“Yes,” he says, straightening. “I understand that. It would be no-strings-attached.”
“Are you sure that’s what you want?”
He clenches his jaw before nodding.
I take a step closer. He remains where he is. Holding his ground.
“Ben, are you sure?”
Squaring his shoulders, he keeps looking me straight in the eye. “Yes. I’m sure.”
I feel the smile stretch across my face. Ben mirrors it.
When we go backout to the party, Tabitha grabs us and introduces us to various guests. It annoys me that she seems more excited to show me off than her impressive son.
Luckily, Ben’s awful father is nowhere to be seen. Probably locked away somewhere discussing business mergers and smoking cigars. Safely tucked away from all the little folk and women.
I resist the urge to squeeze Ben’s hand as I catch the strained smile on his face while his mother introduces us to yet another guest.
I’m desperate to escape. I have no idea if Ben intended us to start ‘practicing’ tonight, but I’m sure he could be convinced.
Something tugs in the back of my mind any time I think about him assuring me that this is what he wants. That he understands the stakes. I push it down. Ben’s friends and family all treat him like he is unable to make his own decisions. I will not be one more person treating him like a child. Ben is intelligent and perfectly capable of making his own decisions. And if he wants to make a bad one with me, who am I to stand in the way?
It's getting dark outside when we’re ushered into the garden. A stage has been set up and a band appears to be getting ready to play. Tabitha is distracted enough to let us go, being dragged out herself by a group of excitable friends.
“If we want to slip away,” Ben says close to my ear. “Now would be the perfect time.”
I swallow, my throat dry. A curt nod tells him I’m on board.
His eyes shine before he turns and begins leading the way up the winding staircase to his room.
The boom of the speakers outside is muffled in here. Excitable squeals mingle with the female singer, doing a cover of some 90s pop tune.
“Sorry, my mom has terrible taste in music.”
“No Lana?”
“Hey,” Ben pouts. “You said you wouldn’t tease me.”
“Oh Ben, if I’m teasing you, believe me, you’ll know it.”
He gulps. Eyes growing impossibly wide as I take the steps necessary to reach him.
I put my hand on the back of his neck and feel how clammy he is. When I rub my thumb along his pulse, it’s racing. My voice sounds strange when I ask if he’s okay.
He bites his lip and nods.
“I’ve heard fraternity members are taught how important verbal consent is.”
He huffs a laugh through his nose, his voice cracking when he speaks. “Yes. I’m okay.”
“Good.”
My own heart pounds in my ears as I lower my face the few inches to reach his mouth. There’s the slightest hint of champagne on his tongue. The scent of clean laundry and expensive cologne on his skin.
When his hands get involved in the kiss, I practically sink into him. His fingers tangling in my hair and grasping at my shirt. He whimpers into my mouth when I grind against him.
He’s breathless when he pulls away. Lips a little swollen and his cheeks flushed.
