November 9: A Novel (23 page)

“Can I help you?” Theodore says to Glenn, which is odd, considering he said it in an unpleasant tone. I turn to face Glenn.

Only . . . it’s not Glenn.

Brown eyes are staring back at me and I suddenly want to push Theodore’s hands off of me and crawl across the table.

Fuck you, fate. Fuck you to hell.

A slow smile spreads across Ben’s face as he returns his attention to Theodore. “Sorry to interrupt,” Ben says, “but I’m going from table to table, asking couples a few questions for a paper I’m working on for grad school. Do you mind if I ask you two a few?”

Theodore relaxes once he realizes Ben isn’t here to mark his territory. Or so he thinks. “Yeah, sure,” Theodore says. He reaches across the table to shake his hand. “I’m Theodore, this is Fallon,” he says, introducing me to the only man who has ever been inside me.

“Nice to meet you, Fallon,” Ben says, clasping my hand with both of his. He makes a quick brush of his thumbs over my wrist, and the contact of his skin on mine is scorching. When he releases my hand, I look down at my wrist, sure it left a mark.

“I’m Ben.”

I raise what I’m hoping comes off as an uninterested, lazy eyebrow.
What in the world is he doing here?

Ben’s gaze slides from my eyes to my mouth, but then he focuses on Theodore. “So how long have you lived in Los Angeles, Theodore?”

So many things to process in my alcohol-riddled mind right now.

Ben is here.

Here.

And he’s probing my date for information.

“Most of my life. Going on twenty years, I guess.”

I glance at Theodore. “I thought you grew up in Nantucket.”

He shifts in his seat and laughs, squeezing my hand that’s resting on top of the table. “I was born there. Wasn’t raised there. We moved here when I was four.” He turns his attention back to Ben, and
dammit,
Amber wins again.

“So,” Ben says, pointing a finger back and forth between Theodore and me. “You two dating?”

Theodore puts his arm around me and pulls me against him. “Working on it,” he says, smiling down at me. But then he looks back at Ben. “These are oddly personal questions. What kind of paper are you writing?”

Ben pops his neck with his hand. “I’m studying the probability of soul mates.”

Theodore chuckles. “Soul mates? That’s graduate-level work? God help us.”

Ben raises an eyebrow. “You don’t believe in soul mates?”

Theodore wraps his arm around me and leans back in his seat. “Are you saying you do? Have you met your soul mate?” Theodore glances around the room half-jokingly. “Is she here with you tonight? What’s her name? Cinderella?”

My eyes slowly make the journey to Ben’s. I’m not sure I want to hear her name yet. He’s eyeing me hard, trading glances with the fingers that are sliding up and down my arm.

“She’s not here with me,” Ben says. “In fact, I was actually stood up by her today. Waited for over four hours but she never showed.”

His words are like icicles. Beautiful and sharp as a knife. I swallow the lump in my throat.

He actually showed up?
Even after I told him last year I wasn’t coming? His words are doing too many things to me right now, and it feels all wrong since I’m sidled up next to a guy I wish would stop touching me.

“What girl is worth waiting four hours for?” Theodore says with a laugh.

Ben leans back in his seat, but I’m eyeing his every movement. “Just this one,” he says quietly, to no one in particular. Or maybe his words were only meant for me.

Speaking of Amber. Or maybe I
wasn’t
speaking of Amber, I can’t remember now that Ben is here and my brain isn’t functioning properly. But Amber is back.

My eyes grow wide when I look up at her. She’s looking between me and Ben like one of us is a mirage. I totally get it, because I feel the same way. Might just be the alcohol, though. I shake my head and widen my eyes to let her know not to acknowledge that she knows Ben. Hopefully she understands my silent instructions.

Glenn is walking up behind her and I try to do the same with him, but as soon as he reaches the booth, he smiles and yells, “Ben!” He slides in next to him and throws an arm around him like he’s just found his best friend.

Yeah, Glenn’s drunk.

“You know this guy?” Theodore says, pointing at Ben.

Glenn starts to point at me, and that’s when he sees the look on my face. Good thing he’s not too drunk to decipher it. “Ummm . . .” He stutters. “We . . . um. We met earlier. In the bathroom.”

Theodore chokes on his drink. “You met in the
bathroom
?”

