I run my hands over my arms, shivering in the booth.
Ben leans forward, eyes intensely focused on me. “I want us to talk about taking things to the next level, Dolly. I think about you a lot. And I really want to make you mine, officially.”
My throat dries up as I stare at him. This can’t be happening.He can’t think we’re there, can he? I’ve been fantasizing about other men, and he wants me to commit to him?
“Will you be my girlfriend?” he continues.
My heart rate is skyrocketing, nearly beating out of my chest.
Of course, he doesn’t know that I’ve been fantasizing about other men …
A fresh, cold wave of guilt and embarrassment crashes over me. I blush deeply, and he mistakes it for a nervous response to his question.
“Hey, you think about it while we order. Take your time.”
I purse my lips. I don’t need time. I need to figure out what I’ve done to make him think we are here already.
Is this my fault? Have I been leading him on?
I thought we were just getting to know each other to see where it went. I’ve never actually had a boyfriend. Maybe this is how people do it. I thought we would at least get closer, maybe share a kiss or two before fully committing like this.
There is no spark. Zero. I thought maybe one would build, but it’s just not.
Oh God. I’ve totally been leading him on.My blush deepens, making me even more mortified about the situation.
He doesn’t deserve this. He shouldn’t be out on a date with a girl who literally forgot the date was happening until he showed up.
“Look, Ben, I—” I stammer.
The waitress shows up with our coffees and plops them down on the table. “You two ready to order?”
My stomach suddenly feels queasy, but I order a stack of pancakes to nibble on and take back to Pops. Ben orders the same but adds on some bacon and scrambled eggs.
“What were you saying, beautiful?” He’s stirring multiple spoonfuls of sugar into this mug.
With wooden movements, I start making my coffee with a little sugar and cream. “Um, look, Ben. I’ve had such a great time getting to know you over the past few weeks. You’re a really sweet guy, but I don’t think I’m there yet with you. I don’t … I don’t feel the same.”
I want to throw up. This conversation couldn’t be more uncomfortable. I wish I at least had a damn bra on or a hoodie, something to cover me. Ben’s face falls a little, but he maintains his smile.
“Look, I don’t need you to be in love with me or anything. I just want us to keep getting comfortable with some more commitment, more intention. If you don’t like thegirlfriendlabel, we don’t have to use it. I want this to keep going.” Hereaches across the table to grab my clammy hand. “I want more of this with you. More dates, more alone time.”
I try to pull my hand away, but his grip tightens. A trickle of panic wells up in my chest. “I don’t really think that’s what I want. I think you’re great, really. The flowers, the dates—it’s all so sweet. It’s not you at all. I don’t …” I struggle to find the words, chewing on the inside of my lip and looking down at the Formica tabletop. “I don’t have the same feelings toward you. I think I have feelings—” My words trail off when I look up to see his face pale.
His eyes dart behind me. My throat dries up when a big, broody-looking cowboy stands at the edge of our table, caging me into the booth.
Sam looks like shit. Half of his face is bruised. His eyebrow is cut, cracked blood dried to the edge of it. He’s dressed in a clean heather gray T-shirt with a blue-and-white checkered flannel over it and distressed jeans, but my heart squeezes when I think about what could be under that T-shirt.
He looks exhausted and utterly pissed off. His jaw is set, but his ocean eyes aren’t focused on me. They’re lasered in on Ben’s pale, trembling frame. Ben doesn’t say a word. It feels like we’re repeating a ritual we’ve been through before.
Ben doesn’t dare glance my way again as he slowly slides out of the booth, steps around Sam’s rigid body, and practically sprints toward the exit.
My stomach tightens when Sam takes his place, turning his intense stare on me. He doesn’t speak. As if on cue, the waitress arrives with the food and sets my plate of steaming pancakes in front of me. She blinks at Sam for a few seconds before shrugging and setting the other plate in front of him.
“Can I get you a fresh cup of coffee, hon?”
He nods. She removes Ben’s cup and leaves us alone. He doesn’t move or speak until she returns with his fresh cup of steaming coffee.
“Thanks,” he says.
