Page 25 of Storm in a Teacup
Dammit. She seems nice. Or at the very least, polite.
We get dinner, and I avoid talking to Atti. Also, Ben’s arm stays casually around the back of my chair the entire time, even as he becomes immersed in conversation with Paul, who is sitting beside him. Once we finish our meals, Melanie decides it’s timeto move on to the bar.
This bar is a step closer to the club we will end the night at. Ben takes my hand as we walk in. “Stairs,” he warns in a quiet voice after we pass through the threshold. I appreciate the warning, squeezing his hand tightly as I descend the two steps. I didn’t expect them.
The group of us is sat in a U-shaped booth, three small tables set up in the middle, hitting me at knee height. It’s a tight squeeze, fourteen of us trying to fit. Kensie has already moved onto Jen’s lap, and it looks like Claire is about to do the same with Gregory. Even then, it’s compact.
“You could sit on my lap,” Ben says in my ear.
Every thought in my head tells me no, that is an absurd idea. But aloud, I say, “Okay.”
I pick up my drink and settle on Ben’s lap. He grips my thigh, keeping me steady and in place. My skin prickles under his touch. I look at him, our faces so close, lips just a breath away, really. Air catches in my throat as the memory of our kiss all those months ago crashes into me like a powerful wave, yanking me under.
I’ll be honest, I have hardly thought about it since. The kiss was great, don’t get me wrong, but it happened on a night when I was in a really bad place, so it’s not something I particularly like to think about. I was in a bad place for several months. But sitting here right now with his hand hot against my bare leg and his breath skimming my lips, all I want to do is kiss him again.
So, I do. On the cheek. I press a light kiss to stubbly skin then whisper in his ear, “Thanks again for this.”
His lips move to my ear next, us performing perfectly as a couple exchanging sweet nothings. “A beautiful woman is sat on my lap. I’m thanked enough.”
I lightly bite my lip. He’s not shy with his compliments. I tease, “Well, if you get too excited, I’ll be able to tell.”
“What would you do if I did get too excited?” His voice is low, taunting in a way that makes me clench my thighs together.
That microscopic movement was enough of an answer for Ben. His hand gently strokes my thigh as he takes a slow sip of his drink, eyes on me the entire time. I gulp, turning away from him. This is not why he’s here. Obviously, yeah, Ben is a very attractive man. But I won’t let myself be distracted by that.
I refocus on the group, finding it difficult to hear what anyone is saying over the loudness of the music, but I do manage to engage with those in my immediate surroundings. Ben starts talking to Paul again, and I strike up a conversation with Kensie and Jen.
I finish my drink, and the waitress is almost immediately by to ask if I want another. My feet still hurt, so I say yes, handing her my empty glass.
Once she brings me my next drink, Ben says in my ear, “You’re too stiff. Lean back into me.”
I do as he suggests without question, settling back into his chest, his grip on my thigh still firm. It’s so natural to be at ease around him, his entire aura calming. As I settle in, the scent of pine fills my nostrils—that must be him. Like a cozy candle.
The night continues with chatting and laughing. I peep at Mel every now and then to make sure she’s having a good time. Each time I do, she’s smiling, which is a good sign.
Once I finish my drink, I lean forward so I can set the empty glass on the table. In doing so, however, I knock another glass off. Shards explode as it hits the ground. I didn’t see the other glass.
“Shit,” I say, hopping up from Ben’s lap to go after the shattered glass. I reach out to start picking up the broken remains,but a hand closes around my wrist, halting me.
“Don’t,” Ben says in my ear. “You’ll hurt yourself.”
I pull back as a chorus of chatter erupts around me, but only one voice stands out.
“Nice one, Linny,” Atti says, voice dripping with venomous annoyance. I freeze at the familiar tone.
I stand there, immobile, with Ben still holding onto my wrist. Someone must have flagged down our waitress because she comes over with a broom to sweep up the glass.
“Sorry,” we all say, as though weallhave something to apologize for. As though they should all be regretful on my behalf.
I turn away as she cleans, unable to watch. My eyes moisten, getting ready to become heavy streams, but all I will allow to fall is one tear. I shouldn’t be crying over this.
Ben lets go of my wrist to loop an arm around my waist, pulling me closer, but doesn’t say anything. His thumb gently strokes my side, offering a private comfort.
Bridget must also see the tear, because she says, “I break things all the time. I’m so clumsy, especially if I’ve had a few.”
I smile politely. She’s being nice, but she doesn’t understand. I’m not upset because I broke a glass. I’m upset because I broke a glass I did not see. A glass Ishouldhave seen. A glass everyone else in our little group would have seen. And I didn’t break it because I was drinking.
As the waitress sweeps up the last bit of glass, I offer again, “I’m so sorry.”