I take the opportunity to slide out of the booth, in desperate need of a break. This is way too much.

“Want me to come with you?” Amber asks, grabbing my elbow.

I shake my head. I think we both know I’m hoping Ben follows me so he can explain what the hell he’s doing here.

I walk quickly toward the bathroom, slightly embarrassed by how fast I just made a break for it. It’s funny how a grown adult can just forget how to function properly in the presence of someone else. But I feel like my insides are so hot, they’re beginning to scorch my bones. My cheeks are warm. My neck is warm. Everything is warm. I need to splash water on my face.

I walk into the bathroom and even though I don’t need to pee, I do anyway. I’m wearing a skirt that Amber forced me to put on and it’s so easy to use the bathroom when you’re in a skirt, it’s stupid not to take advantage of the opportunity. Besides, I’m pretty sure I’m getting a cab home right after I punch Ben in the face, so I might as well use the restroom while I’m here.

Why am I justifying the fact that I’m peeing?

Maybe because I really know all I’m doing is wasting time. I’m not sure I want to step out of the bathroom yet.

As I’m washing my hands, I notice how bad they’re shaking. I take several calming breaths while I stare at my reflection in the mirror. Looking in the mirror now is a lot different than it was before I met Ben. I don’t obsess over my flaws like I used to. The occasional insecurities are still there, but thanks to Ben, I’ve learned to accept myself for who I am and be grateful that I’m alive. Part of me hates that he gets some of the credit for my confidence, because I want to hate him. My life would be so much easier if I could hate him, but the guy is hard to hate when he’s had such a positive impact on my life. It’s the negative impact he’s had on my life for the past year that makes me appreciate Amber for forcing me to make an effort tonight with my appearance. I’m wearing a slinky purple top that brings out the green in my eyes, and my hair has grown a few inches since last year. At least Ben is seeing this version of me rather than the version of me that was moping on the couch two hours ago. I don’t want to exact revenge on the guy, but it would be nice if, when he looks at me, he feels as though he missed out. I would feel a little vindicated that he fell in love with another girl if I knew he was experiencing a few pangs of regret.

So many questions run through my mind as I finish up at the sink. Why isn’t he here with Jordyn? Did they break up? Why is he even here? How did he know
I’d
be here? Or did he just show up by chance? And what was he expecting when he went to that restaurant today, hoping I’d be there?

My reflection reveals no answers, so I make the brave journey to the bathroom exit, knowing he’s probably out there somewhere. Waiting.

No sooner than I have the bathroom door open, a hand grips my arm and pulls me further down the hallway, away from the crowd. I don’t even have to look at him to know it’s him. My whole body feels the familiar hum of electricity that moves between us anytime we’re together.

My back is against a wall, hands are beside my head, his eyes are boring into mine. “How serious is it with
Whale Pants
back there?”

Dammit if he doesn’t make me laugh right off the bat. I groan. “I hate those pants.”

A crooked, smug grin spreads across his face, but as soon as it appears, it disappears, replaced by a flicker of disappointment. “Why didn’t you show up today?” he asks.

I can no longer tell a difference between the beat of my heart and the base of the music. They’re in perfect sync, one no louder than the other, thanks to Ben’s proximity.

“I told you last year I wasn’t going to show up today.” I glance down the hallway, toward the club. It’s dark back here, past the bathrooms, past the people. Somehow, in a building full of warm bodies, we have complete privacy. “How did you know I’d be here tonight?”

He gives his head a dismissive shake. “The answer to that question isn’t nearly as significant as the answer to mine. How serious is it with this guy?”

His voice is low, his face close to mine. I can feel warmth radiating from his skin. It’s hard to concentrate in this kind of distracting environment.

“I forgot what question you just asked me.” I sway a little bit, but his fingers splay out against my hip and he steadies me.

He narrows his eyes. “Are you drunk?”

“Tipsy. Big difference. How’s
Jordyn
?” I don’t know why I say her name with spite. I don’t harbor any resentment toward her. Okay, maybe just a little bit. But not much, because Oliver is such a cute kid and it’s hard to be mad at someone who can make such a cute kid.

Ben sighs, glancing away for a split second. “Jordyn is fine. They’re good.”

