Chapter 6
Ben
The sun is barely up when I come to, half-tangled in the sheets, the world outside already alive and humming. The first thing I do, before my feet even hit the floor, is grab my phone from the nightstand. Habit. Or maybe addiction. Either way, it’s all because of her.
As if on cue, a notification lights up the lock screen, April’s name front and center. My pulse kicks up like some lovesick teenager.
I’m so pathetic.
Good morning; can’t stop thinking about you.
I let it sit there for a second, reading it over and over, soaking in the way her words make everything inside me loosen and tighten all at once.
Then I thumb open the thread, scrolling up through last night’s conversation, re-reading the parts where she called me “dangerously sweet” and I called her “trouble in a sundress.”
I run a hand over my face, yesterday’s stubble scratching my palm, and try to think of something clever. Something that doesn’t make me sound completely whipped. But my brain is still half asleep, and the only thing that comes out is honest as hell.
I could get used to waking up to you.
I stare at my own words for a second, then erase them. Re-type. Erase again. Fuck’s sake.
Finally sending:
If you’re not careful, I’m gonna start expecting these every morning.
Cheesy, I know. But she’ll probably love it.
Before she even replies, I’m on my feet, the wood floor cold under my feet as I move through the quiet house.
The kitchen is flooded with morning light, the sun’s slanted rays coming through the blinds.
Sunlight like this makes my tattoos look more vibrant.
The old ink and new art blending together.
As always, coffee first.
I slam the filter into place, dump in the grounds, pouring way too much, but who gives a shit, and hit the button. Roasted bitterness floats through the air, waking me up faster than anything else.
My sketchbook is already open on the counter, a half-finished drawing of a lily, a callback to April’s tattoo, taking up the page.
I couldn’t sleep last night, kept thinking about how her skin felt under my hands, the way she gasped when the needle met her skin.
The way she trusted me to turn a joke into something beautiful.
That’s not just infatuation. That's an obsession.
The phone buzzes again.
I’ll try to restrain myself. But no promises.
There it is. That little giddy rush of something inside me. The way she teases, like she knows exactly what she’s doing.
I can’t help myself. I type back:
I’m counting on it.
I pause, my thumb hovering over the screen. I want to type more. Letting her know how I can’t stop picturing her lips, how I want her in my bed for real, how this whole thing feels insane but right. But any time I get close to putting my feelings out there, the guilt sneaks in.
Fucking Purgatory.
Just tell her. Stop being a pussy.
But then the three little dots pop up on my phone…she’s already typing again…and everything else takes a backseat.
Are you working today? Or do you get to play hookie from drawing on naked girls all morning?
I bark out a laugh. For a second, the tension in my chest breaks open and melts away. She really has no idea. Not about Purgatory. Not about my hands on her, a month before I ever knew her name. Not about how much I want her, every second.
I lean over the counter, coffee mug in hand, phone gripped tight. Trying to decide if I want to flirt back or be serious. Instead, I split the difference.
I have to open the shop soon, but I could be convinced to pencil in a little study session…
Strictly educational purposes, obviously.
That’ll make her blush. I can practically see her, miles away, rolling her eyes and pulling her hair in front of her face. Fuck, I want to touch her again.
Ben. You’re incorrigible.
And yes, I had to look that up to make sure I knew what it meant exactly.
Okay, now I’m grinning like a maniac. Pretty sure if anyone walked in right now, I’d look deranged.
My thumb hesitates again. For a second, I almost text her the truth…April, there’s something I have to tell you. About that night at Purgatory. The secret I’ve been sitting on for weeks. I want to be honest; I want to be the guy who deserves you.
But what if I fuck everything up? What if she looks at me and sees just another asshole who lied to get what he wanted?
Instead, I tap the phone against the countertop, breathing in slowly. Go for something light…try not to fuck it up.
Are you coming by the shop later? Or I could cook you dinner. Or, hell, you could meet the rest of the freak show I call family; we’re having family game night. If you’re brave enough.
Instant regret. Was that too much? Too soon? Oh well, can’t take it back now.
There’s a pause.
The phone feels heavier than it should, like all my anxiety is packed in the little rectangle. I stare at the sketch in front of me, the lines of the lily blurring as my brain spins.
A minute later, she comes back:
I would love that.
Just let me know what I can bring (besides embarrassing stories about myself).
Relief pours in so fast I have to grab the countertop to stay grounded. I want to warn Arrow to behave, tell Corinne not to scare her off. More than anything, I want to get April right now and keep her with me until there’s no excuse for us to ever be apart again.
Hell, maybe I’m a lost cause.
The clock on the stove blinks at me…shit, I’m going to be late opening if I don’t get moving. I chug the rest of my coffee and grab my stuff. Last check of the phone, and one more message for her.
Can’t wait to see you tonight.
I hope you’re ready to get destroyed at Monopoly.
And then, because I can’t stop myself:
Or we could just bail and spend the night making out in my car again. Like teenagers.
I should probably regret that one, but honestly? I don’t. Not even a little.
I head out, locking the door behind me, the day suddenly brighter. Purgatory secret and all, I want tonight to last forever.
But sooner or later, I know I’m going to have to tell her everything.
For now, I try to ignore the throb at the back of my skull, and pretend I’m a normal guy, even if it’s short lived.