"What's with the Socratic really questions?" I snap, stabbing him with my eyes. Had enough of him. "Yeah. Really."
He props his elbow on the armrest, fingers grazing his mouth as he watches me in that calm, ready-to-pounce way of his.
"Alright. Then unblock my number."
And just like that he flips it on me. Damn. I almost flinched.
"What?" I snap again, pretending cluelessness.
"You blocked me." His voice lands like an accusation in slow motion. "Didn't you?"
I absolutely did.
The day Richard proposed, it was so fast, so unexpected that I spiraled and reached for the panic button, except it was Ben's that I wanted. Him on the phone, to ask if I was allowedto move on, or hear his voice and see if it still broke me. But what would I do with those answers? So I did the only thing I could—slammed the emergency exit and ran.
He doesn't get to know that, though, so I just lift a shoulder.
"Maybe I did."
He draws in a breath, on the verge of letting loose, then reins it back, giving me a look that says he's doing me a favor. "That explains a lot."
"Like what?"
"Like a lot," he says, jaw tight.
I frown and press. "But what exactly?"
"Forget it." His hand rakes through his hair—the old giveaway that he's pissed, but won't say why. Then, dry as a bone: "Does Richard sleep in a tie? Looks like it."
The way he says Richard's name like he already knows him, makes my thoughts stall for a second.
"How do you know what Richard looks like?" I fold my arms. "You stalked our socials?"
"Guilty." He smiles, charm dialed to eleven, and goes back to his dessert. "He's got quite an eye for aesthetics. Too bad banking's keeping him from going viral."
My eyes narrow. "Don't you dare."
He smirks at me. "Are you allowed to breathe in those shots? Or is that too... off brand?"
Wow. What an absolute ass.
"I'm sorry, what happened to the vow? No marriage before sixty unless she's got wings and a lingerie contract? That wasyou, wasn't it?" I snark, sarcasm obviously being my shield.
"Yup," he says with mouth full. "That was me."
I freeze. No way. Absolutely no. Don't tell me he married a Victoria's Secret model because I'll lose it.
"Never figured you for the marrying type," I toss out, flippant.
He throws me a look that says,you don't mean that and we both know it.
That's the biggest tragedy, isn't it? He was.
Butterflies and heartbreak and blood-boiling everything, loyal to his family to the marrow, all wrapped in one man. Ben? Totally the marrying type.
But not for me. Never for me.
"So how's Lisa?" I do my best to not spit out her name.
