“By writing off half the male population.”
I laugh, dry and caustic. “I know I’m not missing anything. Unless intolerance, small-mindedne—”
The words die on my lips as Ben takes another step toward me, so close I have to tip my head back to look up at him. This is an invasion of my personal space. What is he doing?
“You’re sure about that?”
He’s standing way too close—like arms-brushing-against-mine close. I’m reminded of middle school dances: Leave enough space between you for the Holy Spirit. Ben is flouting the Almighty.
“You don’t think you could ever be attracted to someone on the other side?”
Ah. I see what he’s up to now.
I should step back. I should slap him, frankly. But a larger part of me wants to see where he’s going to take this—or maybe, how far he’s going to take this.
“I was thinking you might want to . . .” He trails off, his voice dropping in both tone and volume, as he leans in further.
I should definitely take a step back now. Make a joke—ha-ha, nice try, you’ve made your point—but it suddenly feels very important, very necessary, to stand my ground. Beat him at his own game.
“Want to what?” I ask brazenly, meeting his gaze head-on. My voice sounds funny now too, hoarse and a little thready.
His eyes flare slightly at my boldness, a flash of approval lighting his features. Like he’s proud of me for meeting him halfway. Like it was a test and I passed.
And that knowledge pleases me way more than it should.
“Want to . . .”
He drops his mouth to my ear, and his breath on my neck gives rise to a fine layer of goose bumps entirely out of place in this warm sun. I turn my head and the slight movement brings our faces in line, our mouths mere inches from each other. Seconds tick by as we stare at each other in a charged deadlock. Who will break first?
“Want to . . . race me to the Washington Monument. Go!” he yells suddenly and takes off at a sprint, and I nearly reel backward from the sudden loss of him.
Whoa.
Ben takes advantage of his head start, widening his lead as I trail slowly behind, wondering what the hell just happened.
What I don’t let myself wonder is why I’m already short of breath when I’ve barely started running.
Chapter 8
It’s been several days since our close encounter on the Mall and I haven’t run into Ben once—but that doesn’t mean I haven’t seen him. Oh, have I seen him.
Per my “request,” he’s left his blinds open and it is absolutely unhealthy how much I’ve enjoyed watching him. Not that I’ll let him catch me stalking—I’ve perfected the one-eye-on-my-computer, one-eye-on-the-window maneuver—but I think he must know I’m surveilling him because he propped a massive TAX REFORM sign in his window. I’m certain it’s for my benefit.
My round-the-clock stakeout has netted me some nifty intel. He paces when he’s on the phone, so much so that watching him circuit his office makes me dizzy. His typing posture is so deplorable, I’m surprised he’s not a hunchback. He fiddles with his tie constantly. He drinks from one of those refillable water bottles all day long, and each time he takes a swig and wipes his mouth, my throat goes dry. Once when he was on the phone he smiled a lot, which simultaneously pleased and annoyed me. He never looks my way—or at least, I’ve never caught him.
I know he was just messing with me on our run, trying to prove a point, but that hasn’t stopped me from obsessing over his actions and my reactions—or rather, my lack of a reaction. Why did I just stand there like a pillar of salt? I should have kneed him in the groin. And the worst part is, he knows he rattled me—when I finally caught up to him, I was monosyllabic for the remainder of our run. I blamed a lack of oxygen, but there’s no way he was fooled.
I can’t let him gain the upper hand like that again. The only problem is, my body’s not getting the memo my brain is sending. Each time I leave my office or approach an elevator, a frisson of anticipation zaps through my body like the current from a lightning strike. I’m sixteen again, an obsessive schoolgirl tracking her crush in the hallways. I’ve wracked my brain, trying to recall the bits and pieces of his schedule I know, but the thing I can’t figure out is if I’m trying to run into him or avoid him. I wonder how he’d react if he knew I was mentally mapping his route like Magellan.
