November 9: A Novel (12 page)

I open my mouth to argue, because it seems like he knows everything about me. But then I clamp it shut, because I guess he doesn’t really know much about me. We only spent one day together.

“Did you write anything this year?”

He nods. “I did. Did you kiss anyone this year?”

I nod. “I did. Did you?”

He shrugs.

“
Did
you, Ben?”

He nods. “A few.”

I try not to let that affect me, but exactly how many constitutes a few?

“And did you compare them all to me?”

He shakes his head. “I told you last year, that’s completely unfair to the rest of the female population. You’re incomparable.”

I’m so glad I came today. I don’t care if I don’t sleep for a week, it would be worth it just to have that compliment.

“How about your guys? Did you go on all five dates?”

“Guy,” I correct him. “There was just one. I tried.”

He raises an eyebrow, so I immediately go into defense mode. “Ben, you can’t expect me to put myself out there in a brand-new state when I’ve never really been
out
there. It takes time. I was so proud when I kissed the one guy. He thought I was stoked because of the kiss, but I was only happy because I crossed something off my homework.”

He laughs. “Well, one will do, I guess. But that means your homework for this year just got a lot harder.”

“Yeah, well. So will yours, then. And speaking of, I want proof of this book you’re writing. I want to read something you wrote about us.”

“No,” he says immediately.

I lift up on the bed. “What? No? You can’t tell me you wrote this year and not prove it to me. Give me something.”

“I don’t like people to read what I write.”

I laugh. “Seriously? That’s like an opera singer refusing to make sound when she performs.”

“It’s nothing like that. I’ll let you read it when I’m finished.”

“You’re going to make me wait
four years
?”

His lip curls up in a grin when he nods.

I fall back down onto the pillow with a defeated flop. “Sigh.”

“Did you just
say
sigh? Out loud? Instead of actually
sighing
?”

“Eye roll.”

He laughs and scoots closer to me. Now I’m looking up and he’s looking down and that would be fine and dandy if he wasn’t looking at me like he’s planning out exactly how his lips are going to mesh with mine.

I suck in a breath as his hand slides over my jaw. “I missed you, Fallon,” he whispers. “A lot. And screw it if I’m not supposed to admit that, but I tried the whole alpha-male thing for two seconds and I just can’t do it. So you don’t get alpha-Ben today. I’m sorry.”

Wow. Is he . . .

He is.

“Ben,” I say, narrowing my eyes. “Are you . . .
booksting
me?”

He cocks an eyebrow. “Booksting?”

“Yeah. When a hot guy talks books with a girl. It’s like sexting, but out loud and with books instead of sex. Nor does it have to do with texts. Okay, so it’s nothing like sexting, but it made sense in my head.”

He falls onto his back in laughter. I scoot toward him and place my hand on his chest as I lean over him. “Don’t stop,” I tease in a seductive voice. “Give me more, Ben. Did you read eBooks or . . .” I run my finger slowly down his chest. “
Hard
backs?”

He pulls his hands behind his head and a smug look washes over his face. “Oh, they were hardbacks, all right. And I’m not sure if you’re ready for this, but . . . I have my very own TBR pile. You should see it, Fallon. It’s
huge
.”

I let out a moan, but I’m not so sure it’s pretend.

“I also know what makes a kiss book-worthy now,” he says. “So be prepared.” He lifts up onto his elbow again and loses the smile. “Seriously though. This female attraction to the alpha-male throws me off a little bit, because I’m not anything like the guys you read about.”

Yeah. You’re better.

“I could never drive a motorcycle, or fight another man just for fun. And as much as I’ve fantasized about having sex with you this year, I don’t think I could ever say,
‘I own you,’
with a straight face. And I’ve always wanted a tattoo, but probably just a small one, because no way in hell I could endure the pain. Overall, the books were interesting but they also made me feel highly inadequate.”

He can’t be serious. “Ben, not all the guys in the books I read are like that.”

He tilts his head. “But you obviously like the bad boys if you like reading about them.”

