by Lisa Sorbe
“Come on! I can’t even… You’re driving…me…crazy!” I squeal.
Ben’s arms encircle me, sliding along my back and down lower, lower. “You’re driving me crazy,” he murmurs, slipping his lips over my collarbone and making me moan. Then, pausing, he squeezes me tighter, reaching deep into the couch cushion behind my back. With a soft tug, he extracts my bra, which is also covered in—yep—pink cartoon rhinos, and flings it over the back of couch and into the pile of clothing trailing between here and the kitchen.
There was no way we were going to make it all the way up the stairs and to a bed. To be honest, I’m kinda surprised we’re not entwined on the kitchen island right now, covered in cake batter and unicorn sprinkles.
Just the thought of Ben’s naked ass covered in sugary pink sprinkles has me laughing so hard I get tears in my eyes.
He pulls his head back, peering down at me. “What’s so funny, California?”
I press my finger to the corner of my eye, brushing away the wetness. “Sorry, I just pictured your bare ass covered in pink sprinkles and, let me tell you, it’s an image I won’t ever, ever forget.”
“What the?” Ben laughs and reaches down to snag my leg, pulling it up and over his. We’re facing each other on the couch, nose to nose, lips close enough to touch, and the light dancing in his eyes is more than a mere reflection from the moonlight streaming in through the large windows. This man is lit from inside, a shiny spark that emanates out from his very core. It’s who he is, what he stands for, the lives he saves. It, all of it, has left a mark, like the difficulties of his past fissured his soul and, somehow, he turned those cracks into a work of art. Chipped away at them until there was nothing left but the burning light beneath. It’s almost angelic, this way of looking at him, and the laughter dies on my lips as the gravity of such a thought hits me.
I mean, it’s absurd, of course. Ben isn’t an actual angel. Lack of religious upbringing aside, I’ve heard the stories. And from what I can tell of the world and, more importantly, the harshness of the people in it, those heavenly messengers are just like every other divine deity splashed throughout scripture…pure myth.
But if they were to exist, if such celestial creatures did deign to walk among us, avenging evil like Sunday School superheros, then Ben would be one. Of that, I’m certain.
Then again, not all angels are good. I’ve heard those stories, too.
As above, so below, right?
I look into Ben’s eyes, track the dancing lights, and remember that Lucifer was an angel before he fell.
Falling. It’s something we all do. Not one of us is perfect, without sin. Though, from my understanding, another definition of sin is to miss the mark. Which, in my mind, can be translated one step further to missing the point. So, if what some say is really true, and we’re here on this planet to learn, to grow, to evolve…wouldn’t every fall constitute a lesson? And if we don’t miss the point of said lesson, if we rise up despite the fall, can we be redeemed? Would we still be considered bad in the eyes of, well, whoever it is that’s doing the judging?
Ben holds secrets. That revelation is in his quiet countenance. The reserved way he’s handled our relationship until about an hour ago. Kissing me in the kitchen, it was like something in him broke free, like he was an addict that finally had access to his addiction after too many months away. He devoured me; I’d never felt such heat, such unrestrained passion from anyone before. Not even Daniel. And when we were on the couch, and he was pushing into me, there was a wildness to our coupling, a carnal desperation that resulted in a climax so earthshattering I wouldn’t be surprised if it rocked the cosmos.
“Where’d you go?”
Ben’s voice is a magnet that pulls me back. Back from my deep thoughts, back from the cosmos and the depths of his eyes and the galaxies swirling inside them.
“Nowhere. I just…I was thinking…You didn’t like me when we first met.” The words fly out of my mouth, a spoken thought I hadn’t even known I was thinking. “Why?”
Ben chuckles. “Yeah, well. If you recall, you didn’t like me much at first, either.”
I rise up on my elbow and give him a nudge. “Stop avoiding the question.” Then, softer, as if there’s a part of me that doesn’t want to know, I ask it again. “Why?”
