Page 60 of Check the Halls
Go home with my ex-boyfriend and practically launch myself at him in a last-ditch attempt to feel something other than miserable? Big, humiliating check.
Get rejected, then flee like a raccoon caught in someone’s trash? Check, check,check.
Now, I lay in Ben’s guest bed, staring at the ceiling like it holds the answers to all my poor life choices. The high-end mattress beneath me is probably the most comfortable thing I’ve ever slept on, but it may as well be a bed of nails for all the rest I’m getting. I toss, I turn, I try counting imaginary sheep—nothing helps. My brain won’t shut up, running an endless highlight reel of all the things I’d like to forget.
When my alarm blares at seven, I feel strung out on anxiety, my body tense like a live wire. The thought of calling in sick is so tempting, but I force myself to get up.
I rummage through my bag for an outfit, the one I haphazardly shoved in before leaving Derek’s last night. The charcoal-coloured dress is a bit wrinkled but passable. I tuck it under one arm grabbing my make-up bag with my other hand and tiptoe across the hall to the spacious bathroom I used last night.
I’m careful not to make a sound. I’d love to shower, but I don’t want to risk waking up Ben. The cold water I splash on my face offers a temporary jolt of clarity, but it does little to chase away the exhaustion clinging to my bones. I dress quickly, throw my hair up in a butterfly clip, and apply more makeup than usual in an attempt to mask how tired I am. I don’t succeed, but I do my best.
I quickly brush my teeth before giving myself a final once over in the mirror. I don’t look great, but I’m presentable.
Steeling myself, I creep into the hallway, fully expecting Cheshire to be waiting for me, yowling in hunger and judgment, but he’s nowhere to be seen.
“Morning.”
Ben’s deep baritone makes me jump.
He’s casually leaning against the entrance to the kitchen, arms crossed, his expression calm.
“You scared me,” I gasp, pressing a hand to my racing heart.
“Sorry,” Ben chuckles, slow and easy, rubbing a hand over the stubble on his face to hide his grin. His dimples are on full display making him look anything but sorry.
I take in the way his snug t-shirt clings to his broadchest and his joggers hang low on his hips. His hair is a tousled mess that’s so effortlessly sexy. It’s not fair that he woke up looking like that.
Since that first run-in with him almost six weeks ago, I’ve been trying to ignore how attracted I still am to Ben. For so many reasons, most of all because I was in a relationship. But now I’m single and the mere sight of him has me practically salivating like a dog in heat.
“It’s fine,” I say quickly, smoothing my clammy palms over my dress. I can’t seem to look him in the eye, but I also can’t seem to tear my gaze away from him. So instead, I stare at the part of his collarbone above his t-shirt and I focus on getting the words out.
“Thank you for coming to my rescue and for letting Cheshire and me crash here. I really appreciate it. I’m heading to work, but I’ll make other arrangements, and I promise we’ll be out of your hair by tonight.”
“Mads—”
“I’msosorry about what happened last night,” I cut him off, my words tumbling out in a rush. If I don’t say this now, I never will. “I drank too much, but that’s not an excuse. My behavior was…unprofessional, and I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I know we’re just friends. It won’t happen again.”
Ben stalks toward me, slow and deliberate.
I step back, but there’s nowhere to go. My back hits the wall with a softthud, and Ben follows, bracing his hands on either side of my head, caging me in.
The air around us is charged.
The intensity in his gaze makes my stomach twist, my pulse hammering against my ribs. I feel warm, like I’m standing too close to an open flame.
“What do you think happened last night?” he asks, his voice low, measured.
I blink up at him. “What?”
“In the kitchen.” His expression is unreadable, his tone is firm. “What do youthinkhappened?”
I swallow, shame tightening its grip on my throat. “I tried to kiss you. Which was stu?—”
“Why?”
I blink again, thrown off balance. “What?”
“Why did you try to kiss me?”