“Actually, that’s not true,” I tell him. “I enjoy reading books like that because it’s not at all the life I lead. It’s completely different than any situation I’ll ever be in, thank God. But I get entertainment out of it. Because as much as I like to read about a guy telling a girl she’s so, so wet for him . . . if anyone ever said that to me during sex, I wouldn’t be turned on by it. I would be terrified I accidentally peed on myself.”

Ben laughs.

“And if you and I were having sex and you told me you
owned
me, I would literally crawl out from under you, put on my clothes, walk out of your house, and go puke in your front yard. So just because I like reading about those kinds of guys, doesn’t mean I need my
real
-life guys to act like that.”

He grins. “Can I keep you?”

Too bad he’s only kidding. “I’m all yours for the next five hours.”

He pushes me flat on my back. “Tell me about this
boy
you kissed.” His use of the word
boy
somehow seems like an insult to the guy. I like it. Jealous Ben is cute. “I need to know all the details about your kiss so I can add a subplot to the book.”

“A
sub
plot?” I ask. “Does that mean you have an
actual
plot already?”

His expression doesn’t waver. “So how did you meet him?”

“Rehearsals.”

“Did you go on a date with him?”

“Two.”

“Why only two? What happened?”

I want to say “sigh” again out loud. I really don’t want to talk about him. “Nothing came of it. Do we really have to talk about it?”

“Yep. It was part of the agreement.”

I groan. “Fine. His name is Cody. He’s twenty-one. We were auditioning for the same play and we had a nice conversation. He asked for my number and I gave it to him.”

“You gave him your phone number?” Ben asks, dejected. “Why won’t you give
me
your phone number?”

“Because I actually like you. Anyway, we went out that weekend and kissed a few times. He was nice. Funny . . .”

Ben makes a face. “Funnier than me?”

“Your humor is incomparable, Ben. Stop interrupting me. So I agreed to go out with him a second time. We went back to his place to watch a movie. We started making out and . . . I just . . . I couldn’t do it.”

“Couldn’t do it? Like
it
it? Or just make out with him?”

I don’t know what’s more strange. Talking to Ben about making out with another guy or the fact that I’m so comfortable talking to Ben about making out with another guy.

Well, up to this point, anyway. Now I just want to shut up.

“I couldn’t do either. It was . . .” I close my eyes, not wanting to tell him the real reason why I couldn’t do it. But it’s Ben. He’s easy to talk to.

“It was different. He made me feel . . . I don’t know.
Flawed
.”

I can see the roll in Ben’s throat when he swallows. “Explain,” he says, his voice clipped. I like that he seems a little upset, like he doesn’t actually
want
to hear about me making out with someone else. I especially like how he seems a little protective of me.

I think Ben has more alpha in him than he gives himself credit for.

I blow out a heavy breath, preparing for the honesty I shouldn’t really want to share, but for some reason
want
to share.

“Last year when you touched me, you made me feel . . . pretty. Like I didn’t have any scars. Or . . . not like that, I said that wrong. You made me feel like the scars were part of what
made
me pretty. And I’ve never once felt like that, nor did I think I’d
ever
feel like that. So when I was with Cody, I noticed everything. How he only touched the right side of my face. How he only kissed the right side of my neck. How, when we were making out, he insisted the lights be off.”

Ben makes a face like he’s in pain again, but this time he’s very convincing. “Go on,” he says, forcing the words out of his mouth.

“He tried to take off my bra at one point and I just couldn’t do it. I didn’t want him to see it. He was really nice about it and didn’t ask me to keep going. And if I’m being honest, that bothered me a little. I kind of wanted him to console me and act like he still wanted me, but he seemed a little relieved that I stopped it.”

Ben rolls onto his back and rubs his hands up and down his face. After a moment, he resumes his position, looking down on me. “Please don’t ever speak to that fucking douchebag again.”

A surprising wave of heat rolls over me with those words. His thumb brushes my jaw and his expression is full of sincerity. “What didn’t you want him to see?”

The confusion on my face prompts him to be more detailed. “You said,
‘I didn’t want him to see it.’
But if your shirt was already off and he already saw your scars, what is it you’re referring to?”

I swallow. I want to pull a pillow over my face and hide. I can’t believe he caught that.

In fact, I think I
will
pull a pillow over my face.

