Make Me Bad(38)

We’re not speaking, but we’re communicating loud and clear.

“What kind of law do you practice again?” I ask, perusing his suit.

He squeezes my hand and then lets it drop. “Corporate.”

“Pity. You look like you should be putting criminals behind bars. Very intimidating today, like you’ll bite.”

He half-smiles and his dimple softens the effect, just barely.

“Anyway, thank you for this stuff. That was really thoughtful, but it’s not necessary. I’m good as new and wondering when I’m going to check off another item on my list.”

His attention catches on my bruise again. “Don’t you think we should take the week off?”

A week off means a week without him, and the prospect sounds as if someone’s suggesting I go a week without air. I envision myself on the ground, writhing in pain.

“I’m fine, really. Look.” I put his hat on and adjust it so I can see. It’s a little big, which is good because that means it doesn’t touch my bruise. “All better.”

He flicks the brim playfully.

Over his shoulder, my gaze catches on one of the library’s patrons, grumpy Mrs. Taylor. She usually stays up on the ground level harassing Eli, but he’s out for the day, dealing with some adoption things, which means she has her sights set on me. Lovely. She walks straight to the desk, which I’m standing right by, and rings the bell three times in quick succession.

“I’m right here, Mrs. Taylor.”

“Yes, well, you weren’t officially at your post. Are you done smiling at your young man there? Because my tax dollars aren’t paying for you to cavort around the library with handsome gentlemen.”

“Cavort,” Ben repeats under his breath, highly amused.

I sigh and turn to face her fully, giving her my undivided attention.

“What can I do for you, Mrs. Taylor?”

“Yes, well, first of all, is that tattered baseball hat part of your uniform? It’s very unbecoming.” I stare at her blankly so she’s forced to move on. “Right, more importantly, I’ve lodged a complaint about this in the past, but it seems no one cared to remedy the situation.” She holds up an issue of National Geographic. “There are women in here with bare breasts.”

A chuckle escapes Ben before he can stifle it.

I, however, keep my expression solemn and serious. Mrs. Taylor is a tiny elderly terrorist. This will end sooner if I give in to her demands. “Yes, Mrs. Taylor. I’m aware of that.”

Her eyes widen in horror. “So then you knowingly allow this crude material to be circulated in a public library?” She leans forward and hisses. “There are children in here.” Then she straightens back to her full height—a solid two feet, five inches—and flips open the magazine to the offending page. “Now, all I’m asking is that you go in and cover up the pornographic images. I have scrapbooking supplies and a hot glue gun in my car if needed.”

While I try hard the rest of the day to scrub this entire conversation from my memory, Ben, of course, can’t let it go. To him, it’s deeply amusing.

Later that night, while I’m in bed, icing my head, he sends me a text.

Ben: Cav·ort: apply oneself enthusiastically to sexual or disreputable pursuits.





Ben: Seems we didn’t take the week off after all. See you Saturday.





13





Madison





Ben is scheduled to volunteer with me this morning and before he even arrives, I know it will be one of the highlights of my life. Today, we’re doing a Jane Austen themed story time. If you think I didn’t intentionally plan that, you really don’t know me at all. I rented costumes from the local theater company and ensured Ben was prepared to go the extra mile.

Madison: Today will interesting. Fair warning—there are costumes.





Ben: No problem. Those animal masks were fun. The kids loved them.





Ha ha ha. He thinks I don’t have a full Mr. Darcy lookalike costume for him. How cute. When he arrives, I usher him into the storage room and present the idea.

“We both have to do it,” I say, sounding really annoyed by the fact that I have to wear a gorgeous blue silk dress with a full petticoat and prance around like a princess. Ugh, the worst, am I right?

He laughs and shakes his head. “No.”

Just one simple word, clipped out with a sharp tone.

No.

“But the kids will love it!”

“Yeah, no.”

I sigh then look down and fidget with my hands, seeming innocent. “Well, I really didn’t want to have to do this, but…seeing as I’m in control of your community service hours, I’d hate to have to contact the judge and tell him you aren’t cooperating.”

I’m completely talking out of my ass. Judge? Cooperating? What does that even mean? I don’t have a direct line to the courthouse. I just want to leverage what small amount of control I have over Ben and force him into this costume for my own amusement. Sure, some would say that’s an abuse of power. I say what’s the point of having power if you don’t abuse it a little?

Ten minutes later, Ben steps out of the storage room, and I swear to God, I have a heart attack. I’ve seen every period film in existence, every one of Jane Austen’s movie adaptions: the Kiera Knightly version of Pride and Prejudice, the Colin Firth version of Pride and Prejudice, the Gwyneth Paltrow version of Emma (a personal favorite), etc., etc. So, when I say Ben looks like the hottest version of Mr. Darcy I’ve ever seen, believe me, he does. Tall. Dark. Handsome. Pissed. I’m positive I’m having real heart palpitations.