November 9: A Novel(60)
My reflection reveals no answers, so I make the brave journey to the bathroom exit, knowing he’s probably out there somewhere. Waiting.
No sooner than I have the bathroom door open, a hand grips my arm and pulls me further down the hallway, away from the crowd. I don’t even have to look at him to know it’s him. My whole body feels the familiar hum of electricity that moves between us anytime we’re together.
My back is against a wall, hands are beside my head, his eyes are boring into mine. “How serious is it with Whale Pants back there?”
Dammit if he doesn’t make me laugh right off the bat. I groan. “I hate those pants.”
A crooked, smug grin spreads across his face, but as soon as it appears, it disappears, replaced by a flicker of disappointment. “Why didn’t you show up today?” he asks.
I can no longer tell a difference between the beat of my heart and the base of the music. They’re in perfect sync, one no louder than the other, thanks to Ben’s proximity.
“I told you last year I wasn’t going to show up today.” I glance down the hallway, toward the club. It’s dark back here, past the bathrooms, past the people. Somehow, in a building full of warm bodies, we have complete privacy. “How did you know I’d be here tonight?”
He gives his head a dismissive shake. “The answer to that question isn’t nearly as significant as the answer to mine. How serious is it with this guy?”
His voice is low, his face close to mine. I can feel warmth radiating from his skin. It’s hard to concentrate in this kind of distracting environment.
“I forgot what question you just asked me.” I sway a little bit, but his fingers splay out against my hip and he steadies me.
He narrows his eyes. “Are you drunk?”
“Tipsy. Big difference. How’s Jordyn?” I don’t know why I say her name with spite. I don’t harbor any resentment toward her. Okay, maybe just a little bit. But not much, because Oliver is such a cute kid and it’s hard to be mad at someone who can make such a cute kid.
Ben sighs, glancing away for a split second. “Jordyn is fine. They’re good.”
Good. Good for them. Good for him and Oliver and their adorable f*cking little family.
“That’s nice, Ben. I need to get back to my date.” I try to push past him, but he leans in closer, sandwiching me against the wall. His forehead meets the side of my head. He lets out a sigh and feeling the breath fall from his lips and rush through my hair forces me to squeeze my eyes shut.
“Don’t be like that,” he whispers into my ear. “I’ve been through hell today trying to find you.”
I cringe from the way his words twist my stomach into knots. He slides his arms around me and pulls me into him. He feels stronger. More defined. Even more like a man this year. I’m stiff against him as I ask my next question. “Are you still with her?”
He looks crestfallen as he says, “You know me better than that, Fallon. If I had a girlfriend, I certainly wouldn’t be standing here trying to convince you to come home with me.” He studies my face for a reaction, scrolling over each of my features with desire-filled eyes. I try not to notice, but he’s pressed against me, my thigh firm between both of his legs. It’s obvious by the scorching hardness pressed against my thigh that the look in his eyes is genuine.
Feeling him like this again—his mouth dangerously close to mine—reminds me of the night I spent with him. The only night I’ve ever allowed a man to completely consume me, heart, body, and soul—and the thought of what he was able to do to me that night almost forces me to whimper.
But I’m stronger than my hormones. I have to be. I can’t go through another heartbreak like the one I’m still healing from. The wounds are still so fresh, it’s as if he’s clawing them open with his bare hands.
“Come home with me,” he whispers.
No. No, no, no, Fallon.
I shake my head back and forth with immense effort in order to ensure I don’t accidentally nod. “No, Ben. No. This past year has been the hardest year of my life. You can’t expect me to just fall back into step with you because you showed up here tonight.”
He runs the backs of his fingers across my cheekbone. “I don’t expect that, Fallon. But I do pray for it. Every night, down on my knees, to any God who will listen.”
His words feel like they penetrate the walls of my chest and all the air is let out of my lungs. I close my eyes when his breath grazes my jaw. He’s taking advantage of the privacy and my weakness and I want to punch him for it, but first I just need to know if he tastes the same. If his tongue still moves the same way. If he still touches me like it’s a privilege.
I’m being supported by a wall behind me and Ben in front of me, but still, when his hand drops to my thigh and his fingers begin slowly raking up my skirt, I feel like I’m about to crash straight to the floor. There’s so much that needs to be discussed between us, but for whatever reason, my body wants my mouth to stay shut so his hand will continue moving. I’ve missed his touch so much, and even though I’ve made the effort to go out and try to get over Ben, I’m not sure I could ever find this kind of physical connection with another person. No one makes me feel as desirable as Ben does. I’ve missed it. The way he looks at me, the way he touches me, the way he makes it feel as if my scars are an improvement rather than a flaw. It’s hard to say no to this feeling, no matter how hurt I’ve been over what transpired last year.