Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
BENJI
The things we do for love, huh?
Since I arrived at the gallery, I’ve been ogled, whistled, heckled, and slapped on the ass at least once. Now, if that had all been from Paige, I’d be all for it. I’m not gonna lie; it’s been pretty damn rewarding to see her staring at me from across the street. Like she can’t help herself.
This is the first date I’ve allowed myself since we broke up. I’m not surprised that Paige chose this place—the website called it a sensory experience and “unlike anything you could expect”—and, well, that’s Paige to a T, you know? Full of hidden treasures.
I couldn’t care less what anyone thinks about what I’m wearing—if a meteor were headed straight for the earth and I had seconds left to live, I might admit that these shorts were fucking comfortable, but that’s for no one to ever know.
All I care about right now is leveling the playing field between us, and if Paige decides that her forgiveness comes with a side dish of public shaming, then so be it.
My thighs look fucking huge in these shorts though. If I’m ever strapped for cash, they’ll come in handy.
Isaac, of course, thinks this whole thing is fucking hilarious.
Ridiculous, but hilarious. You’d think he, of all people, would understand.
I mean, I spent a year crashing in his spare room and hating myself for fucking things up with Paige, but, no …
all my older brother has to say is “talk to her.”
Like prying open the car wreck of my vulnerabilities isn’t the whole-ass reason I fumbled the most amazing woman I’d ever met.
I know I need to talk to her. I want to. I want to tell her everything.
There’s no future I want that doesn’t have her in it, and she deserves to know that.
I just need to get the damn words out.
The exhibit runs on a schedule, and I know it’s time because the tour guide pokes her head out of the entrance to gently prod me into coming inside. It’s now or never.
One last glance across the road tells me Paige is gone, and I guess getting stood up is the perfect finale for today.
Yeah, I deserve that.
Well, fuck it. I’m already here. If I go home now, I’ll be stuck in my own head, which I definitely don’t want. So, sensory exhibit it is. At least it’ll be cooler in there.
The tour guide jumps to get everyone’s attention as soon as she catches me walking in. “Greetings, everyone! Thank you for joining us at Color Wheel!”
There’s a quiet round of applause from the two dozen other people here. I wonder how many of us know what’s coming.
“I’m so excited for you to open your minds and senses today. Remember, there’s no right or wrong way to do it, just let go and be honest.”
Jesus. My therapist is going to have a field day when I tell him about this. He’s been begging me to find new ways to open myself up.
“As you know, this is a partnered experience, so please get into your pairs; otherwise, come see me, and we can match you up with someone before you go in.”
The group starts to pair up, finding partners easily and making it quickly apparent that I’m about to be the odd one out. How fitting for today. Maybe leaving was a better idea.
Before I can throw in the towel though, the tour guide is in front of me. I can tell she wants to laugh at my outfit, but is staying very professional about it. I respect that.
“Hey, so do you have a partner?”
And honestly, I didn’t think this far ahead. Everyone else is waiting, and I wonder if my final humiliation will be getting kicked out of this art exhibit because I couldn’t get a date.
Therapy is going to be a blast this week.
“I’m his partner,” comes the lovely, raspy, angelic voice I spent a year missing.
Paige materializes beside me, a flush to her cheeks and a sharp glare that only makes her more beautiful. I’m fucking relieved, and I want to tell her that, but she’ll probably think it’s a line. Every time I try to push something sincere out, it gets stuck in my throat, and I choke on it.
I’d better figure it the fuck out, or I’m going to lose her twice.
“You couldn’t stay away, huh?” I joke instead because I’m a dick.
Her gaze drops to my chest, then my ass, then the floor as her cheeks turn a darker pink. Fuck. I’m desperate to kiss her.
“Please. I’m just making sure I get my winnings. You’re not getting out of this bet that easily.”
She looks incredible in a white crop top and jean shorts that are testing my blood pressure.
Paige’s jeans have their own hall of fame in my brain.
Denim is her comfort zone, and, fuck, does she look good in it.
Her hair is tied back, damp against the nape of her neck from sweat.
I’m desperate to touch the strands and wind them around my fingers to see if her hair is as silky as I remember.
“Never planned on it,” I say, sliding a hand to her lower back. But what I really mean is, Thank you, and, I’ve been waiting for you, and, I’m learning to be a better man because that’s what you deserve.