I’m currently hotfooting it over to Union Pub for a happy hour in honor of Tessa and Luke, who—surprise!—got engaged over the weekend. When I walk in, it’s wall-to-wall humanity, packed as ever with the postwork Capitol Hill crowd. Suit jackets have been cast off and sleeves rolled up, bottles of beer in hand while classic rock blasts from the speakers. I scan the room and spot Tessa immediately, standing in the center of a group and showing off her ring.
Once I wrestle my way through the crush of bodies and greet her, I glance around. “Where’s Luke?”
“Fighting the masses at the bar.” She waves a hand in that general direction and I feel a pang of self-pity. How nice to have someone to slay the proverbial dragon for you in pursuit of a cocktail.
Tessa sees my expression and whips out her phone. “What do you want? I’ll text him.”
“A glass of chardonnay would be great,” I say in relief. “Whatever they have.”
She types furiously, then slides the phone back into her pocket. “I hope he sees it,” she mutters, then taps the girl standing next to her on the shoulder. “Kate, have you met . . .” and I’m lost in a sea of introductions to some of their friends.
I’m in the midst of an animated conversation with one of Luke’s coworkers when Tessa jabs an elbow into my side.
“Ow, what?”
“Two o’clock,” she murmurs in a low voice, nodding in the direction of the entrance.
When I turn to see what she’s talking about, my eyes land on a familiar figure: Ben’s just walked in, flanked by a tall guy with sandy blond hair and California surfer-guy good looks. My pulse breaks into a canter and I immediately feel self-conscious, like I’m wearing my underwear outside my clothes or something. Before I can analyze my reaction, Luke appears, juggling two drinks in each hand. We greet him like a hero freshly returned from the front lines.
“Thanks, Luke,” I say gratefully, then hold up the glass in a toast. “And congratulations! I’m so happy for you guys.”
“Thanks.” He turns to Tessa and pecks her on the lips. “Just glad she said yes.” They beam at each other and I feel another pang. Jealousy is unbecoming, I remind myself.
Tessa’s eyes are trained over my shoulder. “He’s looking over here,” she hisses.
“Who’s looking over here?” Luke asks, sipping his beer.
“Oh, this awful guy from work who’s been harassing Kate just walked in.”
I open my mouth to protest, not wanting to endorse this not-exactly-accurate version of events, especially when we’re kinda-sorta, I don’t know, maybe? friends now. Maybe it wasn’t my best idea to bring the whole office into this feud.
“Do you need me to kick his ass for you, Kate?”
“Oh—no.” I laugh. Good luck trying, Luke—you’re like half his size. “It’s fine. It’s not that big a deal, really. It’s pretty much blown over, anyway.”
Luke puffs out his chest. “Who is he? Point him out.”
“Don’t be obvious, but he’s over by the door. Big guy with the blond friend.”
Luke casually turns to scan the room, and when he turns back, he looks uneasy. “Are you talking about Ben Mackenzie?”
“You know him?”
“Uh, yeah. Also, I invited him.”
“What?” Tessa and I say at the same time.
“He’s on my kickball team. You know, Ball on the Mall?”
Tessa stares at him. “That’s the Ben you have a man-crush on?”
“I
do not have man-crush,” Luke says, insulted. “He’s just . . . a cool guy.” He waves Ben over, ignoring the dark look Tessa’s casting his way.
“Do not wave—” she says, then sighs and turns to me. “I’m sorry, I had no idea this was the same Ben. Luke has all these random kickball friends, I can’t even keep tra—”
“Luke!” Ben’s voice booms behind us and I jump, nearly dropping my wineglass. “Congratulations, man.”
He slaps Luke on the back as Luke motions to Tessa. “Ben, this is my fiancée, Tessa.”
“We’ve met,” she says coolly, and Luke elbows her.
“It’s great to see you again, Tessa,” Ben says, humor ringing in his tone. He finally turns and acknowledges me, feigning surprise. “Kate! Fancy meeting you here.”
“Ben,” I say dryly.
His friend reaches a hand out to Tessa, then Luke. “Hi, I’m Marcus, Ben’s colleague and party crasher looking for a happy hour. Congratulations on your engagement.” He flashes me a wide, easygoing grin. “Hi, I’m Marcus.”
