“Do you have plans this weekend?” he asks me. I don’t, other than playing video games, working on my Comic Con costume, and binge watching Firefly on Netflix. “If not, I’d really like to take you out.”
“I think I can rearrange a few things,” I say. “Where are you going to take me?”
“What do you like?”
“When it comes to food? Uh, everything.”
He laughs, flashing perfect white teeth. “That’s easy. Friday night, eight o’clock?”
“Sure,” I say, a little breathless, and try my best to hide my smile. No harm can come of this, right? I push aside my initial fears to give this a go. I fire up the new computer and sit down. Ben goes into the studio and turns on music, streaming from his phone. It’s set to random, and goes through everything from Mozart to Pink Floyd. I keep stealing glances at him as I install the updates. Half his body is hidden behind an easel. His movements are frantic and jerky, unlike the smooth, graceful sweeps you see in a movie.
I catch a glimpse of his face and see he’s totally relaxed and in his element, even though I’m here. It doesn’t take long to get everything running. I use the old router to set up the internet, and even with the new computer, it’s slow as fuck. Or it is by my standards. But the website loads without a hitch. I love being right.
“It’s done,” I say and scoot the rolling chair back. I move my gaze to Ben. He’s enthralled in whatever he’s painting. Mindy said he doesn’t like to be bothered when he’s working. Did that still apply? He likes something about me, and I don’t want to mess it up before we have a chance to even go out. I pack up everything and wait.
“Ben?” I finally call, voice soft.
He doesn’t look up.
“Ben?” I say a little louder. He flicks his eyes to me, seeming annoyed. There’s something dark in the way he looks at me, but it quickly vanishes as my name rolls of his tongue.
“Felicity. Are you done already?”
“I am.” I say. “Told you I was fast.”
“You most certainly are.” He blinks a few times, like he has to bring himself back into the here and now. He takes a handful of brushes to a sink, the white porcelain stained with paint, and washes them with care, not bothering to wipe the paint from his skin. He comes over to me, standing close to see the computer screen.
The smell of paint mixing with his cologne is intoxicating. It’s been so long that I’ve dated, well, anyone really, let alone someone like Ben. Someone cool and confident and probably totally normal. I always hope new people are just as weird as I am. All I can go on with Ben is his outward appearance and the little bit of himself he’s put into this office space.
He’s muscular, so he works out. He likes art—duh—and works in a chaotic mess. There’s one thing we have in common, at least. There is a Samurai sword hanging on the wall above his desk, and while it’s still in amazing shape, it looks antique. Other than that, he’s a mystery, and it scares and excites me at the same time. I suddenly feel so transparent: what you see is what you get when it comes to me. One look at the graphic T-shirt I’m wearing or hearing the Game of Thrones theme song play when my phone rings clues you into a lot about me.
“Is there anything else I can do to you—for you—before I go down … downstairs?” I swallow the lump in my throat. I’m not sure how to act around someone like this, and it unnerves me. Just be yourself. I nod at my own thought, earning a curious look from Ben.
His dark eyes meet mine again. “I can handle it. Really. But Mindy needs help.”
“Not the kind I can give,” I mumble. A few awkward seconds pass, and Ben’s brow furrows like he feels bad I have to do this. “It won’t take long,” I say and grab my bag. “So I’ll see you Friday?”
“Friday.”
I turn to head down the stairs, but Ben stops me. I whirl around.
“I need your number,” he says, hand still gently holding onto my wrist. I can feel my pulse pounding under his fingertips.
“Right. And I should probably get yours.” I take a few steps back and set the bag down on his desk, pulling out random items until I find my phone at the very bottom. We exchange numbers, and Ben says he’ll call me Friday when he leaves the studio in the afternoon with details.
I walk down the stairs smiling. Not even Mindy fucking Abraham can ruin this day.
CHAPTER SIX
I’m still smiling as I pull into the small garage and wedge myself between my crap and my car. I let my mind wander to an impossible future, most likely setting myself up for disappointment because that’s just how I roll.