Five Ways to Fall (Ten Tiny Breaths #4)(20)

I guess he found a way to breathe without me after all.

I unconsciously find myself twirling the simple yet beautiful vintage sterling silver and pearl ring on my finger that Jared surprised me with the morning of our spur-of-the-moment trip to Vegas.

That turned into the best day of my life.

And clearly the worst mistake of my life.

I’ve switched the ring to my right hand, but haven’t had the courage to stuff it into the wooden box of the past under my bed just yet.

“Reese?” Lina’s voice interrupts my thoughts.

“Seriously, I’m over it. I’ve gotta go or I’ll be stuck in the office all night. See you tomorrow night.” I hang up the phone and hunch down slightly, eyeing my half-eaten pie—there’s no way it’s going to be finished.

I think about leaving as I continue watching her. The patio is unusually quiet, enough so that that annoying southern twang of hers carries over to me. I listen to her chatter on about how she and her husband just moved into a condo down the street and she’ll be coming here a lot because they have the best coffee.

I sit at the café for another hour, breaking off squirrel-sized bites of my pie though I can’t taste any of it. When she gets up to leave, I quietly pack my things, wait for her to exit, and then duck out of the café. To do what any sane ex-wife would do.

I tail her for five blocks, to a condo building.

And now I know where my ex-husband lives.

Great. Because today isn’t bad enough.

My humiliating one-night stand—a six-foot-three-ish smirking blond—is sitting in my chair, his feet propped up onto my desk, when I return from the bathroom.

Reese, zero. Universe . . . I hate you.

“Why are you still here?” It’s almost ten at night and, aside from Jack and Mason, everyone has gone home.

Making a point of opening and closing the two side drawers of my desk, he says, “I was looking for that beef jerky.”

“I ate it.” I push my door shut with my foot and toss my purse onto my desk.

His eyes roll lazily over me from head to toe, not even bothering to hide it. “I thought we should talk.” And then he abruptly slides his legs off and stands, giving me a full view of his solid frame, which I try not to get caught noticing. Ben doesn’t overdress—not like Mason, who would wear a three-piece suit to bed if it was considered appropriate—but he’s got one of those bodies that everything hangs from well.

We trade places, Ben wandering around to the front of my desk, while I keep my distance by circling around the other side to take a seat in my now vacant chair.

“I never told Kent about what happened in my hotel room. I let them think I scored.”

An odd sense of relief swarms me. And surprise. I figured Ben was the type to tell a good story at others’ expense. But . . .“Mason?” I’d imagine that the disgust I feel with the idea of my stepbrother having sex goes both ways. Fortunately, I’ve never seen him so much as second-glance a female.

Ben dismisses that with a slight wave. “Oh, he knows what really happened, but he won’t say a thing.”

“Oh my God!” I cry out, my previous relief burning up with the sudden fire in my cheeks. I lay my forehead down on the cool desk. Mason won’t say anything, my ass!

“Relax.” I hear footsteps approach and then a hand settles on the back of my neck. It has the opposite effect on me, my body going completely rigid. “I left out the part about the puking. And the crawling. I’m guessing you’re still a little sensitive about that.” I hear the humor in his voice. “How were you feeling the next day, anyway? You hit the ground pretty hard.”

“Now you’re concerned?” I spent the rest of my Cancún vacation with bruised knees and a cracked nail from where my toe must have caught the bed frame.

“I didn’t mean to laugh.” I look up in time to see a giant grin stretch out across his face, making his words hard to believe. “And if it’s any consolation, you have a phenomenal ass. I should know. I got a really good look at it.”

I groan inwardly. “Today’s not a good day for me, Ben.”

His hands lift in surrender. “Fair enough. I wanted to say that I’m sorry.” He rounds my desk again—it’s as if he’s circling his prey, but in a very casual, nonthreatening way—and stops in front of the personal pictures I’ve hung on the wall.

His finger swings to the picture of the rusted old blue Chevy. “What’s with you and vintage trucks?”

“I like them,” I say simply, not willing to elaborate further.

I quietly watch him evaluate things for another few minutes, until he suddenly asks, “Hey, do you want to go for lunch tomorrow? Seeing as you do a lot for Natasha and I’ll be working with her over the next few months, maybe we should start over.” He turns to peer at me with earnest blue eyes, his voice cracking under its sudden softness. “What do you say? Truce?”

Jack is always telling me that I need to make decisions based on common sense and not emotions. After spending a few weeks with Ben, my mortification will disappear.

Right?

So making peace with Ben now would be win-win.

Right?

I open my mouth.

And then I see that devilish twinkle and the corners of his mouth twitch. “They make extra-strong margaritas at Amigos, down the street. Just like you like them. I’ll bring a change of clothes, for after, of course.”