"Maybe we should talk about this," he said calmly.
I panicked. "No, thank you!" I called out manically.
He paused, and I waited, my heart slamming in my chest. Finally, he asked, "Did I scare you?"
What a ridiculous question. Benjamin, scare me? "No," I gusted out, practically on a laugh. "No, you do not scare me."
Another pause. "Then, why are you running from me?"
That was a valid question. WhywasI running from him? I'd been the first to initiate the kiss, after all. The question propelled my brain into action, and I backed up several steps to where my old dresser sat against the far wall, still out of sight. "I'm just not… interested… in that," I managed. I unhooked my bra and opened a drawer, fumbling around to find dry clothing. I settled on a light summer dress, white and knee-length that I could pull on quickly.
He took a step up the stairs. "You're not interested in me, or you're not interested in men?"
I jammed the dress over my head, donning it quickly and then pulling off my sopping wet skirt and underwear. He had another fair question, and I didn't have an answer for him. Of course I was interested in Benjamin. He was competent and kind and funny. He made me smile. "I'm not sure," I admitted. “I mean, I like men. I just don’t like… men.”
Benjamin continued up the stairs, and I kicked my wet clothing away just in time for him to reach the top. He turned the corner slowly, his hand on the railing and his wet, linen shirt sticking to the hard contours of his body. He eyed me with quiet interest, like he was trying to analyze my body language. Which,clearly, would show him that I was terrified. Because I was. I realized suddenly that I wasn't wearing any underwear, and the deep V of my dress showed off far more of my cleavage than it should. I folded my arms.
He didn't move, still watching me. "Evelyn, I don't want you to feel uncomfortable around me."
"I'm not," I said too briskly.
"Yes, you are," he countered with a hint of humor.
I swallowed, glancing to the side and then back to him. "You should change. You must be freezing."
"Actually, I'm pretty hot," he replied, like he was telling a joke. I stared at him blankly. He let out a laugh through his nose, glancing down. "Ah, I love that you do that."
"Do what?" I asked, a touch defensively. Despite myself, I gravitated toward him, taking a few steps in his direction and loosening the tightness of my arms over my breasts.
"Let my flirting go right over your head," he half-grinned, glancing up. "It throws me off balance. I like it."
"That didn't sound like flirting." I stopped five feet from him, trying to understand what he found so funny. "Unless you meant you're hot as in attractive, but even then, it's just a fact."
Humor rippled across his features. "You think I'm hot?"
Somewhat disgruntled, I muttered, "Obviously."
"What is flirting to you, Evie?" he asked, looking just as casual and unbothered in soaking wet, gray clothing as he did lying in the sun with a lemonade.
That took me off guard. "I'm not sure," I admitted.
"That," he said, taking a step toward me, "is why I assume you're scared of me."
"Not scared," I argued with a firm look.
"Youlookscared," he tossed back gently, taking another two steps. We were a foot apart, now, and he cocked his head. "You're not a virgin, are you?"
My chest went hot first, and then my neck, and then it spread to my ears quickly. "No."
"You act like one. I think. I'm not sure—I've never kissed one," he mused.
I tightened my crossed arms, and despite what he wassaying, he looked so disarming, so endearing, it was hard to be completely offended. The rain had brought out his curls, and they fell over his forehead, contrasting sharply with the bright blue of his eyes. He was a vision, frankly. One I'd want to paint if I had the talent. I licked my lips. "Not that this has anything to do withkissing?—"
"Of course," he conceded, and his smile dimpled impishly.
"—but I don't think it's for me."
"What isn't?" he clarified dubiously. "Kissing?"
