Prude

by Hilaria Alexander

  I grunt and wrap my arms around my body. “Please hurry up, you're making me even colder watching you.”

  He laughs softly. It's so cold out here that I don't even know how he can function, coming out of the water like that.

  “Why would you want to surf in weather like this?” I ask him when he is mostly dressed, while I’m staring at the water. I briefly turn my eyes to him.

  He shrugs, giving me a look.

  “Living every day like your last, huh?” I ask rhetorically, letting him know I read his email.

  He nods, his eyes fixed on my lips.

  “Yeah, something like that,” he says, layering a sweater over his Henley shirt. I break eye contact and look at the waves again.

  “How long have you been out here anyway?” he asks.

  “Not very long, but enough to freeze my butt off.”

  “I’m sorry,” he says fumbling to put his jeans on.

  “Well, it’s not your fault. How could you know I’d be looking for you?” I say softly.

  When he’s done putting his boots and his hooded jacket on, I turn to him and ask,

  “How long have you known?”

  He chuckles, then frowns, showing a crease between his eyebrows.

  “Not very long. Little over a month, maybe. I suspected something was wrong in August, but he never mentioned anything. He was acting a little too . . . melancholic, for someone like him. I guess he had cancer before and it went away. He never talked about it with me, anyway. I guess the cancer came back, but this time it was worse. He refused treatment, knowing that it was not going to work, and I guess he started making arrangements for me to take over. When I didn't see him show up at work for a whole week—that's when I got worried. I called him and he was evasive on the phone, so I went to see him. The man lived for his job, so I knew something was up.”

  He pauses and then says, looking at me, “Seeing him deteriorate in just thirty days was the hardest part.”

  I touch him on his arm and he pulls me into a hug.

  “I’m so sorry. I’m sure you were looking forward to spending a few more years with him, especially now that things had changed . . .”

  I’m pressed against his chest and his smell invades my senses, bringing back memories. I should probably pull away, but I don’t want to. Regardless, I’m here to comfort him. It would be really rude of me to pull away.

  He starts talking again, and I feel his voice vibrate through his chest against my ear.

  “I wanted to call you so many times . . . but you had your book release and the book tour and I didn’t want to . . . distract you.”

  I look up at him, his face just inches away from mine.

  “You should have called. You needed a friend. I wish you would have told me.”

  “A friend? Is that what you think I needed?” he asks, his voice saturated with bitterness.

  I look at him, frowning, not quite understanding why he is so mad about what I said. We broke up, so of course, I would have offered my support as a friend. I’m here for that, but for another reason too. I know I need to tell him that. I need to explain why I’m here.

  He is still staring at me, waiting for me to say something when suddenly, he lets go of me and asks, “How’s Matt?”

  I lower my eyes.

  “Fine . . .” I shrug, “. . . I guess. I haven’t talked to him since we landed in New York,” I say, slightly confused.

  Why is he talking about Matt? That’s the last thing I want to talk about. I need to think of a good way to say, Hey, I have been a complete and total idiot and I want you back. Maybe I should just blurt that out loud.

  His eyes are cold and hard when he says, “I saw the video you guys made.”

  Oh. Ohhhhh, the video. That damn video.

  Good God, now I know where the anger is coming from. He is jealous. Is that what he thinks? That there’s something going on between Matt and I? My first instinct is to reassure him, but then other emotions prevail. Anger, for one. Does he really think I’d be jumping into something with Matt? He accused me once of not having faith in his love for me, but apparently he thinks I could just push my feelings aside and jump in bed with someone else?

  We weren’t done when we broke up. Our love had just started blossoming, and the cut that followed . . . it was brutal, at least for me. It might not be the best time, but if this is what he thinks, I want to mess with him. Just a little.

  “Yeah, speaking of, I need to call Matt . . . we are supposed to go pick out an engagement ring . . .” I say, looking at him seriously, giving nothing away.