Good. Good for them. Good for him and Oliver and their adorable fucking little family.

“That’s nice, Ben. I need to get back to my date.” I try to push past him, but he leans in closer, sandwiching me against the wall. His forehead meets the side of my head. He lets out a sigh and feeling the breath fall from his lips and rush through my hair forces me to squeeze my eyes shut.

“Don’t be like that,” he whispers into my ear. “I’ve been through hell today trying to find you.”

I cringe from the way his words twist my stomach into knots. He slides his arms around me and pulls me into him. He feels stronger. More defined. Even more like a man this year. I’m stiff against him as I ask my next question. “Are you still with her?”

He looks crestfallen as he says, “You know me better than that, Fallon. If I had a girlfriend, I certainly wouldn’t be standing here trying to convince you to come home with me.” He studies my face for a reaction, scrolling over each of my features with desire-filled eyes. I try not to notice, but he’s pressed against me, my thigh firm between both of his legs. It’s obvious by the scorching hardness pressed against my thigh that the look in his eyes is genuine.

Feeling him like this again—his mouth dangerously close to mine—reminds me of the night I spent with him. The only night I’ve ever allowed a man to completely consume me, heart, body, and soul—and the thought of what he was able to do to me that night almost forces me to whimper.

But I’m stronger than my hormones. I have to be. I can’t go through another heartbreak like the one I’m still healing from. The wounds are still so fresh, it’s as if he’s clawing them open with his bare hands.

“Come home with me,” he whispers.

No. No, no, no, Fallon.

I shake my head back and forth with immense effort in order to ensure I don’t accidentally nod. “No, Ben.
No.
This past year has been the hardest year of my life. You can’t expect me to just fall back into step with you because you showed up here tonight.”

He runs the backs of his fingers across my cheekbone. “I don’t expect that, Fallon. But I do pray for it. Every night, down on my knees, to any God who will listen.”

His words feel like they penetrate the walls of my chest and all the air is let out of my lungs. I close my eyes when his breath grazes my jaw. He’s taking advantage of the privacy and my weakness and I want to punch him for it, but first I just need to know if he tastes the same. If his tongue still moves the same way. If he still touches me like it’s a privilege.

I’m being supported by a wall behind me and Ben in front of me, but still, when his hand drops to my thigh and his fingers begin slowly raking up my skirt, I feel like I’m about to crash straight to the floor. There’s so much that needs to be discussed between us, but for whatever reason, my body wants my mouth to stay shut so his hand will continue moving. I’ve missed his touch so much, and even though I’ve made the effort to go out and try to get over Ben, I’m not sure I could ever find this kind of physical connection with another person. No one makes me feel as desirable as Ben does. I’ve missed it. The way he looks at me, the way he touches me, the way he makes it feel as if my scars are an improvement rather than a flaw. It’s hard to say no to this feeling, no matter how hurt I’ve been over what transpired last year.

“Ben,” I whisper, not so much in protest as I intended for his name to sound. He buries his face against my neck and breathes me in, and I forget everything I was about to protest. My head drops back against the wall, and then his hand slides around to the back of my thigh. His fingers graze the edge of my panties and when I feel them slip just beneath the hem, my whole body shudders. I’m forced to bury my face against his shoulder and grip the back of his shirt just to keep myself upright. All he did was touch my ass and I feel like I can’t even stand upright anymore. I should be embarrassed.

He pulls back, just a little bit, so that he can glance over his shoulder. I don’t know who or what he’s looking for, but when he sees no one is behind us, he reaches to the right of me—to a door. He pulls on the handle and it relents. Ben doesn’t waste a second. He grabs me by the waist and pushes me toward the door, into the dark room, and then the door closes behind us, muffling the sound of the music.

Now I can hear how hard I’m breathing. Panting, really. But so is he. I can hear him right in front of me, but I can’t see him. I hear him feeling around the room. It’s pitch black, and the absence of the wall behind me and him in front of me makes me feel empty.

But then his hands are back on my waist. “Storage room,” he says, pushing me until my back is to the door. “Perfect.” And then I feel his breath against my lips, followed closely by his mouth as it brushes against mine. As soon as I feel it—the surge of electricity that shoots from his mouth to every nerve in my body—I push against his chest.