“I found a plaster guy for you. He can come by tomorrow morning to have a look.”
“I have to work.”
“I figured. But if you’re okay with it, I can meet him here, let him in. If you’re not, no problem. He could come Wednesday after five too.”
“Wednesday,” I say, because I’m still feeling stubborn, not because I don’t trust Ben to be here. MaybebecauseI trust him to be here, maybe because I trust him more than I’m willing to admit.
He leans back a little to take out his phone and types out a quick message before tucking it back in his pocket.“All set.”
“That’s the news?” This sounds dismissive, sarcastic. I close my eyes briefly, scolding myself.
“Kit.” The way he says my name, it’s a caress, smoothing down all the hackles I have raised. This should annoy me, maybe, this sense I have that he’s handling me in some way, but it doesn’t. It makes me want to sit right next to him on the stoop, to settle myself into the same crook of his body where he held me close on Saturday.
“I’m sorry,” I say.“It was a rough day at work.” I know already I shouldn’t say this to Ben, whose job it is to look for ways to exploit any unhappiness I might have in my current situation. But I’m tired of fighting the closeness I feel with him. I had a taste of it Saturday, and I just—I just want tofeaston it right now.
“I didn’t have the greatest day at the office, either,” he says, surprising me.“The office” is not how Ben usually talks about work at the yard, so he’s got to be talking about Beaumont, and while we’ve spent an awful lot of time talking about how I might be involved there, in general Ben doesn’t say much about the day-to-day of his real job.
“Yeah?”
He smiles up at me.“Yeah. I spoke to my partner about how things are progressing with your case.”
I stiffen immediately, noticing now, for the first time, that I’d slowly been tipping forward a bit, leaning in to him as we’d talked. I shouldnottrust Ben, ever. I should always remember what he came to me for in the first place. It doesn’tmatterwhat’s happened since.
“Kit,” he says again, but it doesn’t help this time.
“Listen. This has been a really shitty day. Every time we’ve talked about Beaumont, I’ve managed to give you calm, rational answers about why I’m not interested. I don’t really have the capacity for that tonight. But my answer is the same. It’s no. I’m not coming to Texas. I’m not going to do the job. Ever.”
“I don’t care,” he says.
“You don’t—?”
“I called my partner to tell him I’m off your case. I’m not able to recruit you.”
I stare at him, unsure of how to process this information. I should be relieved, thinking Beaumont has given up, that I won’t have to field any more of their queries. But all I can think is: Does this mean I won’t see Ben anymore?
“I’m not able to recruit you because I’m involved with you.”
There’s a pause, a lull—and I’m so grateful for the sounds of the early evening, for the faint hum of traffic going by a few blocks away, for the cicadas starting their evening song.
“What does that mean?” I’m intentionally vague with my question. Maybe I’m asking what it means for Beaumont’s pursuit of me. Maybe I’m asking what it means for him and his job. But maybe I’m asking what it means for him and me. Because when I think of being“involved” with Ben, I think about his clothes on my bedroom floor. I think about all his weight on top of me, that chocolate-sweet kiss.
“It means,” he says, looking right at me, looking right through me, really,“that if you say okay, I’m coming in this house with you and finishing what we started. It means I got Sharon to stay with my dad tonight, so I have every intention of taking you to bed and keeping you there all night. It means I haven’t stopped thinking about your mouth since Saturday. It means that right now, I don’t give one good goddamn about anything other than making sure I have you every way I can before you have to go to work tomorrow.”
I make a sound—I think it’s probably some combination of a whimper and anunf—and lean against the porch railing, trying to catch the breath Ben stole with that speech, which is actually the hottest thing anyone has ever said to me, and this includes the time my college boyfriend said he thought I’d win a Nobel Prize someday. Ben’s posture is as relaxed as it has been since I got home, but there’s some kind of new tension underneath, an energy I feel pulsing beneath his skin.“Okay,” I breathe, and he stands up before I have it all the way out.
“Inside,” he says, and that one word is hotter than the speech.
I go inside, Ben right behind me.
* * * *
Being with Ben is a reminder of the limits of my imagination.
Because while I’d thought of this, late at night, alone in my bed, I hadn’t had much of it right, other than the fact that I’d suspected it’d be good between us. I hadn’t expected that we’d come together the way we are now—greedy, a little clumsy, him against my back as I drop my bag, spinning me around so he can get his mouth on mine, open and searching. I hadn’t expected that I’d so quickly wrap my arms tight around his neck, one of my legs hitching up around his hip, and I hadn’t expected that he’d so quickly, so fiercely, grab on, pulling my other leg around him so that he could carry me up the steps, our kiss frantic, bumpy, his teeth nipping my upper lip, my tongue seeking his lips even as I reach up to pull off my glasses.
“God, Kit,” he says, when we get into my bedroom,“We’ve got to—”
“Don’t. Don’t sayslow down.”