  Ben’s eyes are dark and piercing, his jaw tight. I have never seen him so mad. He’s just seconds away from yelling something, I know it.

  “We are supposed to pick out an engagement ring for his girlfriend!” I shout in his face, angry.

  He looks at me for a few seconds, speechless.

  His eyes are wild and he exhales deeply before saying, “So you and Matt are not . . . together?”

  He still looks confused, but I can see the anger begin to evaporate into relief.

  “No, you idiot!” I want to stomp my feet just like the type of book heroine that drives me crazy, but I won’t do it.

  A little part of me wants to scream and let the frustration out, but I reign it in.

  “Matt and I are not together. Who do you think I’m pining over in that video? The fact that you even think I could be interested in Matt, makes me so . . .”

  I don’t get to finish what I want to say, because his arms surround me, pulling me against his chest. He cradles my head and slightly pulls my hair, making me look at him. Our red, freezing cold noses touch, and I can feel the warm breath coming out of his mouth on my face. He grazes my lips with his, almost hesitating for a second.

  The moan that escapes my mouth washes away any doubt he seems to have. He kisses me with more urgency than he has ever before. His tongue is hard and desperate at first, but then becomes soft and gentle.

  I forget everything else around us, even the freezing cold. His hands roam under my puffer jacket, then around my hips to cup my butt. He doesn’t stop kissing me the entire time.

  I grab his face in my hands, and the kiss turns into a slow and deep one that makes me lightheaded. I moan into his mouth and am so overwhelmed thinking about the last few months away from him, that tears involuntarily start sliding down my face as we kiss.

  “Prudence, what’s wrong?” he asks, removing a strand of hair from my face.

  I’m trying to stop the tears, but I can’t. It takes me a moment before I can even talk.

  He pulls me closer to him and caresses my back, running his hands up and down, resting his chin on my head.

  When I finally feel like I can talk, I take a deep breath and say, “I missed you. So badly. I was mad at you, and yet I regretted pushing you away. I couldn’t stop thinking about you, God knows I tried. But more than anything, I’m so sorry I couldn’t be with you when you needed me,” I say, laying my hands on his chest, looking up at him.

  He sighs in relief.

  “I couldn’t stop thinking about you either. I know I shouldn’t have lied to you and I’m sorry I did. You know that, right?” he asks, pulling back to look at my tear-stained face.

  I see the regret cloud his eyes.

  He has his thumb pressed gently on my lower lip and slowly he lowers his lips to meet mine. I think he is about to start kissing me again, but instead he starts speaking again.

  “This whole time I have been trying to think of a way to win you back. I thought I should give you some space, but I didn’t want to lose you for good. Do you know I have been reading every interview you gave? Looked at every post, every picture, wishing every day I could talk to you. You have no idea how it felt to not be able to talk to you and tell you how great you were doing. How amazed and proud I am of you. I was dealing with my grandfather’s illness and you were the only person I wanted to talk to. I knew I had to be patient and maybe soon I would have the
chance to make it up to you. But then I saw that video and thought I was too late.”

  He looks up to the sky for a moment and lets out a loud sigh.

  “Jealousy is such a strange emotion. I don’t think I have ever felt this possessive of anyone. Hell, I don't think I have ever been jealous before at all,” he says, a small smile touching his lips. He cradles my face with his hand and tells me, “All I could think about was that I wanted the girl back who sang in my car that first night. Prudence, I love you. I never meant to hurt you. Tell me you’re here because you want me, not because you are trying to be my friend. Say you’ll take me back.”

  I instantly feel like a weight has been lifted from my chest and a huge smile breaks on my face, but the tears start sliding from eyes again.

  “I came out here to ask you to take me back. I love you too, Benjamin. So much.” I grab a hold of his sweater with one hand and lift myself on my tip-toes to kiss him.

  His lips part and as my tongue twists around his, I get lost in the taste of him. When I pull away, I extend my hand to caress his cheek. He catches it and kisses the palm of my hand, holding it to his face.

