“You’re twenty-nine, Stoner. Wait until you hit your thirties.”
I waved a hand at him. “Ugh. Don’t remind me of your elderliness.”
“I’ll get you breakfast tacos just to have a moment’s peace while your mouth is occupied,” Ben muttered.
It was true I’d been a bit annoying since we’d set out on our road trip to Ely Gunther’s ranch, which was way out in the boonies in Senator Wayne’s home district. In my defense, I was not only battling a three-day hangover, but jittery nerves. I knew I needed to broach the subject of Sarah, but I had no idea how. When in doubt, deflect.
“What were you doing Halloween night, anyway?” I peeked at Ben out of the corner of my eye. There wasn’t much watercooler gossip about Ely Gunther, who was apparently a pretty private guy, but wehadheard he preferred things laid-back and casual. Ben was wearing a gray long-sleeve T-shirt pushed up to his elbows, and another pair of those fitted jeans. He still hadn’t shaved, so his five-o’clock shadow had grown thicker. It highlighted the strong bones of his jaw, like an artist had traced the outline with charcoal.
The muscles in his thigh flexed as he shifted to brake, and I gulped, lifting my eyes to his tanned, muscled forearms, braced against the wheel.
Nope. That wasn’t better.
“I stayed home and did some makeup work for Grover.” Ben’s eyes slid to mine. “There’s a million things on my plate, and this campaign is kind of all-consuming. I use the weekends to catch up.”
“Oh. Sorry.”
He scanned the road, then glanced back at me and smiled. “I’m not complaining. Plus, I got to hand out candy to kids all night.”
Ben’s gaze was making my skin flush with heat. I closed my eyes. “What a nerd.”
Inside, I thought,A poor, sad nerd whose girlfriend is about to break your heart.
“Ah,herewe go.” The Prius whipped off the road, and I flew across the car, smacking into Ben’s side.
“Sorry,” he said, throwing the car into Park and setting me upright. He pointed out the windshield. “Tacos.”
Sure enough, we’d pulled up right in front of a little truck on the side of the road, with giant pictures of tacos emblazoned across the front, the visuals-to-text ratio a sure sign of quality. The fact that Ben saw the truck, too, meant it wasn’t a mirage.
One expensive purchase later, Ben and I spread out on a nearby picnic table, legs stretched out to catch as much early November sunshine as possible. Ben had thrown on Wayfarers, so I couldn’t read his eyes when he turned to me.
His mouth curled into a smile. “I wish I’d seen you as Freddie Mercury.” He leaned over and tapped above my lip. “In a mustache.”
“Sarah was there,” I blurted, shoving my taco wrapper aside.
He blinked. “Where?”
“At the party. On Halloween. I saw her.”
He shrugged. “She went out that night. Funny that you ended up at the same party.”
I swallowed a mounting sense of dread. “She was with...a lot of guys.”
Ben’s lips tightened. “So?”
He was going to make me spell it out, just like he’d done years ago when I had to confess about Connor.
“She was really...touchy-feely.” I hesitated, fighting the urge to cringe. “There was this one guy she was all over.”
“What do you mean, ‘all over’?”
Jesus, Ben the ice machine. He was rigid as a statue. “You know, leaning into him, touching him. The guy put his arm around her and they went off together.”
“And then?”
“Well, I didn’t see her again. I kind of fell off a table at that point. I’m really sorry, Ben.”
“Why are you sorry?”
