Five Ways to Fall (Ten Tiny Breaths, #4)(96)

“I was the one pressed right up against you all night. I think I’d know.”

“Oh my God.” I close my eyes as I wince. Of all the guys to do that in front of—if it’s even true; Jared never said anything—it had to be a guy like Ben? Who will torment me! Does this kind of stuff happen to other women, too? Or is it just me? I shift away from him and start moving backward. “Well, you’d better get going. It’s a long drive.”

Two strong hands shoot out to grab onto me and pull me back until my back is pressing against the garage door. “Don’t worry. I still think you’re hot.” With an infuriating smile, he dips down and levels me with one of his overpowering kisses, this one much more familiar and “Ben,” buckling my knees as he crushes his body against mine. My eyes finally open to deep dimples as he lifts a hand and kisses my knuckles. “Okay, seriously, I need to go or I’m liable to take you on the hood of Jack’s truck.” Slipping a hand on the small of my back, he leads me toward the walkway as he heads back to his car. “Do you think you can stay out of trouble this week?”

“Depends. What kind of trouble?”

He rests an arm on his open door as he smirks at me, explaining in a wry tone, “The kind that involves douchebag ex-husbands.”

I open my mouth to speak but I stall on the words as I process this. Is he referring to catfights with Caroline and violent outbursts? Or was that his way of saying he doesn’t want me messing around with anyone? I settle on, “Depends. Do you think you can stay away from Twinkies?”

He winks. “I knew you were jealous.” And then he climbs into his car without giving me a proper answer. I watch him pull away, feeling irritated and suddenly empty.

With a deep breath, I walk inside.

Jack and Mason are still in the kitchen, Jack carving a sizeable piece of meatloaf and loading it onto a plate. “Have you eaten?”

“Yeah, Wilma wouldn’t let us leave until we ate,” I explain, reaching into the fridge for the jug of chocolate milk. I screw the top off and am about to lift it to my lips to chug it back when I catch Mason staring at me, his mouth open and trying really hard not to scold me. My arms drops. I reach out and get a glass, making a point of watching him with a “See? I can be considerate!” glare.

“Well, the woman sure can cook,” Jack muses, opening the microwave to slide his plate in. “I’m not even hungry and I have to eat this.”

I pat his belly affectionately. “Be careful. Wouldn’t want to get too plump for Ms. Sexton.”

Mason starts snickering from his seat on the bar stool.

“Mason . . .” The kitchen fills with loud beeps as Jack punches instructions into the microwave. “Why don’t you go to your room and talk to that lovely girlfriend of yours.”

Mason’s laughter cuts off short. “You’re sending me to my room? I’m twenty-five years old!”

“Yes, that’s right, you are. And yet you got caught lying to your father this weekend.” Jack stands in front of the microwave, a small smile on his face.

“Good luck, Reese,” Mason mutters, grabbing whatever magazine he was reading and his glass of chocolate milk.

“So . . .” Jack takes a moment rifling through the forks in the cutlery drawer, as if there’s a “good fork” versus a “bad fork” in there. It’s a matching set. “How is Ben’s mother taking it?”

“Hard to tell. She kept herself really busy today. Ben thinks she’s going to have a hard time once the dust settles.”

Jack pulls the heated plate of food out of the microwave and heads toward the breakfast bar. “I can’t imagine losing her husband like that is easy.”

“It was bad, but it could have been worse.” I’d imagine a bottle of pills and some puke is definitely easier to deal with than a shotgun or a rope. If Wilma had walked in on that . . . My stomach tightens with the thought. She’s such a sweet woman and she deserves to be happy.

She’s also a fascinating woman. Perhaps it’s because of the vast difference between her and Annabelle. All I knew growing up was a woman who kept trading up for power and prestige. Wilma is completely opposite, standing by a wretched man for thirty-three years, holding onto the few years of bliss she remembers. Did either of these women make good choices?

“How is Ben taking it? Should he be driving back alone?” Jack asks.

I think back to what I just left in the driveway. Ben being . . . Ben. “I think he’s okay,” I say tentatively, adding, “He didn’t have the closest relationship with his father.”

Jack nods as he sits down. “And what about his relationship with you? How close is that?” He shovels a mouthful of meatloaf in and chews slowly, his eyes never leaving my face.

“We’re good friends,” I parrot Ben’s earlier words. It’s not a lie. We have formed a close friendship. It may not be entirely platonic. Or not platonic at all but, as long as Jack doesn’t ask for specifics, it’s a solid answer. Plus, if I admit to nothing, then I’m not putting Jack in an awkward position, where he’s forced to do anything about it at work.

My logic is sound.

I watch Jack process that as he swallows and fills his mouth again. I always know when Jack is thinking because his eyes remain downcast and trained on a specific spot. Finally, he places his fork down. “I think you two both have very bright futures, and I’d hate for something to jeopardize that.”