Page 67 of Every Broken Thing

I looked up and watched him kneel as he loosened my laces and pulled my shoes off. It took more effort than it should have, but I sat up. I looked at his feet. He wasn’t wearing shoes.

“I’m sorry about your shoes,” I said morosely, and Ben set my second sneaker beside the first with a sigh.

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not. I ruined them. I ruined everything.”

His hand captured my fidgeting fingers, and I finally met his gaze. The edge of his mouth quirked in a crooked grin, and he was looking at me with a fondness I didn’t understand.

“You didn’t ruin anything.”

“But you were with Alice until I got drunk and made you leave. And then I puked on you. And now you hate me.”

The fondness morphed into confusion. “Okay, firstly, I don’t hate you.”

“You don’t?”

He shook his head.

“Not even a little?”

“Not even a little,” he said, and I smiled. “Secondly, what do you mean I was with Alice?”

My mood soured immediately. “You were kissing.”

Understanding dawned, and Ben leaned back on his heels. “Oh, Silas, you have no idea, do you?”

“What?”

With another shake of his head, he placed a hand on my knee. “She kissed me, but I didn’t want her to. I told her I wasn’t interested.” His fingers tightened around my kneecap. “I don’t like her like that.”

Tentatively, I traced the back of his hand with my fingers. “You don’t?”

“No.”

“Not into brunettes?”

“I’m definitely into brunets,” he said, voice heavy with something my drunk brain could not comprehend.

Joy swooped through my belly, and I tried and failed to hide my pleased grin. “Cool.”

“How about we get you to bed?”

Because my mouth was stupid, I said, “You gonna join me?”

Ben’s hand on my knee flipped over and closed around mine, our fingers tangling messily. “Ask me that again when you’re sober.”

And that… that meant something. Something important.

Shadows played over his face as I blinked stupidly at him. His eyes gleamed, and I wanted… I just wanted.

But my mouth tasted like ass, and my head was starting to pound.

Reading my mind, his intense expression softened. “Come on. Lay down.”

“I taste vomit,” I said, and he laughed.

“Go brush your teeth then.”

---