Chapter 21 #2
I look up at Ben, maintaining my painfully broad smile while trying to somehow communicate telepathically: Please play along because I don’t think I can hurt an old man’s feelings tonight. My heart can’t take it.
Something shifts in Ben’s expression, but before I can decipher it, his arms come around my shoulders in a languid motion, pulling me close.
“Everything okay over here?” he asks, his voice dropping to an obscene octave. And just like that, all the blood in my body pools between my legs.
“Yup. Yes,” I say, tripping over my own tongue. But I can’t help it. My eyes are locked with his and every thought has emptied from my brain except for how warm he feels against me, how his eyes look like little explosions of heat and fire.
“Huh,” the older man says, eyes narrowed like he still doesn’t believe us.
I try smiling again, and do the only other thing I can think of: introductions. “Ben, this is…”
“Murray,” the man says gruffly.
“Murray! This is Murray. And Murray, this is Ben. My boyfriend. My boyfriend Ben.”
“Hold up!” Pete appears from behind Murray like some sort of smug guardian angel. “Did I hear boyfriend?”
Ben sighs, a sound of utter disappointment. “Let it go, Pete.”
This only seems to egg Pete on more. “Are you kidding? This is great! Here I thought you were just neighbors. How silly of me! Everybody, let’s cheers the happy couple! To Marnie and Ben!”
Ben shifts his weight to turn to his brother-in-law, a small motion that brings him a few inches closer to me. Close enough that I can feel the warmth of his body even through his sweatshirt.
The rest of the bar seems to be in on it now, all yelling their own encouragement.
“To Marnie and Ben!”
“To love!”
“Go Sox!”
Then someone bellows from the far corner, “Kiss her!”
My face is suddenly hot.
“Yeah, kiss her!” Pete cheers. “On the MOUTH.”
“Jesus Christ,” Ben murmurs.
A chant starts further down the bar. “Kiss her! Kiss her! Kiss her!”
“Should I kiss her?” Murray asks, looking around like he’s genuinely wondering.
Ben turns his gaze to me, an apologetic expression that hints at what he wants to say.
Ignore them.
Don’t worry about it.
We don’t have to kiss.
Except, we do. I’ve been trying to stomp out the desire for weeks, but now that it’s out there, I don’t think I can survive the rest of the night without kissing him. Every inch of my body demands it.
Then, as if he just might be thinking the same thing, Ben’s gaze drops to my lips.
I don’t know who kisses who, only that his mouth is on mine, soft and perfect.
My lips part, savoring the slide of his tongue, and I barely hear how the bar erupts with applause.
The shouts and whistles and calls to get a room.
All I can focus on is the feel of his body against mine, the smell of sawdust and soap that wraps around me, the sweet bite of lager on his tongue.
I haven’t had alcohol in weeks, and it feels like I could get drunk on this. Like I could devour him right here.
But just as quickly as it started, it’s over. He draws back, and Pete is suddenly between us, holding up his beer and doing some kind of dance I can only assume is in celebration.
Ben tilts his head enough to look around Pete, meeting my eyes. It’s that look he gave me at the hospital, apprehension mixed with concern. Except now, I know what his lips taste like, how his hands feel against my skin, and my body suddenly feels like it’s glowing.
Cheap Trick’s “I Want You to Want Me” comes on the jukebox then, and Pete pulls Ben and me into the center of the room where everyone else has started to dance, each person to their own version of the beat.
I know I should feel self-conscious about the kiss, about my bangs, which are sticking to the sweat on my forehead, or how I trip over my feet.
But all I care about is singing along to the lyrics I didn’t even know I knew by heart.
The feel of Ben’s hand as he takes mine and spins me in a circle in time with the music.
This moment that feels like the universe created it just for me.
The four of us pour out of the bar at one a.m., with Pete yelling drunken goodbyes to the other patrons over his shoulder.
“We’re parked on Battery Street,” Lauren calls out to Pete once we’re outside.
There’s no way to know if Pete hears her, or if he does, whether he’s committed the information to memory. He’s a few paces ahead of us, singing “Dirty Water” at the top of his lungs. Ben strides up beside him, helping him to stay on the sidewalk.
“Men are so embarrassing,” Lauren murmurs to herself.
I let out a soft laugh.
We walk another few steps with only Pete’s off-key version of the Standells filling the air before she says, “So, are you and Ben together or something?”
My cheeks are suddenly on fire. I don’t know why I didn’t anticipate the question, or stop to consider that Ben’s sister was standing right there, just a few feet away when we kissed.
I had been so consumed with the thought of his lips on mine, nothing else had even entered my mind. Not until right now.
“Oh, no. It’s not… we’re not… we’re just friends. And neighbors, obviously. But definitely not together together. My personal life is a bit of a mess at the moment. And, you know, he doesn’t do relationships, so…” I clear my throat, willing my words back down my throat.
She doesn’t look convinced, and I can’t blame her. Saying we’re just friends doesn’t magically erase our very public make-out session.
“Has Ben told you about our dad?”
I blink at her candor. “A little bit.”
“So you know he left,” she says. When I nod, she sighs.
“Ben idolized him, then he was just… gone. And Ben was the one who had to pick up the pieces. He saw how heartbroken our mom was, how she struggled to make ends meet. He saw how much you can hurt a person, even when you think you love them. And as he got older, he worked so hard not to disappoint anyone that I think he started to believe it was easier on his heart to be alone.”
I look ahead to where Ben walks beside Pete, the strong line of his shoulders helping to support his brother-in-law as they make their way down the street.
When I turn back to Lauren, I realize she’s been watching me. And I gave away much more than I intended.
“My brother doesn’t let a lot of people in,” she says, her expression serious. “So don’t make him regret it. Okay?”
The words feel heavy, like they’re more than just advice. Like she wants me to make a promise.
“Okay,” I reply solemnly.
She nods, the same way her brother does, as if it’s a form of punctuation. A moment later, Pete’s voice echoes down the street ahead of us.
“Seven to three, baby!”
Once we get to our building, Ben and I say goodbye to Lauren and Pete as they continue on past the corner and out of sight. Then a loaded silence descends as Ben unlocks the door and holds it open for me.
I can feel the weight of his presence behind me, warm and solid, as I ascend the stairs.
It makes it hard to think straight, so I almost forget which apartment is mine by the time we get to the third floor.
I blink between doors, finally recognizing my welcome mat and digging my keys out of my bag.
But I don’t unlock the dead bolt. I turn to face Ben.
His door is open, the apartment dark just beyond the threshold, but he hasn’t entered. He’s turned to face me, too.
“Thank you again. For inviting me tonight,” I say.
“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” he replies.
I don’t move. Neither does he.
I know this should be the natural conclusion to the evening.
I said thank you, and now I should unlock my door and disappear inside before I launch into one of my signature monologues that I know I’ll regret.
But that would mean sitting alone in my apartment, replaying our kiss over and over in my head until morning.
And I don’t want to do that, either. I want to keep his eyes locked on mine.
I want to soak up the feeling of his concentrated attention, how it sends a prickly heat across every inch of my skin.
“I’m sorry,” I finally say. “For earlier and that whole… thing.”