“Kate,” I respond, shaking his hand.
“Kate?” He squints, tightening his grip on my hand. “Wait, are you the Kate? The one who’s been giving my friend here such a hard time?”
My jaw drops, and I swivel my head to Ben. “I’m sorry, I’ve been giving you a hard time? What kind of lies are you spreading?”
Marcus’s face lights up. “Well, this just got more interesting. Kate, I’d love to hear your side.”
“Why don’t you let me know what he’s told you, and I’ll figure out what to debunk first?”
Marcus grins while Ben stands there looking unamused. Tessa and Luke are following the exchange with interest, heads bobbing back and forth like Ping-Pong balls.
“He wouldn’t have told me anything at all, but I just happened to be one of the people in attendance at a meeting where he opened his mail and a tampon fell out.”
I’ve just taken a sip of my wine, and the spit-take that results is one for the ages. I’m laughing-slash-choking, and Marcus makes a big show of thumping me on the back.
“Please tell me more,” I beg once I can breathe normally again. “Don’t leave anything out.”
“I’ll never forget the look on Mack’s face. Fucking priceless.”
Ben reaches a big hand out and shoves Marcus into the crowd. “Why don’t you get us a couple of drinks, Marcus?”
I step between them. “Why don’t you get the drinks, Mack? It sounds like Marcus has some interesting stories to share.” I scoot closer to Marcus and flash him a megawatt smile. “You were saying?”
“You’re famous around our office,” he confides, clearly relishing the opportunity to push Ben’s buttons. I think I’m enjoying it more.
“Famous? Moi?” I parrot, glancing over my shoulder at Ben. He’s looking a little green around the gills.
“You got him all worked up, and that’s not easy to do. Plus, it’s nice to finally meet a woman who’s immune to his charms.”
“Charms? Who is this charming person you speak of?” We both simultaneously turn and look at Ben. He’s scowling.
I hold my hand out like Vanna White. “I rest my case.”
“The way he described your reign of terror, I expected a real shrew. I see he left just a few details out.” He smirks at Ben. “All of a sudden your mood lately is making a lot more sense.”
Ben fixes him with a look that’s cold enough to freeze ice, which Marcus expressly ignores. Eventually Ben sighs and shrugs off his jacket, tossing it on a nearby table, then grabs and loosens his tie. I flush as I recall how many times I’ve watched him perform this same routine from my office this week. How strange that I’m starting to recognize his habits.
Marcus turns to me, a glint in his eye. “So, Kate. Are you single?”
Ben groans. “This isn’t Tinder, Marcus.”
I sense violence afoot, so I break in. “If I may be so bold as to infer the point of your question, I’ll just let you know that I don’t date Republicans. That’s a hard no for me.” I’m looking at Marcus, but deep down I know I’m directing it at Ben.
But apparently my statement isn’t the deterrent I expected, because Marcus’s eyes spark in challenge. “Did you hear that, Ben? She doesn’t date Republicans.”
“Yes, it’s a real loss for us,” he says wryly.
Marcus narrows his eyes almost imperceptibly, an unspoken conversation passing between them in the span of about five seconds. Eventually he blinks and turns back to me.
“Well, Kate, I think you’d be worth disaffiliating for.” He gives me a panty-dropping smile that I’m sure works for him ninety-nine percent of the time.
Unfortunately for him, I’m the one percent. “That’s quite a pickup line, especially in this town.” I pretend-swoon and punch him lightly on the arm, and I watch Ben’s eyes follow my hand. “Does it ever work?”
“You tell me,” he says, laughing. Where are all these alpha males coming from? There must be something in the water over at Hammond’s office.
“So if this guy doesn’t do it for you,” Marcus continues, jerking his thumb at Ben, “who is your type, then? Blonds, maybe?”
“I don’t know,” I hedge, enjoying the opportunity to mess with him and Ben simultaneously. “It’s always felt a little too Barbie and Ken for my taste.”
“But for me you’d make an exception?” He wags his brows.
I giggle. “You’re fun.”