“Stop,” he says, when I try to grab for the pillow. He tucks it back under my head and leans in closer. “It’s
me
, Fallon. Don’t be embarrassed. Tell me what you were referring to.”

I inhale a deep breath, hoping more air in my lungs will somehow give me more courage to answer him. And then I release the breath as slow as possible so I can drag out having to answer him.

I cover my eyes with my arm and say it as fast as I can. “My left breast.”

I wait for him to ask more questions, or make me move my arm, but he doesn’t. I can’t believe I just told him that. I’ve never told anyone that, not even Amber. During the fire, not only was most of the left half of my body burned, but as if that wasn’t punishment enough, I was injured when they tried to pull me out the top-story window. Luckily I don’t remember anything between falling asleep that night and waking up in the hospital, but the scars are a daily reminder. And my left breast bore the brunt of most of it. And I’m not stupid. I know to guys, breasts are supposed to be beautiful and symmetrical, and mine aren’t.

I feel Ben’s hand meet my wrist and he pulls my arm from my face. He gently palms my cheek. “Why would it bother you for anyone to see it? Because it’s scarred?”

I nod, but then I shake my head. “This is so embarrassing, Ben.”

“Not to me,” he says. “And it sure as hell shouldn’t be for you. I’ve seen you without a shirt already, remember? As I recall, it was pretty magnificent.”

“You’ve seen me without a shirt, but you should see me without a bra. You would understand.”

Ben immediately lifts up onto his elbow. “Okay.”

I stare at him in disbelief. “That wasn’t an invitation.”

“But I want to see it.”

I shake my head. I even laugh, because there’s no way in hell I’m just going to plop my boob out of my shirt so he can gawk at its hideousness.

“I want to do the book justice, and your injuries are something I have to talk about. So you should let me see it. We’ll consider it research.”

It feels like his words just backhanded my heart. “What?” My voice is so unsteady, it sounds like I’m crying. But I’m not.
Yet.
“What do you mean you’ll have to talk about it in the book? You aren’t really writing about my scars, are you?”

Confusion encompasses his face. “It’s part of your story. Of course I’m writing about it.”

I lift up on my elbows and narrow my eyes in his direction. “I wanted you to fictionalize me and make me
pretty
, Ben. You can’t make the main character a freak show. No one wants to identify with that. Main characters should be beautiful and . . .”

Ben immediately rolls on top of me and covers my mouth with his hand. He inhales a deep breath in preparation for what seems like a fight. He releases it quickly, his jaw twitching with irritation.

“You listen to me,” he says, keeping his hand secured over my mouth so that I can’t interrupt him. “It pisses me off that you allow something so trivial to define such a huge part of you. I can’t make you pretty in this book, because that would be an insult. You’re fucking
beautiful
. And you’re funny. And the only times I’m not completely enamored by you are the moments you’re feeling sorry for yourself. Because I don’t know if you’ve realized this yet, but you’re
alive,
Fallon. And every time you look in the mirror, you don’t have the right to hate what you see. Because you survived when a lot of people don’t get that lucky. So from now on when you think about your scars, you aren’t allowed to resent them. You’re going to embrace them, because you’re lucky to be on this earth to see them. And any guy you allow to touch your scars better thank you for that privilege.”

My chest hurts.

I can’t breathe.

He removes his hand from my mouth and when he does, I gasp for breath. My eyes rim with tears and I can’t stop myself from shaking as I try to suppress them. Ben lowers himself completely on top of me, cradling my head in his hands. He presses his lips to the side of my head and then whispers, “You deserved that, Fallon.”

And I nod, because he’s right.

He’s right.

Of course
he’s right. I’m alive and I’m healthy and yes, the fire left its thumbprint on my skin, but it didn’t take the most important parts of me. It wasn’t able to reach anything beneath the surface. So why am I treating myself like it did?

I have to stop doing this to myself.

“Shh,” he whispers, thumbing the tears on my cheeks. My emotions are all over the place. I’m so pissed that he felt he has the right to even talk to me that way, but the fact that he just talked to me that way made my heart wish it had lips so it could kiss him. And I’m pissed off at myself for being so self-centered these last few years. Sure, the fire sucked. Yes, I wish it never happened. But it did and I can’t change it so I need to get over it.