“I know, but you know how it is when you work a nine-to-five.”
Actually, Tate didn’t know. And the fact that he didn’t had been a point of contention between him and Ben during the year they’d dated. As an EMT, Tate’s schedule fluctuated, but for the most part, he worked either twelve or twenty-four-hour shifts three days a week. Ben had hated that Tate wasn’t around when he expected him to be. Or at least that was what Ben told him when Tate found out the guy was cheating on him.
Ben pulled his hands free of his pockets and began fidgeting with the fingers of his leather gloves. No doubt, he wanted Tate to see them because, for Ben, the clothes made the man, and if he wasn’t showing off every accessory, he wasn’t doing his job.
Considering it was a mild day, there was a good chance Ben was sweating like a whore in church but doing his best to pretend otherwise.
“I was thinking maybe I could take you to dinner tonight,” Ben offered.
“I’ve got plans.”
“With?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Ah.” Ben nodded his head slowly. “Spending it with Reilly, huh? You know, she’s probably part of why you can’t keep a boyfriend.”
Tate bit his tongue, refusing to reduce himself to Ben’s level. The reason he couldn’t keep a boyfriend was because the last one he’d had was a lying, cheating whore. But he was past reminding Ben of that fact. No matter what, Ben refused to believe he was at fault for their breakup nearly eight months ago.
“How did you find out where I live?” Tate asked, realizing when they’d last been together, Tate hadn’t lived here.
“The benefits of a backward, redneck town,” Ben said, and it was not meant as a compliment. “People don’t value privacy.”
Great.
“Well,” Ben said dramatically, shifting so his coat flared around his knees. “I guess I should go.”
When he looked back, Tate knew he was waiting for an invitation to whatever Tate’s plans were for the evening. He wasn’t getting one.
Tate released a pent-up breath when Ben started down the porch steps.
“I’d like to catch up, Tate. Maybe next weekend?”
“Yeah, maybe,” he said merely to get Ben to keep walking. He had no desire to spend time in Ben’s company, but he also wasn’t looking to argue with the man.
“Perfect,” Ben said, grinning as though Tate had agreed. “I saw a sign for a festival in town. Are you planning to go to it?”
“I go every year,” he reminded Ben. Not that he needed the reminder. Last year, they’d argued when Tate insisted on going with Reilly. Ben had tagged along and bitched the entire night.
“Then it’s a date,” Ben said before turning toward his car.
“It’s not a date,” Tate called out.
Ben flashed another pearly white smile. “Sure it is. You just need to admit you’re not over me yet.”
Tate rolled his eyes and went back inside. Oh, he was definitely over him, all right. Even if he weren’t, Tate wouldn’t touch that man with a ten-foot pole. Like he said, lying, cheating whore.
He was only inside for about three minutes before the door opened, and Reilly stomped inside, her boots knocking on the concrete floor. She had to have been watching from her parents’ house.
“Why was he here?” she asked, her tone civil, although he knew she had to work hard to mask her anger.
“He wanted to take me out for my birthday.”
She stared at him. Tate could practically see all the things she wanted to say flashing in her eyes. She hated Ben. Maybe even more than Tate did, and that was saying something.
“I told him no,” he assured her.
“Good.” She ran her hands down the front of her sweater. “That’s good.”
