Page 30 of Trial Run

“Is thatGood Morning USA?” Her voice rose in disbelief.

He huffed out a laugh. “That was a terrible segment. I was so anxious, I could barely get a word out, even though I’d practiced everything I wanted to say.”

She rounded on him. “Are you famous? Like, people know who you are?”

He shook his head. “I doubt that many people know who I am. I wrote some books that got a lot of attention, for a while. Istarted this clinic. I do speaking engagements. Or at least, I used to. But most people don’t follow the psychology world.”

“But people who do …”

“Would know who I am, yes.” He slid his hands into his pockets, studying her face, which was rapidly changing from surprise to horror.

“Why didn’t I know any of that? I could have searched you online, I guess. Maybe I should have. I mean, you bought this place, set up a whole clinic by yourself—”

“I’m so glad you didn’t search me.” Going by her expression, if she’d known more about him before, that would have been a bad thing.

“You—” She shut her mouth, folded her arms more tightly around herself. “I drove you around all this week, thinking you were someone like me. I mean, it should have been obvious you’re not.”

Her eyes flicked around the room, refusing to land on his. “I think we should go back now. I need to get home soon, anyway.”

Ben’s gut clenched. “What’s the matter? Is something wrong?”

“It’s nothing. It’s fine.”

She wasn’t fine. Her expression had closed off completely, and she wouldn’t look at him.

“Tell me.” He took a step closer, panic threading through his veins. She wanted to get away from him. She was going to drop him off, go home, and he’d never see her again. And he still hadn’t told her how he felt.

“I helped you because I thought you were like me.” Her gaze flashed to his, her voice ragged. “Someone who was going through a hard time, and needed help. But you’re not anything like me. I’m a … a delivery driver. I dropped out of school. And you’re …” She trailed off. “I don’t really know you, do I?”

“You do know me. Better than anyone.” His voice came out low and sharp. He took another step closer. She’d backed into the door frame of his office, and he stepped into her personal space. He was too close, close enough to smell her hair, and he should really back away now, but his body wasn’t listening to the demands of his brain. His hand clenched into a fist at his side, aching to reach for her.

“Iwasjust someone who needed help. I had all this.” He waved a hand, indicating his office. “I had all these accomplishments, and I was broken, and a mess, and everything was wrong inside me. And the only time I felt right in all the last year was the time I spent with you.” His voice cracked on the last word, and he swallowed.

She looked shell-shocked. He gazed into the storm of her eyes—confusion and sadness, a hint of longing—and the rest of whatever he was going to say disappeared from his mind.

“Ben.” She choked out the word and flung her arms around his waist in a fierce hug, burying her face in his chest. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said those things.”

His eyes slid shut at the feel of her pressed against him, his arms going around her tightly. He pressed his face into her hair, let himself inhale the coffee shop smell, and underneath, the scent of her citrus shampoo and her skin, powerful as any drug.

She turned her face up to him and without thinking, he put his mouth on hers, because he had to, because he couldn’t not do it. Her response was immediate and strong. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back, opening her mouth under his and threading her hands into his hair.

Ben’s brain shut off and he pressed his body against the length of hers, chasing more of her coffee and caramel taste. A flush rose up his chest, pulse thundering in his ears. He was lost, drunk on the best feeling he’d felt in forever.

Her knees buckled and he caught her waist, bracing her against the door frame. His hands slid up, under the hem of her shirt, palming the smooth skin of her lower back. She was too soft to be real, delicious under his fingers.

She gasped and pulled her mouth from his, and he dropped his head, gulping in deep breaths.

He hadn’t meant to kiss her, and there was a reason he wasn’t supposed to do it, but for the life of him, he couldn’t think of what it was right now. Nothing about that had been wrong or bad. Except how desperate he’d gotten, and how quickly he’d gotten there.

He’d pushed her against a wall and shoved his hands under her clothes, not something he’d normally do with a first kiss, and it had been so good, like he’d been starving for months and someone had set a meal in front of him.

But she’d stopped, and he’d respect that. He took a measured step backward. She leaned against the doorframe, staring up at him, her pupils dilated.

“I …” He cleared his throat. Tried again. “Can we sit down for a minute?”

She nodded and followed him to the couch. Once they were sitting side by side, he remembered the reason, the very good and sensible reason, why he shouldn’t have kissed her.

“You don’t date.” His voice was wrecked. The end of the sentence came out sounding like a question.

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