by Tessa Bailey
“Hey, you,” Roxy called. “Where’ve you been?”
Okay, normally she would just tell Abby and Roxy everything, but she couldn’t with Louis sitting there listening to her every word. “School thing.”
Abby finally swallowed her epic mouthful of popcorn. “What kind of school thing?”
“A, uh . . . poetry reading thing.”
Louis’s bottle stopped halfway to his mouth. “Oh.”
Roxy noticed her boyfriend’s hesitation. “What was that?”
“Nothing, just . . .” Louis sent her an apologetic look. “Ben went to a poetry reading thing tonight.”
“Oh,” Roxy and Abby said at the same time, drawing the word out until Honey scowled at them.
Honey threw her purse on the kitchen counter and snagged a beer from the fridge, rolling the cool glass bottle against her cheeks to reduce her stupid flush. Bake something. Yes, she would bake something. It would give her something to do with her hands and give her an excuse to avoid her roommates.
No dice.
Roxy hopped up on the marble island, grinning like a Cheshire cat. Abby tried to execute the same move, failed, and took a stool instead. “Hey, I’ll eat whatever you make,” Roxy said. “That has been proven. But you’re going to talk while you cook.”
“Good thinking.” Abby crossed her legs, smoothing a hand over her striped pajama pants. “People are more inclined to let details slip when they’re distracted.”
“Yes.” Roxy nodded. “What she said.”
Louis came up behind his girlfriend, tossing his keys up in the air and catching them. “I think that’s my cue to bail.” He gave Roxy a quick kiss that immediately turned into an all-out tongue war Louis clearly wanted to win. When he pulled away, he looked satisfied to see Roxy’s bemused expression. “Call me before you turn your light off, ’kay?”
“ ’kay,” she breathed, keeping her gaze plastered to him until he disappeared through the apartment door. “I’m keeping him.”
Honey tossed a baking pan onto the counter, satisfied when Roxy and Abby jumped. “Corn bread or dark chocolate bark?”
Roxy snorted. “What kind of a question is that?”
“Dark chocolate bark, obviously.” Abby toed off her slippers. “Dark chocolate will replace the endorphins you released during sex with Ben.” When they both gaped at her, she blinked. “What?”
“You could have let me break the news,” Honey complained, removing a tub of shortening from the cabinet. She had a quick flashback to her mother completing the same movement a million times throughout her childhood and felt another unexpected pang of homesickness. Boy, that had been happening way too frequently lately. “Anyway,” she started, determined to shake off the odd feeling. “A lady doesn’t give details.”
They booed her. Which immediately made her feel better.
Honey poured a bag of dark chocolate pieces into a giant glass bowl and stuck it in the microwave to melt it. What could she tell them? Ben had basically taken any prior knowledge she’d had about sex and crushed it up against the wall, right along with her? He’d known what to do to make her climax, which didn’t sound like an uber-amazing feat unless you’d been with members of the opposite sex who couldn’t find a clitoris with a flashlight and magnifying glass. He’d played her body so effortlessly, so confidently. Part of her wondered if she’d just picked the wrong partners in the past, sorry Elmer, or if it was just Ben. Yeah. She had a feeling it was just Ben. Or Ben and her, specifically.
“Forget the microwave, you’re going to melt that chocolate all on your own,” Abby observed, earning her a high five from Roxy. “Was it that good?”
“You guys, it was . . .”
“Next-level shit?” Abby breathed.
Honey gave a solemn nod. “Next-level shit. And Roxy is starting to rub off on you.”
“Lucky her.” Roxy pulled her knees up to her chest. “So, Professor Ben, huh? Please tell me he slapped your ass with a yardstick.”
“Well it wasn’t a full yard . . .” Honey coughed into her fist. “But it was impressive. It reminded me of that scene in A Few Good Men where Jack Nicholson yells, ‘You can’t handle the truth’ at Tom Cruise. Except Ben was Jack Nicholson and my vagina was Tom Cruise.”
Roxy whooped a laugh. “What is it with this crew of dudes? They’re all hung?”
“We only need confirmation on Russell.” Honey took the bowl of melted dark chocolate out of the microwave. “Batter up, Abby.”
She split a frown between them. “Well, that would certainly be a weird thing to ask Russell.”
Honey and Roxy traded a glance. “No one said you should ask him.”
A long pause ensued. “How else would I find out?”
Oh boy, it appeared they had their work cut out for them with those two. Honey took pity on Abby and took the focus off her for now, but she resolved to have a chat with her later. Abby obviously had no clue Russell would probably walk on nails barefoot to get to her. Nor did she have a clue what a guy like Russell would likely do once he made it across that bed of nails. “I invited Ben over here, actually, but his mother is in town or something.”
“Really.” It was Roxy’s turn to look confused. “His mother? You’re sure?”
“Yeah.” Honey experienced an unwanted sinking feeling. “Why?”
Roxy swiped a finger through the melted chocolate and licked it off. “Not sure, exactly. I nosed around about Ben to Louis on your behalf. He wouldn’t give up too much, in the spirit of the bro code and all, but he made it sound like mom and dad were out of the picture.”
Abby tucked a strand of long brown hair behind her ear. “That’s too bad.” Honey watched as Abby surveyed the massive apartment, looking thoughtful. She knew her friend was insecure about having so much fortune foisted on her, when Honey and Roxy were more or less dirt poor. Probably didn’t quite understand what it meant to have parents out of the picture. At least not in the way Roxy, or possibly even Ben, did. Honey’s heart gave a hard squeeze, even as she began to doubt his story for leaving that night. Had it really been his mother, or something else? Maybe he’d just latched on to the first excuse he could think of to get away from her?
