Chapter 17 #3
The guy nods and peaces out. I'm about to join him when Lisa chirps, her tone back to saccharine, "So glad you guys made it!"
"We were really looking forward to it." Richard lies so hard I almost admire him. I lost count of how many times I hinted I wasn't in the mood. This morning, while brushing his teeth, he grunted he finally regretted it too.
He surveys the court with an approving nod. "The place reminds me of my childhood in the Highlands. My sister and I used to play golf there."
"You played golf? I love golf. So relaxing. Ben calls it boring—not enough contact for him." She rolls her eyes.
"I don't really." He shrugs off his sweater and wipes his forehead. "One of my many failings, according to my mother," he jokes. "I'm all about billiards, yachting, and occasional polo."
Her eyes light up. "Oh, do you know of any polo events in San Francisco? I've always wanted to go. Horses are just so noble. The whole game is so elevated."
I almost roll my eyes. What isn't Lisa into that Richard mentions?
"There might be something," Richard says, pretending to search his mental calendar.
"Amazing. Don't worry, I'll remind you," she says and swivels to me with a tight smile, running her eyes down my legs. "You look great, Emma. I love the all-white. I thought about wearing it myself, but with all the reflection I didn't want to... overwhelm anyone's eyes."
Queen of sweet stabs.
"Yeah, thanks. Same," I say flatly. Because, annoyingly, it's also true.
She's thinner than I remember, and not in a healthy way, more eclipsed, but still flawless.
Her hair's in a perfect ponytail while mine's already a staticky halo before I've even done anything.
Her pale blue set grazing her knees? I almost cringe at how well she'd photograph with Richard, how they'd make sense.
Better than her and Ben, if I'm being honest.
And yet, the cringe is on me, when I am the one who tore her relationship.
"How did you enjoy your trip?" she asks me. "I heard it was wild."
"Yeah, good. It wasn't that wild," I say quickly, brushing it off.
"Ben tried to make me come but I was unfortunately busy with work. He hates how much I work. He complains all the time." She smiles, rolling her eyes, and I'm tempted to dig in and roll them even more for her—irretrievably.
"Ah!" She perks up suddenly, pointing somewhere behind me. "Ben's here. Finally."
My pulse spikes. Then I turn, and it detonates.
Ben jogs across the court: shorts riding high, sleeveless tee molded to his chest, white socks pulled up his lethal calves. Duffel in one hand, racket slung over his shoulder like a weapon.
He's indecently good-looking for this hour—for any hour—and I'm already losing.
"Hello, Richard," he says when he makes it to us. "Elbow's healing?"
I go still, completely thrown by the fact he's smiling at Richard like they're old friends.
"Much better, thank you." Hands meet, firm. "Lauren was wonderful. Great team."
Lauren? Who the hell is sexy-sounding Bond-girl Lauren? And who exactly am I jealous of—Richard or Ben?
Ben hasn't looked at me yet, he keeps his attention on Richard. "She's been talking about you nonstop. Says you're her favorite patient ever. You should come again."
I narrow my eyes as Richard laughs.
They launch into some hypnotic banter while my eyes ricochet from one to another. Both are born charmers. But Richard is champagne in a crystal flute you sip in a walled garden. Ben is grappa, straight from the bottle at midnight during a wildfire.
"Glad you made it," Ben says, giving Richard another smile, before he finally turns, and—he skips me?! He goes straight to Lisa and swallows her in a hug so tight I disappear with it.
"You got us the better court?" he asks her.
"I told you, leave it up to me," she says and tilts her head dangerously close to his mouth. I hope she's not angling for a kiss. Don't want to be in the news for assault with a racket.
But she only scolds: "I told you to be here earlier. You're late. As always."
"And you're the best. Don't know what I'd do without you," Ben says, clutching her tighter, eyes doing that trick that works on everyone. Damn manipulator.
I hope I'm doing somewhat a good job at suppressing my sour face.
His eyes flick to me. "Emma..."
So this is me. Finally. Finally, I exist. He makes it sound like I materialized from thin air.
"Ben," I say his name like it's a weight.
He leans in for a half-hearted hug, and I don't know whether to inhale every molecule of him or shove him headfirst into the net.
When he pulls away, his eyes roam my neck. He wants to remind me what he did, and I hate that my body betrays me and I swallow, letting him know I remember too.
A brief smirk passes his lips, and then he pulls out a paper bag from his duffel and drops it on the table.
"Sorry I'm late, but I got you guys something."
Lisa leans in. "What's this?"
Ben opens it and my face goes flat.
"Cherries," he says. "Not just any—Central Valley, last of the season. Sweetest thing you'll ever taste." He glances at me, and the corner of his mouth curls toward ruthless. "Winner takes the whole bag."
My pupils must be pinpricks because I get it—Ben didn't invite Richard because he wanted to befriend him. This isn't a truce.
He wants war.