Make Me Bad(23)

He wipes a hand down his face, brushing his jaw like it’s giving him pain.

My cheeks are so red, I’m fairly certain they’ll stay that way permanently.

“Mission one: accomplished,” I quip, trying to lighten the mood. Jesus, I need to reach behind him and pop that window open, air this place out a little—or better yet, throw myself out of it.

Where do we go from here?

I can’t think of one witty or interesting thing to say. My nerves are still frayed from where he was touching me. I need a moment of silence for Ben and the fact that his glorious body was just touching mine, but there’s no time for that because he’s telling me to go first, to leave.

He sounds gruff, and I hate that I’m disappointed.

I should have realized—he wants to go back to the party. He has friends to attend to, women to kiss.

He lifts his chin toward the door. “I’ll hang back until the coast is clear.”

I nod and brush past him to exit. I try to rack my brain for some sendoff, some way to make this night as memorable for him as it was for me, but I come up empty. All I manage is a lingering glance over my shoulder before I turn the corner and flee.





9





Ben





It’s late and I should go straight to bed, but I’m not tired. I left while the party was still in full swing, but by the time I made it back out to the living room, Madison was gone and Andy was busy trying to woo Arianna. I pulled an ol’ Irish goodbye and headed home.

Now, I walk into my kitchen and flip on the light. I don’t use this room as often as I should, especially considering how much money I put into it during the renovation. An interior designer picked out all the countertops and finishes, assuring me my wife would love every detail.

Wife.

My stomach clenches at the thought and I swear my house has never felt quieter or more isolating.

I pull open my pantry door, looking for a late-night snack, and settle on the best comfort food of them all: sugary cereal. I pour myself a bowl, sit down at the oversized marble island, and try to ignore the hard object poking me in the ribs. I eat a few bites before I cave and reach into the inner lining of my jacket, feeling for The Divine Comedy.

Yeah, I stole it.

I guess I’m more of a criminal than I thought. First a misdemeanor, and now petty theft.

I slide it onto the counter in front of me and take another bite of cereal, staring at it. I didn’t steal it because I want her panties. I’m not going to take them out and do weird shit with them; I just couldn’t leave them in Jake’s house. They don’t belong to him.

Her book choice was interesting—I’ll give her that much. She compared me to Virgil the other day, and I suppose she’s continuing the inside joke. I wonder, though, if I open it on a whim, will my finger land on the circle of hell designed for thieves or the one reserved for lustful sinners? Apparently, I’m both.

I can’t believe I pulled her into that library. That was stupid, reckless. Her brother could have found us. Worse, I could have acted on the all-consuming urge I had to kiss her while he was in the room, when I was pressed up against her and her dress was nearly see-through, when I watched her wet her bottom lip and then take it between her teeth. Her green eyes were staring up at me with such sincere openness. I could have seen the outline of her soul if I’d looked hard enough. Every emotion was right there, brimming on the surface. She was afraid to get caught, but more than that, she was excited. Every part of her was begging for a kiss.

Maybe I should have done it.

No.

I jerk the thought out of my head. I’ve moved on from my attraction to Madison. I’m not in her life for that. I finish my last bite of cereal and load my bowl into the dishwasher. After, I slam it closed a little harder than necessary and am about to switch off the kitchen light when I turn back and swipe the book off the island.

I have to see the color at least.

Just that.

They’re pale blue and lacy.

Fuck.





I’m not on the schedule at the library again until next Saturday. I know because I have an email waiting for me when I arrive at work first thing on Monday morning. It’s short and to the point.

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Subject: Volunteering





Hi Ben,





If it works for you, I’ll need you at the library this Saturday at 8:00 AM. You’ll be helping with toddler story time.





See you then,

Madison Hart

Children’s Librarian, Rosenberg Library





Below all of that is a phone number. On a whim, I text it.

Ben: Hey, this is Ben. I just got your email. Saturday morning is fine.





She texts back right away.

Madison: Oh, great!

Madison: Also, maybe I should clarify that this is my personal phone number, not my work number.





Another text pops up right after that one.

Madison: I can get you the number to my work phone at the library if you’d rather have that?





Why in the world would I want that?

Ben: This is fine.