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.
“Are you hungry?” he asked her. “I can order pizza or Indian. There’s a really good Indian—”
“I’m fine. I had sushi at the airport.” She rubbed her arms as she turned in a circle, looking at his apartment like it was a museum exhibit. Living Habits of the Prodigal Son. At the refrigerator, she stopped, peering down at the official letter attached to his fridge. Damn. He should have taken the job offer from NYU down weeks ago, but he could admit he enjoyed seeing it there every time he opened the fridge. “NYU offered you a job?”
“Yes, but I’m not taking it. I’m comfortable where I am.” He’d applied to Columbia and NYU at the same time, but Columbia had gotten back to him first. At the time, he’d been hoping for NYU because it was more convenient to his living situation, but staying unemployed for any length of time after school hadn’t been an option. NYU had finally found an opening and contacted him right away. He’d been prepared to decline this week, but for some reason—a reason he refused to consider—he’d asked for time to consider the offer.
“Ben, I hate to see you living like this. It’s so unnecessary.”
“We have the same discussion every time you’re here.” He pulled his bag over his head and set it on top of the bookcase, careful to keep his tone patient. She’d never understood his unwillingness to touch the money set aside for him by his father, and he didn’t expect her to now. “Why don’t we talk about what you’ve been up to? You came from Miami, right?”
“The Hamptons, actually.” She finished her perusal to look at him. “I spent a couple weeks there with some friends, but it’s starting to get colder, so . . .” Her smile looked brittle. “We all started going our separate ways. You know how it goes.”
He didn’t. Well, he knew a lot about going separate ways. But spending two weeks in the Hamptons and saying good-bye to people because the weather changed? No, he knew nothing about that. It had taken him a while after coming to New York to make friends for the very reason that he knew what it felt like when people vanished from your life. There one day. Gone the next. Louis and Russell had been watching a basketball game beside him in the Longshoreman one night, and they’d started talking over beers. They’d all three kept coming back, until he’d kind of fallen into friendship with them. It hadn’t been a conscious thing, or it might never have happened.
“What about you?” his mother asked. “How is the job going? I still can’t believe you’re a professor.” She laughed a little uncomfortably. “It makes me feel so old.”
“It’s going well. Really well.” Honey’s face swam in his mind, along with a heavy, carved-out feeling in his chest. He hadn’t experienced it since they’d been together earlier, and he’d been waiting for it to make an appearance. The reminder that he’d done something irrevocable. Something against his rules and the ones that had been laid out for him by his employer. He suspected his mother showing up had buoyed the feeling, bringing it past the surface sooner than it might have.
“What’s wrong?” His mother propped a hip against the counter in his tiny kitchen. “I can tell something is bothering you, because you keep pushing up your glasses even though they’re not slipping down. You’ve done it since you were a kid.”
“Did I?” He cleared his throat. “It’s nothing.” Except that was a lie. He felt the need to get it out in the open. Relieve some of the pressure surrounding his rib cage. Yet there was something else, too, bolstering the desire to spill his guts. He knew the details would horrify his mother, and he hoped maybe that would give him the reality check he needed. “There’s a girl, actually. She’s—”
“A girl?” Her arched eyebrow didn’t move, but he suspected it might have lifted if it hadn’t been for the Botox she got injected regularly. “That’s so exciting. Have you been dating long?” She pulled her phone out of her pocket and checked the screen. “If I delay my flight to Ibiza one more day, could I meet her?”
Ben contained the laughter that wanted to escape. He’d barely spent any time with Honey himself. Not to mention, this wasn’t exactly the kind of relationship that warranted a meet the parents night. Was it? He’d just barely wrapped his mind around the fact that they’d had sex.
Jesus. They’d had sex. In an unlocked classroom. With his colleagues a couple floors away.
He sunk down onto the couch. “She’s a student of mine.”
His mother went very still. Ben thought she might have fos
silized, but she turned and reached up into the cabinet over the sink, pulling out the bottle of whiskey she’d brought with her the last time. “Ben, you can’t be serious.” Her Massachusetts accent had come back in a big way. “After everything. Everything that happened with your father. How could you do something so stupid?”
“I don’t know.” His voice sounded dull, far away. “It just—”
“Don’t.” She shook the bottle at him, mouth twisting in a grimace. “Don’t say those words. It just happened. You know where I’ve heard them before?”
“Yes. I do know. I was there.”
“And still you continue the pattern?” She uncapped the bottle and took a healthy swig. “I know I was one of the women, Ben. I know that. When I met your father, he was married, and I was the shiny, new model. I hate myself for that. But I didn’t deserve to watch him trade me in so many times. They got younger and younger. He stopped hiding them, and one day it all caught up, didn’t it?”
Yes. It had. He could still remember the day he saw his father’s picture on the news. Although this time it hadn’t accompanied news of a trade or some highlight from last night’s football game. It had been him being brought up on statutory rape charges. The parents of the girl had pressed charges. Right after the news had broken, his father had assured him in his cocky, offhanded way that their family would be fine. That the girl had lied about her age and it would all come out in the wash. Then endorsement deals had started to fall through. Cars had started disappearing from their driveway. The Patriots had elected not to offer his father a new contract. Ben had been young, but as an adult he could look back and know what it had all meant.
His mother had seen the writing on the wall early and hired a lawyer, making sure she got her share of the money before it all went away. She’d been married one other time since then, to another wealthy man Ben had only met on a handful of occasions before they’d divorced. Her funds were seemingly unlimited, her social calendar full, but Ben knew she was lonely.