Page 46 of The Barista's Beloved

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Ben hadn’t showered in three days. Or something like that, anyway. Honestly, he’d stopped caring about personal hygiene right about the time he’d taken a bite of a hot dog and ketchup had squirted out the end of the bun and splattered his shirt. Instead of getting a napkin and wiping it up like any other civilized man would have, he’d simply lifted the cotton tee to his mouth and licked it clean. Well, cleanish.

He was pretty sure that had happened on Tuesday, and he thought today was Friday. Maybe. He could probably look at his phone to find out, but he’d stopped checking it once he realized Maeve was never going to return his texts, and now the battery was dead. That was probably for the best, though. If his phone had been working, there was a very strong likelihood he would have sent her an additional twenty texts to go with the fifteen he’d shot off the day she’d broken up with him.

Ben winced, recalling the moment he’d walked out her front door and it had slammed shut behind him. The reverberation still echoed in his head when things got too quiet. He had experienced some pretty low points this past year, but that moment had been the lowest of the low. Getting fired from two jobs was one thing, but getting shit-canned by your girlfriend was on a whole other level.

At this point, he needed a new life plan—it was clear the one he’d been operating from was faulty. The job with Hartwell wasn’t an option, not if he wanted to be able to live with himself. Neither were any of the other equally reprehensible firms filling his inbox with offers. But he needed to do something. He didn’t want to move back home to Portland, but he was forced to admit that living in his parents’ house wasn’t any worse than wallowing in unemployed misery above his best friend’s garage. His brother Nick was doing well out in Maryland. Maybe he could head east to see if he could line up a good job out there. But was living with Nick any better than crashing with his parents? At least if he lived in Portland, he’d get a home-cooked meal out of the deal. Or maybe he could strike out on his own and go some place completely new … somewhere no one knew who he was or how he’d hit rock bottom. He could start over, build a life for himself.

Except he didn’t want a new life. He wanted the one he had here, in River Hill. With Maeve.

Which meant he needed to man up, take a shower, and figure his shit out. Not necessarily in that order. He had no idea if she’d forgive him for having even considered the offer in Hawaii, but he had to try. Maeve meant too much to him to give up so easily.

So they’d had a fight. Couples fought all the time. According to Noah, he and Angelica had fought tooth and nail the first six months they were together. And if the things Iain had said during their last poker night were anything to go by, the makeup sex was definitely worth it.

Ben bolted upright.

Shit. Poker night.

If today was Friday, that meant Iain, Sean, and Noah were all over at Max’s right now. While his best friend was as clueless as Ben when it came to relationships, Maeve’s brother was in a committed, long-term relationship, Noah was engaged to be married, and Sean was a newlywed. If anyone could help him figure out what to do about Maeve, it was those guys. Assuming, of course, they hadn’t already decided he wasn’t good enough for her.

The thought had him stopping in his tracks on his way to the shower. It was entirely possible that he’d step one foot inside of Max’s house and get punched in the face by Iain. Although the affable, laid back Irishman didn’t seem like the violent type. Noah, on the other hand? That was more the big man’s style.

Ben pushed images of Noah breaking his nose to the back of his mind and yanked his smelly shirt off over his head. He wadded it up into a ball and tossed it across the room into a hamper in the corner. He made quick work of the rest of his clothes and then stepped into the shower, letting the hot water wash away all the stress and stink of the last seventy-two hours. And, apparently, his stupidity, too. Because while he was in there, he had an idea that was so perfect he marveled that he hadn’t seen it before.

* * *

An hour later,Ben pushed open Max’s front door and poked his head inside. “Can I come in?”

Four male heads popped up at his greeting. “I was wondering if you were coming or not,” Max said, his gaze dropping back down to the cards in his hands. “I’ve been texting you all day, and when you didn’t answer, I figured you might be too hungover.”

Ben stepped over the threshold and into Max’s living room where the card table was set up. Settling into a fifth chair presumably reserved for him, he asked, “Hungover?”

Max’s eyes flicked back up, his gaze probing. “When I finally got home at midnight, you had that emo shit you used to listen to back in college turned up full blast. I stopped in to tell you to turn it down, but you were passed out on the couch with a pile of beer bottles scattered around you. Didn’t you wonder how they’d mysteriously made it into the trash can when you woke up?”

“That bad, huh?” Noah asked.

Ben scrubbed his hand down his face. “I don’t even remember that.” He scrunched up his nose and looked at the ceiling while he tried to sift through the foggy memories of the evening before. He’d had Chinese food delivered around seven, which he’d proceeded to demolish even though he’d planned to save some of it for leftovers. Then, he’d snuck into Max’s house and pilfered a six pack of beer after realizing he’d blown through his own stash already.

Sean glanced up, his gaze subtly probing. He never lectured any of them, but Ben had noticed a time or two that he paid a lot more attention to his friends’ drinking than someone who hadn’t battled his own demons otherwise would. He was generally nice enough not to say anything, but he sure as hell noticed everything. “Been there, done that, got the t-shirt. Should we be worried?”

Ben shook his head. “I don’t normally go on benders, but last night …” He blew out a long breath. “I just wanted to forget the look on her face when she ordered me out of her house. Booze seemed like the quickest way to accomplish that.”

“Like I said, should we be worried?”

“No, it’s not a problem.” He turned to face Max. “And it won’t happen again.”

“Good,” Max said, picking up his poker chips and letting them cascade back into a pile next to him. “I don’t want to talk my neighbors out of calling the cops again.”

Ben winced. Being arrested for drunk and disorderly conduct or disturbing the peace was all he needed at this stage. Especially if his new plan was going to work. “I’m sorry. Really.”

His lifelong best friend tossed his cards into a pile in the middle of the table. “I fold. And it’s cool, man. I get it. But you can’t say you didn’t bring it on yourself.”

Without conscious thought, Ben’s eyes swiveled to Maeve’s brother. Thankfully, the other man wasn’t scowling. Instead, his lips were tipped up in a smirk. “If it makes you feel any better, Maeve’s just as bad. Christ, the crying is out of control. Thank god Naomi’s not like that. I can’t handle it, lads.”

Ben let out a long, slow breath. As much as he hated to admit it, it did make him feel better. He hated that he’d hurt her, but knowing that she seemed to be taking their breakup just as poorly gave him hope. Those tears meant she cared—a lot. And if that was the case, he had a shot at winning back her trust, and, hopefully, her heart.

“Listen,” he said to Iain, “I love your sister—” Four pairs of eyes swung to him, and he cleared his throat. “Yeah, I said it.”

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