Need Me (Broke and Beautiful #2)(28)

When Honey felt Roxy watching her steadily, she turned and withdrew a plastic baggie of dried cherries from the cabinet, adding them to the chocolate. As the television droned on in the background and Abby rummaged in the fridge behind her for a beer, Honey poured the mixture into a baking pan and placed it carefully in the oven. She thought about the note he’d written her, the way he’d kissed her before she’d left. Could she trust this gut feeling that there was something happening between them? Something out of the ordinary? She wanted to. Didn’t want to believe it could just be sex. If it was, would that be enough for her with this particular guy?

No. It wouldn’t. But she’d done quite enough pursuing for now. She’d purposely flirted with another guy in front of Ben and lured him into a classroom, for heaven’s sake. Not that she hadn’t been shoved into it by a massive case of jealousy. Still. What happened from this point would be up to him. If he’d gotten her out of his system so easily, it was for the best. She had options, right? She might have blown off Todd, all but stuffing him into a cab and racing back into the building while he sputtered like a broken-down pickup truck behind her, but there’d be more Todds. Legions of Todds.

Resolved to leave the ball in Ben’s court for now, Abby turned and snagged a beer for herself out of the fridge. She popped the top and tossed it into the garbage cab, saluting Roxy and Abby with her bottle. “Let’s watch a movie that doesn’t have a heartthrob in it. Something where women kick ass and don’t need men to be happy.”

Roxy headed for the living room. “A League of Their Own?”

“Load it.”





Chapter 10



BEN’S FOOTSTEPS ECHOED in the dim staircase as he climbed the four flights to his apartment. He took his time, more than a little reluctant to greet what waited him outside his door. Located above a hookah lounge and across the street from an overgrown, abandoned lot, this building had never been a joy to return to in the first place. But he paid for the apartment on his own. No help. Same way he’d been doing since his second year of college. He wouldn’t be here forever. In fact, his student loans were close to being paid off, and now that he worked as a full-time professor, he should start looking at places. Maybe even somewhere with a window in the bedroom and heat in the winter. Somewhere he wouldn’t be embarrassed to bring his friends. Or a girl. Honey.

If he’d gone home with his Lolita, what would they be doing right now? Lying on their backs on her roof, talking? Or would he already have gotten her into bed, both of their bodies slick with sweat, hands wrapped around the headboard as they tried not to make any noise?

All right, probably best not to think of that right now. Not when he couldn’t see her again tonight. Or maybe even tomorrow, since they didn’t have class. Wait. Did such a thing even matter anymore? He could easily get her phone number, having a direct connection through Louis and Roxy. Come to think of it, he was an asshat for not getting it tonight. He could have called her to make sure she’d gotten home all right, at the very least.

He knew why he hadn’t gotten it? however, and she was one more flight up. The call had thrown him, especially after what had just happened with Honey. It had to be tonight. His mother’s timing had always been shitty, but was there ever a good time to blow through town and pass out on your son’s couch? She hadn’t shown her face for the better part of a year, sending him postcards from Miami, Cabo San Lucas . . . Brazil. Never the same place twice. Never with the same people, either.

Ben rounded the corner onto the fourth floor and saw his mother, perched on her Louis Vuitton suitcase, nails tapping away as she texted on her cell. When her head popped up and she smiled at his approach, he saw that she’d had more work done. The chin this time. What had been wrong with it in the first place?

“Ben!” She swung her tastefully highlighted hair over her shoulder and stood, tanned arms outstretched for a hug. He stepped into them because as much as she frustrated him or became more unrecognizable each time he saw her, she was his mother. Once upon a time, they’d gone through the same debacle. They’d been on the same team, even though at eight and twenty-seven years old, neither of them had been old enough to know how to play the game. A thousand years could pass and he’d always let his mother hug him. It hurt to realize, though, that each time he felt it a little less. Had to try that much harder to find familiarity.

“Hey, Mom.” He stepped back, digging his keys out of his satchel. “Sorry you had to wait so long. The trains don’t come as often this time of night.”

“I would have paid for a cab.” She tilted her head, watching him as he unlocked the door. “I was half hoping you wouldn’t live here anymore. That maybe you’d found somewhere better. I could help with that, you know. Just—”

“I’m fine here.” He pushed into the apartment, flipping on lights as he went. The studio was small, but he’d made it work. A bookcase he’d found at a consignment shop in Williamsburg separated his sleeping area from the rest of the space. His brown suede couch had been a gift from his mother, one he’d been unable to turn down when she’d sworn it was going to the garbage dump otherwise. Books. There were books everywhere. Stacked in windowsills and overflowing from his kitchen cabinets in between boxes of cereal. He bent down and swiped a stack off the couch, where he’d be sleeping tonight. His mother would insist on taking it, and he’d insist she take his bed. They repeated the same routine every time.