Five Ways to Fall (Ten Tiny Breaths, #4)(27)

I hear him but I don’t, latching onto something he said earlier. “Do you really think that made him jealous?”

“Damn straight it did. I saw the look on his face and so did that little tart wife of his. No way a guy who’s been in you wouldn’t be bothered watching someone else stick his tongue in your mouth.”

“I think you should send that straight to Hallmark.” Ben sure knows how to boost a girl’s ego, I’ll give him that. If I weren’t so distraught over seeing how Jared permanently erased me from his arm, I might actually be capable of a smile.

Ben’s typical charming, dimpled smile is back as he stares at me. “And thanks for not biting off my tongue back here.” There’s a pause, and then his eyes flicker behind me. “They’re coming out right now—no, don’t.” His fingers tighten their grip of my chin to keep me from turning back, keeping my eyes locked on his. “Too obvious. Want to really get under his skin? And hers, because I can guarantee you she didn’t like seeing the way he gawked at you.”

The urge to irritate Caroline is impossible to ignore. My single nod is all the invitation Ben needs. Setting his boxed pie on top of a newspaper stand beside us, his hands find their place on the back of my neck and my ass as he pulls me into his body, this time with a kiss that should be reserved for behind closed doors. It even earns a few honks and hollers as cars drive past.

When Ben finally releases me, it takes me a moment to remember why he was kissing me in the first place. “Are they still watching?” I whisper, a little breathless.

“Shit. That wasn’t them after all. I should get my eyes checked.” His frown lasts two seconds before it twists into an impish grin and I know I’ve been duped.

I pick up the pie sitting on the newsstand beside us.

And I smash it into that broad chest.



“How are you and Mason even friends?”

Ben looks up from his file at me, his eyes glancing off my socked feet that sit on top of his desk. If that’s a hint, I don’t take it. If I’m going to sit in his office all weekend, I’m going to be comfortable. “What do you mean?”

I answer with an eye roll. “You know exactly what I mean.”

He leans back in his chair and stretches, giving me an appealing view of the ridges in his chest and shoulders. “What can I say? I’m a friendly guy. People like me. Especially hot little purple-haired chicks.”

“Did you meet a lot of those in Cancún or did you branch out?” Great. I was just thinking how nice it was that Ben honored his promise not to bring any of that up, and now I’ve gone and mentioned it.

His eyes narrow slightly as if he’s assessing me, deciding what to admit to. “I think most of them were blond. Except for the one from Spain. Oh . . . and a redhead.”

Awesome. I’m not at all surprised. Not for one minute did I think I was anything except his night’s target. Puking all over this guy was probably my saving grace. “You must have been awfully tired after that,” I say with mock concern.

He flashes those devil dimples at me. “Two of them were best friends, so . . . I was after that night.”

I struggle to keep my jaw from dropping, because I have a gut feeling that Ben couldn’t be bothered to make things like that up. I may consider myself adventurous—Jared certainly thought so—but I don’t think I’d have the first clue about keeping up with a guy like Ben. He worked in a strip club, after all. “Have you always loved yourself this much?”

“I had an awkward year in ’ninety-nine, but I got over it quick,” he offers with a chuckle, turning his attention back to his computer screen. It’s been hours since we came back from that disastrous run-in with Jared and Caroline, and Ben and I have sat in his office the entire time. I’ve kept myself busy going through the caseload, making notes on next steps and important dates, things I can knock off quickly, paperwork we can hand off to June and the other paralegals that don’t require much thought or interaction to complete. Between that and the light conversation, I’ve managed not to feel too down about Jared after all.

Ben hasn’t cracked a single margarita or crawling joke. He hasn’t mentioned the public fondling he did of me on the street corner—thank God Jack wasn’t looking out his office window at that particular moment.

It’s as if it didn’t even happen.

I study his tanned, handsome face. That chest-constricting smile. After sitting in here with him for this long, as much as I hate to admit it, Ben’s not the bad guy I convinced myself that he’d be. Yes, he’s still cocky, obnoxious, and downright infuriating sometimes, but he works hard, he seems to genuinely respect Jack, and he’s nice to everyone. Even my nerdy stepbrother.

So, maybe Jack forcing us together was a good thing. I have enough to be on edge about, without playing Mission Avoid Ben at Work. And now I won’t have to sit in Nelson’s office, thinking of ways to shank him and get away with it.

“I was right.” I reach over and pick up the picture of a much younger Ben on a field, in his football uniform. A tiny brunette woman—his mother, I presume, though he looks nothing like her—stands beside him, a proud smile on her face. “How old were you here?”

“Fourteen.”

Really? I would have guessed at least sixteen. “You were a big kid.” And gorgeous. Even at that age, I can see that Ben would have had all the little girls batting their lashes. “You said you were injured, right?” I think I remember Ben saying something about that in Cancún. When he nods, I ask, “What made you become a lawyer?”