He started walking. I scrambled to keep up. “Like it’s a state secret. Are you not on any social media? That’s weird, you know, for a comms director.”
I was going tokillMac for not using her traitorous Facebook friendship with Ben to warn me.
“Sarah. We’ve been together for a year. She got offered a great job in Austin, so we decided to make the move.”
It was like one of the Chewbaccas had kicked me in the chest. I honestly felt like the wind had been knocked out of me. “Youmovedhere for her?”
“Well, I found my dream job in the governor’s office, so I’d say I moved for that. But yeah, the fact that Sarah was leaving got me looking.”
For some reason, the shock of it was just not ebbing. I felt...betrayed. Completely illogical, but true nonetheless.
Ben peered over the top of the plastic box as we walked. “What is that look on your face?”
Whatwasthat look on my face? What were these feelings tearing up my stomach and storming through my chest?
I shook my entire body, like I could physically rattle them out. “I’m just allergic to people who make major life decisions based on fleeting relationships.”
And there it was. I suddenly knew why this was hurting like a thousand tiny punches to the chest from a smallStar Warsrobot: Ben had left his life behind and fled Texas to get away from me. He’d uprooted everything and movedbackto stay close to Sarah.
Call me the Machiavellian Ice-Queen of Relationships, but I had mypride.
“Well, Sarah and I aren’t fleeting.” Ben pushed open the doors to the convention center and walked into the parking lot. “We’re serious.”
“Excuse me.” I placed the fold-up table I was carrying on top of Ben’s box and rooted around in my bag.
Ben dipped under the added weight. “Oh, thanks, yeah, I’ll just carry your things like a big, blue bellhop.”
I found what I was looking for and pulled out my flask, almost as dear to me as Bill McKibben and Al Gore. It was beautiful: soft pink, and painted with a dark skull and crossbones and flowers. I untwisted the cap and took a shot of whiskey.
“What are youdoing? We’re in a parking lot. And you’re technically on the clock.” Ben was twisting his head in every direction, looking around the parking lot like we were in tenth grade and someone was going to narc on us.
“First of all, I’m no longer working. The convention is over, so it’s officially Stoner o’clock. Second, I’m sorry, but I’m not going to be able to survive this campaign with you if you’re going to continue to spout sentimental shit like that.”
“I’m not going to survive this campaign withyouif you get us arrested for public intoxication, or...indecency, or...” Ben was clearly racking his brain, trying to recall his long-ago class on criminal law.
I took another shot from the flask.
“Fine,” he said, tilting his box at me so the table slid off and I had no choice but to catch it. “I won’t talk about Sarah if you don’t talk about your walking sex toys.”
I shrugged and managed to twist the cap securely on my flask, even with my arms full. “Easy.”
We walked in tense silence all the way back to his car—a Prius I suspected he’d rented solely to demonstrate his moral superiority. Or to avoid the judgment in my eyes when I spotted his real car, which was surely a truck or an SUV or something. In law school, he’d once waxed poetic about making enough money to afford his dream car, a Land Rover.
He popped the trunk and shoved the plastic container in.
“So.” I kicked the gravel. “What does your girlfriend do, anyway?”
He spun to me, his mouth dropping open. “I thought that topic was off-limits. You won’t survive, remember?”
I tossed the table in and closed the trunk. “Call me terminally curious.”
Ben opened the passenger door, still shaking his head, and I hopped in. He held on to the door, looking down at me. “What doesKyledo?”
Stalemate.
Ben’s lips quirked. “Because he looks like he sells weed to high school students.”
We looked at each for an endless moment. Then we burst out laughing at the same time.