Ben sighs and props himself on his elbow too, like he wants us to be on even ground. Or maybe he just wants to look into my eyes, to better read my reaction when he answers.
“I thought you were spoiled and self-centered.”
My eyes widen.
Ben holds up a hand. “Or, if not those things, then cluelessly privileged. At the very least.”
“You judged me before you knew me. You hate it when people do that.”
Ben nods. “I do. And don’t think I haven’t beat myself up over the fact that I did the very thing I despise. But in all fairness…I sort of knew you. Or, at least, I thought I did.”
“I’m lost. How could you have possibly thought you knew me?”
“Nora.”
It’s one word, so simple yet so complicated.
Everything leads back to my grandmother.
“So Lenora talked about me, and apparently not in a good day. Because from her words alone you decided I was a spoiled, entitled bitch.”
I’m not mad at him, and I’m not going to hold it against him. But still, the knowledge hurts.
Ben grimaces. “It wasn’t from her words, not exactly. Nora did nothing but brag about you. Every once in a while, she’d show me one of your videos, and believe me, Lenny, she was so damn proud. But all I could see was a superficial woman talking about superficial shit, using her platform to add even more fuel to society’s already superficial obsessions. That, and I couldn’t for the life of me understand why you never once, in all the years I knew her, came to visit.”
I can feel my expression crumble, feel the flutter of a tremble in my lower lip. So I bite down hard enough to stop it. “I used to visit, and I had plans to come this summer, in fact. I really did.” I say this last part with a quiet conviction, as if I need to convince myself as much as Ben.
He rests a finger under my chin, raising it so my eyes meet his. “Lenny, I know. Nora told me. And I know there were extenuating circumstances between you two that were never fully resolved. I get that life happens.” He sighs. “I’ve never had a family. My mother died of a drug overdose when I was four. I hardly remember her. As for my father, I never knew the man. Which, in retrospect, might be a good thing.” He chuckles to lighten the mood that the turn in conversation has otherwise darkened. The laughter, though, hardly erases the sadness in his eyes, the tightness pulling at the corners. “And you know the rest of the story,” he says, referring to his years in foster care.
I nod, because I do. And I also understand more than ever how he could view me as, in his words, cluelessly privileged.
“But then I met Nora,” he continues. “On my very first day in Lost Bay, if you can believe it. I’d just taken over the clinic from the previous veterinarian, and I was nervous as hell to have my own place. I was in my office, wondering what the hell I was doing, when here comes your grandmother, bustling in at eight o’clock sharp with an injured cat in her arms. It was a welcome distraction, let me tell you, having something else to focus on besides my own pathetic ass. We took the cat in immediately, of course. Fixed him up. But when I found out he was feral, and that Nora kept a sort of rickety cat sanctuary on her property, I refused to charge her.”
I perk up, my lips stretching into a smile. “I bet she didn’t like that.”
Ben laughs, all the tightness gone from his expression. He’s oiled and loose, the crinkles around his eyes mirroring the light laugh lines around his mouth. “No, she did not. Said she could afford it and that if I didn’t take her money, there’d be hell to pay.”
“Sounds like her.”
“She calmed my nerves that day. Invited me over for dinner that night, gave me confidence when I had none.” H
e clears his throat, shutting down the memory. “Anyway, my point is, is that my…friendship…with Nora is the longest relationship I’ve ever had in my life. And I know I wasn’t her blood, but damn it if she didn’t treat me like I was. She’s the closest thing I’ve ever had to family, and there wasn’t anything I wouldn’t have done for her.”
“Nora always said blood doesn’t matter. That we’re all energetically connected, and that’s what matters.”
“Sounds like her,” he says softly, and when he cups my cheek in his hand, it’s with a touch that’s so reverent, so tender, I want to cry. Because Lenora’s the only person I’ve ever loved. And though for a while it seemed as if anger had peeled so many layers from that sentiment that I could no longer feel it, that my trust in her had withered to a point where it dissolved completely, I realize now that it never had.