  “I’m sorry about your grandfather. He was a good man. I didn't know him well, but I could tell that he loved you. He really seemed to be more himself around you,” I say, and that’s the truth. Ezra Hunter was a shy, practical man, but I have realized only in the last few months how he beamed when he was around his grandson.

  “Thank you,” he says simply, kissing the top of my head and holding me tighter to him.

  I press my head against his chest and breathe in the familiar smell of him mixed with salt water. I have been on this beach before, I have been in his arms before, but everything somehow feels new and it feels right. I know I am where I’m supposed to be.

  “It's so damn cold,” he says, as if he's just now feeling the cold wind blowing around us for the first time. He pulls back to look down at me and his lips curl into a smile. “Let's get the fuck out of here.”

  Chapter 34

  “I NEED to get back to the city. I have plans with Rebecca and her family,” I say, stretching out across him in his bed.

  “You aren’t going anywhere. In fact, you’re my prisoner for the next few days,” he says, circling his fingers around my wrist like a shackle.

  “I’ll call Rebecca and tell her myself. Besides, what kind of boyfriend would I be if I sent you out on the road this late? You won’t make it back before ten, at least. That would be completely inconsiderate of me.”

  He traces my cheek with a finger and we exchange a look of what can only be called sheer happiness. God, I missed him. I was so miserable just a few hours ago, my heart a totally scrambled mess.

  Now he is mine again and I am his.

  I’m snuggled against him in the cozy, full-size bed. I am relishing the feeling of being in his arms again; I missed it so much. We spent the entire afternoon in the apartment above the garage, trying to make up for the time we lost. It was cold when we got here, and yet we were both naked in seconds. He took his time getting reacquainted with every curve of my body and my hands could not stop roaming every inch of him. It might be the cheesiest thing ever to say, I will admit that, but when he started moving inside of me, it felt like coming home. I belonged to him.

  We made love to each other desperately; greedily savoring each touch, each kiss, because just a little while ago, neither one of us was sure this would ever happen again.

  I called Iris hours ago when we drove back to her house and told her I had found Ben. She must be home by now, but thankfully she hasn’t come by to interrupt. That would have not been my mother.

  “Tell me the truth: you weren’t really jealous of Matt, were you?” I ask him playfully, my chin resting on his chest. I can’t believe he got all worked up about that video.

  “Are you kidding me? Of course I was. The dude got to spend every day traveling with you, while I couldn’t even call you, and on top of that, I was stuck in an office all day, surrounded by piles of paperwork. I was so jealous, but I still watched it a million times. I loved listening to the sound of your voice. It made me feel close to you and I told you, it made me think about that first night out here in the Hamptons,” he says. “So, Matt has a girlfriend? For some reason I thought he was single.”

  “He and his girlfriend had broken up months ago. They were together for years, and he felt like he couldn’t give her financial security with just the odd jobs he had to take in order to keep playing music. He thought breaking up was for the best, but they were both miserable. Then he met us.”

  I hold myself up on my elbow so I can look at him better. “Sales have been good for him too, haven’t they?” I ask him excitedly. He nods and smiles at me.

  “I guess he finally figured out it was just stupid being apart. So they got back together before the book was released, now that he feels like he’s actually accomplished something. He said so far he’s earned more money than he ever had playing in the street. He wants to propose before Christmas, and asked me to go with him; apparently he trusts my taste.”

  “Hmmm, your taste. I trust your taste. I am a fan of your taste,” he says wickedly, his eyes dancing, before giving me a long, heated kiss.

  When he stops, I just look at him, breathless, caressing his face, looking at his skin.

  “You don’t have much of a tan anymore.”

  “It’s wintertime, babe. Not much sun to be had out there.”

  “We had a nice fall. Well, technically, it’s still fall, but the weather didn’t turn bad until a few weeks ago. You were out there in the water just now; there’s no reason you couldn’t have surfed these past few weeks. You look like you haven’t seen much sunshine altogether.”

