“Sorry, Ben. I see my date. Catch ya later.” I don’t wait around to hear about what he doesn’t think, I make my way over to Jason, who’s spread a blanket on the grass (seriously, another fucking picnic?) and is waiting for me with a wide grin on his face.
“You look hot,” he says, pulling me in for a quick hug.
I try to make the hug linger, pressing myself shamelessly against him, but he doesn’t hold on for nearly as long as I’d like him to. Especially considering I can still feel Ben’s eyes burning into my back. “You don’t look so bad yourself.”
A man like Jason can’t look bad. He’s dressed simply, in jeans and a dark gray T-shirt, but everything he wears is hugging his broad shoulders and thick thighs in all the right places.
We fold ourselves onto the soft blanket, and Jason gestures to the picnic basket resting on the corner. “I didn’t know what you liked so I packed a little of everything.”
I open the basket, pulling out a bucket of fried chicken and containers of potato salad and macaroni and cheese. There’s also baked beans and biscuits and all the way at the bottom, a container of fruit. Maybe not my first choice of meals before a hookup, but it all smells delicious at least.
Jason opens all the food containers and hands me a plate. He scoops heaping piles of each dish onto his own plate before I get the chance to serve myself, which is fine, until I’m scraping the edges of the mac and cheese bowl to get half a serving.
“So, Jason, what do you do?” We’ve both settled into eating our dinners, though scarfing might be a more apt description for how Jason is inhaling his food.
“I’m in construction.” He barely pauses to answer the question, continuing to spoon heaping forkfuls into his mouth while he talks. Which is, you know, super charming.
“Ah. Makes sense.” I gesture to his hulking biceps when he shoots me a questioning look.
“Oh, these mostly come from the gym.” He gazes lovingly at his arms, and I get it, they’re gorgeous, but the man hasn’t looked at my cleavage with nearly half as much admiration and I’m wearing straight-up lingerie to a public concert.
“How often do you work out?”
“Usually three times.”
“A week?”
“A day.” Jason’s fork scrapes his plate as he finishes the last of his meal.
I wait for him to lick it, but luckily he refrains. I’m stillonly halfway through my much smaller portions when he hops up from the blanket, declaring he needs to go find a snack.
“I thought I was going to be the snack,” I mutter to his retreating backside.
Not mad at the view of him walking away though.
“Having fun?” Ben gracefully fills Jason’s empty seat a second later, leaning over to steal half of my biscuit.
I half-heartedly slap his hand away from my food, even though I fought hard for that biscuit. For some reason, I don’t mind sharing with Ben, especially if it keeps him here. “Things are going very well, I’ll have you know.”
“You’re a terrible liar.”
“You’re a terrible friend.” I blurt the words before I think them through. The guilt instantly swarms me when Ben’s eyebrows shoot up.
He doesn’t say anything for a second, just continues to stare at me until I can’t stand it any longer.
“I didn’t mean that.” I pop the remaining biscuit bite in my mouth. Maybe it will keep me from sticking my foot in it. “You’ve been a very good friend to me, Ben.”
“Have I?” he asks the question quietly, like he doesn’t expect an answer.
I punch him lightly on the shoulder. “Yes, you have. I don’t think I would’ve survived being here if it weren’t for you.”
His look is searing. “You would have.”
“You have a lot more faith in me than I have in myself.”
“You should work on that.”
“Maybe.” I find myself leaning in Ben’s direction, closing the gap separating us, moving my arm just a fraction of an inch so it brushes up against his.
