“No. I’m going to be hungover, aren’t I?”
“You’ll be fine. I’ll teach you all my tricks.” He grins. “Please, Prue? Just come with me.”
“Maybe.”
“I can work with maybe.”
The server comes by a moment later, setting the bill on the table. Ben throws down his card before picking up another fry.
“Do you bring all your girls here?”
“No. I like this place too much.” He leans back, staring at me. “But since you won’t let me fuck you, I figured it was safe to bring you.” He smirks.
“So, if I asked you to fuck me in the bathroom right now, you’d say no?”
“No. I like this place a lot, but I want to fuck you more.”
“Why?”
“Like I told that prick earlier. I like a challenge.”
The server passes by, and Ben holds out the bill to him.
“Thank you for that,” I say softly, looking at the table.
“Don’t thank me for being a decent person. I know the bar is low, but I hope it’s not that low.”
My stomach tenses. I’m still not happy with the fact he saw me in the situation. It makes me feel too vulnerable and exposed. Part of me wishes I knew more about him. That I could see him in the same kind of state too.
He’s seen me at a low, and in turn I’d see him in one of his own.
“You said you were abused. By whom? Your dad?” I peek up at him. Hoping whatever confession comes out of him will even the playing field.
He tenses for a moment. His eyes drift to stare at something behind me. I regret asking the question now.
The check is dropped on the table, and Ben reaches for it, signing it and adding a tip.
“Sorry,” I whisper.
“I’m afraid the ship has sailed on that secret,” he says, glancing up at me. “But no, it wasn’t my dad. My father was a good man. I think if he knew what was happening to me, he would’ve killed the person responsible, but I never told a soul about it.” Slipping his card into his wallet. “Even mentioning it to you was a once in a lifetime confession. One I would appreciate you forgetting.”
I nod.
“Now, let’s go get you a tattoo.” He smiles, as if the conversation never happened at all.
We stand inside a tattoo parlor. His guy, Greg, gives us paperwork to sign, while Ben hands him the drawing he made.
“I’m sure you can make it better,” Ben says.
“Where does she want it?”
Ben glances over at me, raising his eyebrow.
“Oh. I don’t know.” I glance down at my body. “My ankle I guess.”
“No. That’s a very boney area. I don’t know how you’re going to handle the feeling. That is not the best place to start,” Ben says.
“I can handle a little pain.” I roll my eyes. “I want it on my ankle.”
