Page 42 of The Facade

But if she was running for her life, why wasn’t Ben chasing after her? He’d seemed to enjoy comforting her every time she screamed when I was behind them—eager to put his arm around her and take the opportunity to pull her close.

Why wasn’t he with her now?

She slowed her run into a walk when she hit the sidewalk, but instead of stopping or heading to Carter’s truck like I expected, she headed toward the park next door.

“Cambrielle, wait,” I said, jogging the last few steps to reach her. “What’s going on?”

“I just need to get away from there,” she said, her short legs speed-walking as fast as they could down the path that led toward the park’s playground area, the sidewalk lit by streetlamps and the moon.

“Did you get scared or something?” I asked. “Because it’s all pretend. None of that was real back there and you’re safe.”

“I’m not scared.” She sighed. “I just…” She lifted her hands in the air. “I just need to disappear right now.”

“Why do you need to disappear?” I frowned, so confused about what was going on.

“It’s too embarrassing.” She shook her head. “I just need to never see Ben again.”

She couldn’t see Ben again?

Had he done something to her?

“Did Ben hurt you?” I asked as images of Ben putting his hands places where they didn’t belong flitted through my mind.

“No.” She shook her head again and glanced up at me. “He didn’t hurt me.”

“Then what’s going on?” I asked, frustration building inside my chest at her vague replies. “Because if I need to go beat Ben up for you right now, I’ll do it.”

“No. Don’t do that.” Surprise filled her expression. “You definitely don’t need to do that.”

“Then why can’t you see Ben again?”

“I really don’t want to talk about it.” She glanced back the way we’d come and shuddered. “It’s too embarrassing.”

“Did he violate you?” I gripped her arm, making her stop so I could figure this out without having to chase her down. “Did he do something inappropriate?”

“No. Not really.” She started pacing back and forth on the grass. “I don’t know. He just…”

“Did he touch you?” I looked her over carefully. She didn’t seem any different than she had earlier—her hair wasn’t messed up. Her clothes were still intact. “Should I call the police? Do Carter, Hunter, and Nash need to hold him there so the cops can take care of him?”

“Of course not!” she said, seeming to realize that by not saying what was going on, she was making me jump to the worst-case scenario. She stopped her pacing and looked at me. “He tried to kiss me and I…” She covered her face with her hands. “Oh, man, it’s too humiliating.”

I flexed my hands into fists at my sides, wondering who I needed to punch.

She continued, “I’ve never really kissed anyone before—like nothing bedsides Spin the Bottle—and so when he stuck his tongue in my mouth, I got all grossed out and…” She dropped her head, ashamed. “And I wiped off my tongue, and then wiped my hand on his shirt.”

“What?” I asked, not understanding what she was talking about.

“Like this.” She licked her hand and wiped it on my shirt.

It took me a minute to even understand what she was doing, and when it clicked, I still wasn’t sure I understood her at all.

“So let me get this right.” I furrowed my brow. “You’re saying that Ben tried to French kiss you and you were so surprised and grossed out by it that as soon as you felt his tongue, you immediately licked your hand and wiped it on his shirt…like you were trying to wipe off his germs?”

“Yes!” She groaned, staring down at her designer boots.

And I knew theoretically that this would be a really bad time to laugh, but as I imagined Cambrielle doing that to Ben and then pictured how shocked he must have been, I couldn’t keep from chuckling.

“I knew I shouldn’t have told you,” she said.

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