Make Me Bad(67)

Now we all sit around the cheap card table in my apartment with the gold lamp adding harsh lighting to an already tense situation.

We have enough coffee and donuts to stuff our mouths for a week and thus far, that’s exactly what we’ve done.

Conversation has been limited. I’ve tried and failed to initiate all sorts of bonding moments. I casually laid out a newspaper highlighting the Astros’ win over the Cubs last night. Boys like baseball. It’s simple. They should all be discussing it ad nauseum. Unfortunately, they don’t bite.

I have music playing on my phone, my dad’s favorite: George Straight. He should be tapping his foot under the table and swaying side to side. Instead, nothing. His face is stone cold.

Colten keeps glancing over at Ben, shaking his head, and then forcing down another sip of coffee.

Ben, to his credit, isn’t necessarily antagonizing them, but he’s not being friendly either. Also, I know he doesn’t mean to be, but he’s a force to be reckoned with. His presence takes up a lot of room. I keep trying to get his attention so I can tell him to sink down in his chair a little. I don’t know…maybe if he affects worse posture, he won’t seem so intimidating?

There’s a lot of testosterone and ego in this room. I haven’t managed to eat a single bite of my donut, and if I drink any more coffee, I won’t be able to sleep for a month.

“So, did you guys see the score from the baseball game last night?” I ask, pointing to the newspaper.

They offer nonverbal grunts.

Right.

Okay, this isn’t just awkward—it’s full-on cringe-worthy. I want to disappear into thin air.

I truly didn’t think this whole feud of theirs would last this long. It’s been weeks since Ben and I…you know…on the futon. I blush thinking about it. I can’t even look in the direction of said piece of furniture or I’ll start sweating.

Since then, we’ve spent almost every waking moment together. It’s pathetic. My heart might still beat in my body, but it’s now inscribed with the initials B.R.

Every day, when the clock strikes 5:30 PM, I sprint right out the front door of the library, shouting goodbye to Eli as he heads for his car. I proceed down to Main Street and am at Ben’s firm, in his office, kissing his face at exactly 5:35 PM. Sometimes he’s on a phone call and sometimes he’s in there with Andy, but I don’t care. I kiss him no matter what. Andy always covers his eyes and tells us to get a room. Ben always kicks him out soon after.

Then I sit patiently on his couch, reading while he wraps up whatever he has going on. If he has to work late, we eat dinner at his office and then I head home, but more often than not, he drives us back to his house so we can spend the evening together and make dinner at his house. During the drive, his hand usually finds a spot on my body he can torture me with: the nape of my neck, the inside of my thigh, my forearm, hand, anything.

We make it into his driveway, he throws that puppy into park, and we race to the front door. Dinner prep is long forgotten as we tear at each other’s clothes. Oh, Chinese food? Sounds great. Take off your pants. I know we’re in the honeymoon phase. I know we won’t always be rabid like this, but that’s okay. For right now, I’m enjoying it. My clothes, however, are not. I’ve lost about forty-five buttons, and half my panties are torn!

At the end of the night, I have him drive me home. In fact, I insist upon it. I’ve yet to stay over at his house. It’d be too easy to give in. Believe me, I’ve tested his bed, and that mattress is made from some kind of NASA-engineered bullshit. It’s out of this world (heh heh.) I will not let it tempt me. I’m standing on my own two feet, dammit! Or at least that’s what I’m telling myself.

Still, even without giving in to the urge to stay at his house and sleep on his luxurious bed, I know this thing between us is magical and I’m starting to wonder if he’s the real deal. The one. The yin to my yang. I’m fairly confident he is, which is why we’re here, enduring this hellacious breakfast.

The three of them have to get along.

This silent game has got to end.

I tilt my head toward the door.

“Did you see the new deadbolt Ben installed?”

It’s the perfect bridge to connect the three of them: they all care about me and my safety! I will talk about deadbolts and locks and security measures for forty days straight if it means they’ll actually converse with one another.

“Doesn’t really help the fact that the door is made of particle board,” Colten grunts.

Ben’s eyes narrow and I lean forward to grip his forearm. “I know, Ben hates the door too.”

Look! Let’s bond over doors! This is fun!

Ben puts his coffee cup down and turns to my dad. “I’d like to know the progress of the investigation concerning the man who held Madison up at gunpoint a few months ago.”

Oh god, not this again. He’s obsessed, brings it up every chance he gets. Just last week, he made me go through every single detail of that night again as if he was Nancy Drew, looking for some overlooked clue. I’m thinking of buying him an oversized magnifying glass as a joke. I don’t think it’d go over well, though.

It’s silly that he’s this worried about it, and it’s partly my fault. I never should have told him I thought someone was following me the other night after work. I was walking to Ben’s firm from the library and that feeling overcame me, the same one I felt that night I was held at gunpoint. I could have sworn someone was watching me and it freaked me out, so I told Ben about it as soon I saw him. Now, I regret that. He thinks the same guy was following me, and he wouldn’t listen when I tried to convince him it was just the wind playing tricks on me.