“This is me.”
“Can I have your number?”
I lean in and say, “You said you were going to talk to your sister, right?”
He nods, looking down at me.
“If she approves, then you can get my number from her. If not, it looks like we can’t go on that date.”
He looks down at my lips while I look at the swelling of his cheek. “Okay.” A small flirty smile pulls at his lips.
I open the door. “Have a good night, Benson.”
“I’ll be texting you,” he calls out.
I turn around and smile. “Sure.”
The door closes on his smiling face, and my heart is no longer in my chest. I left it back there when that man was on one knee asking me to go on a date.