Chapter 11 #2
The lines between Ben and me were blurring, and I was sure we had already crossed a few of them.
He kept his eyes on me as he kissed my shoulder again.
With his lips still pressed against my skin, he said, “Okay, I won’t come and be your bodyguard, but can I at least pick you up after work?
Maybe we can go for a walk? Maybe talk?”
Our eyes locked. My heart was in my throat.
Don’t kiss me, Ben. Don’t kiss me. But also, please, dear god, kiss me.
I nodded cautiously and whispered, “Okay.”
He kissed my shoulder for a third time, simultaneously warming me from the inside and confusing the shit out of me, then slipped out of bed to make us coffee.
Ben arrived to pick me up at my internship at 7 p.m. I had been through a gauntlet of horrors.
Justin had explained that he was going to fire anyone who pissed him off that day, based on the three-strike rule.
His assistant was out the door by 5 p.m. He then called me into his office, saying I was going to be the one to take over the assistant’s desk because he liked the way I took initiative and color-coded the kombucha in the fridge.
The top of Justin’s desk was already stacked with the CVs of people next in line to replace me should I screw up.
He tasked me with getting him tickets to a Vegas fight that hadn’t yet been announced and didn’t yet “technically” exist to the outside world.
He said if I figured out a way to get the tickets, then I could come back tomorrow.
Needless to say, after crying in the bathroom for thirty minutes, I got scrappy.
I got a hold of the third assistant to the CEO of the biggest talent agency in Los Angeles by lying my ass off, and once I connected with her executive assistant, I told them whom I worked for and my predicament.
Luckily, Justin’s reputation extended across the country, and the executive assistant gave me the contact information for the assistant of the agent who represented one of the fighters.
It went on from there, and in about an hour I received an email from the agent himself, guaranteeing Justin the tickets.
Justin thanked me by squirting me with his water bottle and not firing me.
It made me forget about the push-ups from the day before entirely, and I felt like I had pulled a rabbit out of my ass.
I may have accidentally given myself my very first ulcer, but I did it.
I pulled it off, and I wondered for the first time if maybe there was something other than acting, other than writing, that I might actually be good at.
Yes, Justin was a movie star, but in the moment, I didn’t feel like an intern; I felt like his producer.
Ben gently tapped on my computer, surprising me with his arrival.
“You moved desks?”
My attention had been buried deep inside my phone, answering Justin’s texts even though he was in the office next door. Another intern named Chase, my deskmate before today’s trial by fire, dropped off a stack of movie scripts that Justin had been offered. Chase gave Ben the ol’ up-and-down.
“Security?” Chase laughed.
“Kinda.” I returned the laugh half-heartedly. I looked toward Justin’s open office door, then whispered, “I can’t go until he goes.”
“Okay. I can wait. But was today better, or do I lose my shit?” Ben asked, mirroring my hushed tone.
I smiled and felt myself fully inhale for the first time in hours.
Before I could answer Ben, Chase jumped in. “You Ellie’s boyfriend?”
Ben held out his hand and shook Chase’s. “What’s up? I’m Ben,” he said, not entirely answering the question.
“Oh, Ben! I’m Chase. Ellie talks about you all the time.” Chase leaned against my new desk, oblivious to how he had just called me out.
Ben’s eyebrows flew up his forehead, conveying his delight to be receiving this news. “Does she?”
“Settle down,” I cautioned Ben with an eye roll.
Just then, Justin stalked out of his office. He once again shot me with a squirt from his water bottle, then barreled toward the exit door like a hurricane of pomp and ego. “Nighty-night, intern.”
Thankfully, my computer was spared. I looked up at Ben, whose entire face had transformed.
“Ben. Don’t,” I warned, sensing he was about to blow. Ben carefully closed my laptop, then pulled on my hand, lifting me from my seat. He gently pushed back my damp hair and thumbed some water away from my face.
“Ellie.” His voice trembled with an anger that I knew he was attempting to harness. “He just squirted you in the face with water like you’re a cat he’s trying to train.”
“Please. It’s fine. I’m fine.” I clutched Ben’s hand. He kept his intensifying gaze on mine. His mouth tightened into a firm line. “Let’s go home,” I implored, and Ben eventually nodded, reluctantly following my lead.
We walked up Central Park West. Ben hadn’t let go of my hand.
“What happened today?” he said through gritted teeth. I could tell it was difficult for him to speak.
“Ben. Stop.” I pulled on his hand, forcing him to stand with me on the street. He forced his eyes down to mine. I gently pushed the back of my hands into his rigid jaw. He closed his eyes and brought me into him, wrapping his arms around my neck.
“I’m okay. Today was really hard. Like, really hard. But I got through it. I did it.” I turned my head to the side, resting it on his collarbone.
“I know you did. You’re Ellie Fucking McCain.
” He repeated his words from the night before.
I hummed softly and found myself quietly breathing him in.
After a long moment of just holding each other, he cleared his throat and let out a long, slow breath.
“What are we doing? Are we friends? Are we more? What’s going on? ”
My throat went dry. “Of all my friends, I like you the most.”
“Is this how you are with all your friends?” Ben placed his chin on the top of my head. Cars whizzed past us, horns were blaring, but we stood on the sidewalk as still as the trees in Central Park.
Did he mean, do I secretly fall in love with my friends and suffer through intense feelings twisting me in knots, torturing me until the end of time?
Then do I eventually mess everything up by holding on to something that wasn’t real?
Or maybe it was real, and I was too terrified to do anything about it because of how real it really was?
I mean . . . Maybe? I feared that I was running directly toward a record-breaking two for two here.
“Somehow, in six months, you’ve become the most important person in my life. If we got together and it got bad, I’d lose you. And I can’t lose you, Ben. I don’t want you to wake up one day and . . . not choose me . . .” My voice wavered. Everything felt a little too familiar.
“I’ve already chosen you, Ellie. It’s already happened. Now you have to choose me.” Ben tipped his head down and brushed his lips against my temple. “Which is what I thought was happening this morning before you freaked out.”
I pulled myself away from Ben’s embrace but left my hands on his chest. “I did not freak out.”
“You freaked the fuck out.” He couldn’t help but laugh.
“I don’t want a day to come when you’re not in my life anymore.”
“I’m not Rory, Ellie.” He said it. He went there. And by the crack in his voice, I would swear he sounded jealous. He took a deep breath. “I’m always going to be your friend.”
Ben left for Boston the next day. I looked over at his empty bed, then out to the busy streets of New York. It was the first time I had ever been entirely and completely alone.