  I don’t mention the circles under his eyes, because it’s obvious they’re due to the stress of the last few days.

  “What I’m trying to say, mister,” I continue, “is that you probably have been working too much. Don’t think I don’t know you have been working like a maniac since August,” I tell him, a playful tone of admonishment in my voice.

  “What have you heard?” he asks, looking a little suspicious, but mostly amused.

  “That you became a workaholic, Mr. Hallstrom.”

  “No. Way. Is that what they have been saying about me? I have got to repair my reputation, starting right now. I’ll stay holed up here an entire week, how does that sound?” he asks, squeezing me.

  “Well, I’m a prude and you are a workaholic. I think we make a good match. To each their own.”

  He lifts himself up on an elbow and towers over me.

  “You’re no prude as far as I’m concerned,” he says, running a finger between my breasts. “And certainly you are not a literary prude anymore, Ms. Clearwater, since you wrote Archived Catalog. Those scenes were even steamier than in the first draft,” he adds with a playful grin.

  “Pffff. Whatever. There was one steamy scene in the book.”

  He nuzzles me on the neck, making me lose my focus and forget what else I wanted to say.

  “One . . . long . . . hot . . . steamy scene,” he says, placing kisses under my jaw.

  “I suppose I should thank my muse, it’s only fair.”

  He stops kissing me to look at me, confused, but when he sees the look in my eyes, he gets it.

  “I was thinking of you when I did those edits. I was always thinking of you. So, thank you,” I say, pulling his face down to mine and kissing him hard.

  “So, what happens now?” he asks, furrowing his brows.

  “What do you mean?” I ask, wanting him to be more specific.

  “I want you to tell me how the story ends,” he says, his eyes dark and serious.

  “You read the book. You know how the story ends,” I tell him, confused, trying to grasp what he’s asking me.

  “I want you to tell me how our story ends,” he says softly, yet firmly, demanding answers.

  “I want you.” I say, adding nothing else, my eyes fixe
d on his.

  “Yeah, but is it still going to be an issue that I own Biblio? Are you going to publish your next book with another company?” he asks, pulling his eyebrows together.

  So cute. He’s worried.

  “Well, this time around I feel like I’m making the decision, and not like it’s being made for me,” I say, giving him a look. “But expect to get some shade from people. Haters gonna hate, you know?”

  “Well, I don’t give a fuck, and neither should you! I know first-hand that regardless of what you do, people will always have something to say.”

  A thought crosses my mind. It’s a silly one, but whatever.

  “Oooohh! Maybe we could be like Patricia Clarkson and Robert Downey Jr. in Good Night and Good Luck, forced to hide their marriage in order to be able to work at the same news station. That would make it fun, right? A secret romance?” I ask, reaching up for a kiss.

  He jerks backwards, just a few inches, to deny me the kiss I want. I don’t quite get the look on his face. Disappointment, maybe?

  “Hiding? No, I have done enough hiding and kept enough secrets in my life. I am done. We are doing everything out in the open,” he says seriously, but then smiles sweetly at me.

  “Everything, everything?” I ask him, jokingly.

  “Well, you know, not some things . . .” he replies, his hand sliding down my belly. This time when I reach for a kiss, he doesn’t pull away.

  Eventually, we leave the apartment, go have dinner with Iris and Phillip, and make plans to help them with Thanksgiving lunch. I had brought a small bag with me, just in case I got stuck on the road because of the bad weather . . . Well, let’s be honest, I was hoping to get stuck up here. The company is not bad at all.

  I expect Iris to be mad at me, because I broke up with her son months ago. Instead, she pulls me into a tight hug as soon as I walk in her kitchen. We spend a quiet evening with his family, making plans for the next day. When we go back to the apartment, Ben starts playing some music and pulls me into his arms.

  We start swaying together. A few seconds in, I recognize the song.