“Thanks, I try.”
Ben clears his throat, and when I glance at him, he’s folding his arms across his chest, mouth set in a firm line. I lean toward Marcus conspiratorially.
“I think we’re pissing him off. He’s doing his angry bouncer pose again.”
Marcus hoots, then throws me a wink before turning and clapping Ben on the shoulder. “I think I owe you a beer, buddy. Kate, if you’ll excuse me. It has been an absolute delight to finally meet you.”
Ben glares at his back as he disappears into the crowd, then turns to me. “Please ignore everything he said. He’s just trying to fuck with me.”
“And clearly he’s quite good at it. So, I’m famous, huh? What exactly have you told people?”
He sighs heavily and shakes his head, scanning the bar over my head and looking everywhere but at me. I let my question hang in the air for a moment, but he looks so agitated I decide to cut him a break. “Relax, you’re famous around my office too, so we’re even.”
“I am?”
“Maybe I’m letting the cat out of the bag here, but just about everything I send you is a team effort.”
“Really?” He looks surprised. And pleased.
“Really. Not the tampon,” I clarify with a grin. “That was all me. But everything else, yeah. It takes a village to keep up with you.”
I’m sure I’ll regret feeding his ego like this. I think of a sign at the zoo: DON’T FEED THE ANIMALS.
I nod in the direction of the bar. “So how long have you and Marcus been friends?”
“Who says we’re friends? I’m his boss.”
“Only true friends throw each other under the bus like that.”
“Friend is such a strong word.”
When I laugh, he relaxes a little. “Five years. Minus the last five minutes. I brought him over with me from the Ways and Means Committee when I got the job with Hammond.”
As if he can hear us talking about him, Marcus shows up, shoves a beer into Ben’s hand with a “Here you go, Mack,” then keeps right on walking. Smart man.
“Mack,” I echo, trying that nickname on for size. Nah. Too nice.
With no warning, the crowd at my back surges and I’m shoved violently into Ben’s chest. Wine goes flying, soaking my sleeve to the elbow. Ben grabs my arm with one hand and my glass in the other, steadying me with a firm grip. The guy has serious catlike
reflexes.
“You okay?” His eyes search my face with concern and I feel it heat.
“I’m okay. My shirt is not.” I wince and shake out my arm.
“Let’s get out of traffic.”
He tugs me toward a back wall, grabbing some napkins from a nearby table along the way and passing them to me. I swipe at my sleeve uselessly and he hands back my glass when I give up.
“You’ve got a little . . .” he says, pointing, and then his hand is coming toward my neck. My heart does a little flip-flop as he gently disentangles a few strands of hair from my necklace, a cross made of tiny pearls hanging on a gold chain. It’s a hand-me-down from my grandmother, and one of my most prized possessions.
For such a huge guy, he sure has a soft touch. Perhaps I was wrong to call him an oaf. “Thanks,” I murmur.
He nods and leans a shoulder against the wall, holding his beer in front of him like a shield. “This is different,” he says, motioning to my hair.
I twist it around my wrist self-consciously. “After-Hours Kate lets her hair down,” I say defensively. I’m not in the mood for any Legally Blonde jokes tonight.
He makes a little humming noise in his throat, then waves at someone over my head. I twist around to see who, but it could be any one of a hundred people.
“How do you know everyone? I never would have expected to see you here. Luke and Tessa don’t seem like your type of crowd.” The unspoken insinuation: they’re both Democrats.
He rolls his eyes heavenward. “I don’t choose my friends based on party affiliation. Unlike some people I know.”
“Everyone seems to think you’re so nice. You’ve really got them all fooled.”
“I am nice.”
“I guess that means you’re only mean to me, then,” I muse. “Everyone else gets Dr. Jekyll and I get Mr. Hyde.”
“Maybe you’re the only one getting the real me.” He winks one eye and then the other, back and forth a few times. I have got to figure out how to do that.
“God help me. Well, don’t let me hold you back.” I motion over my shoulder to his friends. “Feel free to go mingle with your kind.”
Meet You in the Middle Page 7