Here’s this man, this beautiful man, who, like me, has only known the love of one person. One woman, who thought energy mattered more than anything else in the world. Who believed that connection, that love, surpassed trivial things like genetics and gender, race and religion.
In a way, we’re both orphans. In a way, we’re both found.
Like I’ve always said, Lenora had a reason for everything she did.
Ben leans in, his mouth moving slowly over mine, and rolls onto his back, carrying me with him. And this time, when we move together, it’s smooth, rhythmic, and sweet. We stay like that, bound by something greater than blood, by an energy that weaves through All That Is, in a perpetual loop, on a night that never ends.
“So, what did you think of those resumes I printed off? Any of them stand out?”
Sitting behind his desk, Ben tosses a reluctant glance at the pile of resumes that, from what I can tell, haven’t moved since I set them there two weeks ago. Scrunching his brow, he returns his attention to a chart he’s reviewing and gives a noncommittal grunt.
I fold my arms over my chest, wincing as I feel the scratch of my sweater against my newly acquired sunburn, and arch a brow. “Is that a yes? A no?”
“Can we talk about this later?” He waggles the chart in the air. “This is an important case and I really need to concentrate on…”
“Oh, bullshit.” I try to screw my features into a serious expression, the one that I use whenever we talk about The Land of the Lost. But he’s way too adorable, sitting there in his scrubs with Asha’s head on his armrest and his hand absently stroking her ears, that I fold. “Now you’re just working me. You know how hot I find it when you go into dedicated doctor mode. But I know for a fact that chart belongs to an eight-week old puppy named Dewey who just happens to be in perfect health.” I remember Dewey’s appointment this morning and the way my heart melted when I walked past the exam room and saw, through the window, Ben cradling the pudgy black lab against his chest as he listened to its heartbeat through his stethoscope.
I tell you, I DIED. I expired on that very spot, left my body, the whole works.
And then, a mere thirty seconds later, I slammed right back into reality when a Great Dane pooped in the waiting room and I had to use three bags to pick it up.
Three.
All while trying not to breath.
Veterinary life, man. It is and it isn’t.
And it certainly isn’t for me. After spending the last two weeks in southern California, the first at an incredible workshop held by a world-famous pastry chef and the second clearing out my apartment and studying books about baking-slash-small business ownership while lounging on the beach, I know now more than ever what I want to do with my life.
Slowly but surely, day by day, I’m finding my way.
But for now, spending thirty-five hours a week at the clinic provides me with a paycheck and allows me the know-how to get Ben and Nora’s vision up and running. And finding capable new staff for the venture is at the top of my list. Ben works too much as it is, even though his practice now is what most would consider small. There’s no way he’ll be able to handle everything that needs handling once the new place opens in October. He’s going to need help. Help from hands more expert than mine, that’s for sure.
The problem is, he’s been on his own since Day One. Being the adept problem solver that he is, he’s used to holding the reins, shouldering the burdens. And it’s been a challenge to get him to loosen his grip, to let go and accept help.
“You do realize we’re well into May already,” I prod. Then, with a sigh, “Did you even look at them?”
“I did.”
I raise my brows. “All of them?”
“Most of them.” When I open my mouth, about to unleash a can of whoop-ass, Ben holds up a finger and rushes on. “I found two that could work. Possibly. Maybe.” He grins a sexy grin, no doubt trying to distract me from the topic at hand by turning my thoughts elsewhere.
Not that it’s much of a challenge. It’s been two weeks since we’ve been, you know, together together, and I’m not gonna lie…I’m wound tight.
And I can tell Ben is, too.
After picking me up from the airport last night (Duluth, this time) and a pretty hot make out session in the airport parking garage, we were both bone tired by the time we rolled into Lost Bay close to two hours later and, lusty intentions aside, fell asleep the moment our heads hit the pillow.
