Page 62 of One on One
A bitter taste floods my mouth, and I fix my gaze on my plate. Ben pushes his chair back and clears his throat. “Should we do presents?”
“And then we’re watchingMarried at First Sight,” Lisa declares, adjusting her tiara. “Birthday girl’s choice, and I don’t want any complaints.”
That’s my cue. Intruding on dinner was bad enough, but squeezing onto the couch for gifts and family TV time surpasses the permissible limits of awkwardness. I’m never going to hear the end of this from Ben as it is, and now I need an entirely new plan for making my move. Ideally one that doesn’t involve a cousin’s baby’s christening or a grandparent’s funeral.
After making my excuses, I pet Sasha one last time and cross the room to fetch my coat from the armchair in the corner. I don’t notice Ben trailing behind me until he grabs the back of my dress by the waistband and gives it a gentle tug. “I’ll walk you to your car,” he murmurs into my ear.
My pulse quickens, and anticipation builds low in my abdomen.
I pause by the stairs to say goodbye to Lisa and Natalie, so Ben walks down first. As I follow him, we don’t speak. Instead I think about his hand on my hip the night we fought for his phone, and his fingertips on my back tonight in the kitchen. About him handling Natalie’s financial aid paperwork. About the way his bedroom smelled when I walked past it on the way to the bathroom: nothing fancy, just clean laundry and his usual soap.
It’s my favorite smell these days. It’s been my favorite smell for longer than I’d like to admit.
Ben opens the door to the bracing night air. One small light glows on the porch, illuminating his messy hair and catching his face in side profile. His jaw is tense. He can’t be mad I came here tonight, can he? My palms are starting tosweat, so I rub them on my coat. “I’m over there,” I say, nodding toward my car, parked in front of the house next door.
He doesn’t head for the car, though. He turns abruptly and now I can see his whole face, his dark eyes, andoh,he’s not mad. The way he’s looking at me, an unadulteratedI want,the first time he’s ever looked at me openly that way—well. It’s rare and powerful, that kind of look.
His fingertips catch my waist and he backs me slowly against the door, his mouth grazing my cheekbone. The world tips over and I grab him by the shoulders, dragging him down toward me. The force of my reaction makes him stumble, but then he’s holding me steady and our mouths connect.
We spent some time joking about kissing, but holy hell, there is nothing funny about this kiss. It’s frantic and intense, all messy lips and swooping tongues and hot, unsteady breaths. He ducks his head to kiss my jaw and pulls aside the fussy bow at the collar of my dress. My head does not fall off, but it feels like it might when his stubble scrapes my neck. “Oh,” I gasp, a little surprised at the effect it has on me. I dig my nails into his firm shoulders and our mouths meet again, deeper and more thorough this time. He tastes faintly of Funfetti.
My voice is faint when we break apart again. “I was supposed to sweep you off your feet. Now that’s twice you’ve made a move and none for me.”
“Numbers aren’t real, Radford,” he says, out of breath. He presses his lips to my temple. “Besides, the second we were alone I couldn’t think straight.”
I feel slightly drunk on the walk to the car even though I haven’t had any alcohol. We kiss again on the street, and hemakes a rumbling sound into the thin skin of my collarbone as he pulls me close, close enough for me to feel his phone vibrate in his pocket.
It isn’t until after I slide into the driver’s seat with my head spinning, and get a solid night of sleep, and walk into work the following morning with a sickeningly perky bounce in my step, that he enters my office with a sheepish smile and shows me the message that made his phone buzz.
Natalie: asshat your blinds are open and this is NOT the show mom and I are trying to watch!!!
NINETEEN
A stiletto pokes out fromfolds of palm-print silk and finds the ground.
“Here we go,” Eric says, rubbing his hands together. There have already been two proposals, both of which were accepted. But Jasmine won the fan vote, Logan won the contestant vote, and Brianne won the most challenges, so the outcome of their love triangle will determine who wins the money.
Or something. I’m still not exactly sure how this show works.
Everyone leans toward the television. The lights are off for once, to enhance the atmosphere. The camera pans up, revealing a woman with short hair. Brianne. A mix of groans and cheers rings out.
“Damn,” I say. “He’s making a big mistake.”
Ben looks up at me from his spot on the floor with a self-satisfied smirk. “And this means I’m going to beat you.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear what you said. I’m busy watching the show,” I say, pretending to be transfixed by Logan’s breakup speech to Brianne, which mostly involves a lot of talking about how difficult the decision was for him. I kick Ben lightly and he catches my foot, rubbing the side of my ankle with his thumb.
He continues to do this through the rest of the speech, and Brianne’s tearful departure, and Jasmine’s arrival in a coral jumpsuit. No one notices. Their eyes are suctioned to the screen.
“Jasmine,” Logan says, his forehead slick with sweat, his cheeks red. The lack of shade is not doing him any favors. “I sent Brianne home because she and I aren’t right for each other.”
Jasmine smiles, a display of physical perfection.
“But—and it’s so hard for me to say this—you and I aren’t right for each other either.”
A collective gasp sucks all the oxygen out of the room. Cassie brings her fingertips to her temples. Eric’s jaw is hanging. I dig my nails into Ben’s shoulder. Our rapt attention dissolves into debate. Why did he do that? Is he allowed to do that? And who wins the money now?
“Guess this means I beat you after all,” I gloat to Ben after the final points are tallied.