But it was enough to wake up this morning with Ben’s arms around me, enough to share a quick breakfast of eggs and bacon and fruit before rushing into work. Now, though, having been so close to him all day and not being able to touch him in all the inappropriate ways I’ve been dreaming about these past two weeks, I’m about to crawl right out of my skin.
“Damn you,” I mutter, and jump him. The swivel chair he’s sitting on groans and squeaks and threatens to collapse, but neither of us seems to care. Because Ben is tugging at my sweater and my teeth are tugging at his ear and he’s asking me if everyone has left for the day and I’m telling him that yes, yes, yes everyone is long gone so stop worrying and just give it to me now.
And suddenly, without really remembering how we got there, we’re on the couch and Ben is pulling off his shirt while I’m doing my best to shimmy my jeans past my hips. He growls impatiently as he watches and then, tired of waiting, snags the waistband, yanking them off in one fell swoop before wrapping his fingers around the delicate lace of my underpants and ripping them in half. I barely have time to gasp before he’s in me, and I’m around him, and we’re locked in so many more ways than just the physical. It’s like I can breathe again, like the other half of not just my heart but my entire soul—in all of its fragmented pieces—is now whole, complete, and so much larger than it ever was before. I’m in my body and out of my body at the same time, the friction between us propelling me into another realm, another dimension, where the secrets of every secret are revealed in bright, dazzling displays of kaleidoscopic brilliance. My whole world is bright, everything is bright, and the glow just keeps growing, growing, growing and expanding, expanding, expanding until the resulting explosion is so out-of-this-world intense that I have no choice but to close my eyes and surrender to the blast.
And when we’re done, when our desire is merely satiated but hardly quenched, we stay naked on that couch, wrapped up together like this moment is all we have and tomorrow will forever be a day away. Ben runs his fingers over my tan lines, every now and then bending to press a gentle kiss against the marks, and I feel myself go softer and softer beneath his touch until, my eyes closed, I drift into a sleep where the dreams are every bit as warm as the embrace in which I’m wrapped.
• • •
It’s late when I feel Ben’s hand on my shoulder, gently shaking me awake.
“Lenny.”
I blink, the lamp on Ben’s desk casting a soft glow over his form as he hovers over me. For a moment I feel like I’m waist-deep in a dream, halfway between wakefulness and sleep, where the word feels more ethereal than solid.
“Lenny,” he says again. “I need your help.”
This jerks me right awake, and I push myself off the couch and onto legs that feel like rubber. Rubbing my arms to ward off the chill, I squint, my eyes dry, and look out the window. It’s black as black can be; not even a sliver of moon pierces the darkness.
Ben hands me my clothes (minus my underwear) and as I dress, he fills me in on the phone call from Doris. According to her, Rodolfo when down sometime late in the afternoon and hasn’t been able to get up since. Rather than have them wait hours until the clinic opens, he offered to head over immediately. “She’s worried sick,” he explains, shrugging into his shirt. “Said she thought he was just sleeping, but when she called him to come in, he wouldn’t move. Or couldn’t. He’s in the backyard, and she’s been beating herself up over leaving him out there for as long as she has. But she can’t lift him by herself and didn’t want to call my cell unless it was an absolute emergency. Then she heard the thunder…”
His voice trails off as a flash of lightening brightens the sky, pushing back the blackness and stripping the world of its color.
I forgo my socks and shove my feet right into my shoes while zipping up my jeans. Ben grabs his medical bag and within seconds we’re in his truck, flying down the highway, rain spraying up from the tires and my heart racing with an urgency I can’t shake. I was so asleep, so deeply asleep, that my senses haven’t had time to catch up to reality, and everything is flowing in a weird sort of way, like the air is denser than it usually is and I have to push my way through it. Every movement feels like it’s happening in slow motion, and I have to concentrate extra hard just to focus. Everything, absolutely everything, feels thick and heavy, and there’s a lump in my throat just thinking about what awaits us at Doris’s place.
“Ben.” My voice trembles. “Is…Are we going to have to…” I can’t make myself say it. “Is he going to be okay?”