Meet You in the Middle

by Devon Daniels

  He looks amused. “Nah, I’m happy right here.”

  “You live to torture me.”

  “Maybe.” He smiles, a small one, like he’s keeping a secret. “But I did realize something the other day.”

  “What’s that?”

  His eyes catch and hold mine. “I’d rather argue with you than get along with anyone else.”

  Chapter 9

  I blink at him as a ball of heat forms in my stomach and sweeps up my rib cage, blooms into my chest cavity, and steals my breath. What he said—no, the way he said it—feels superior to any compliment I’ve ever gotten. I want to hug it to my chest. Tattoo it on my skin. Brand it on my memory.

  I breathe out, with effort. “You’re quite an enigma, Ben Mackenzie.”

  “How so?”

  “I can’t decide if you like me or hate me.”

  He opens his mouth, then closes it. He seems as caught off guard by that bit of honesty as I am.

  “Sometimes I can’t figure it out either, Princess.” He rubs a hand over his mouth like he’s trying to wipe away a smile. “I’m hungry. You hungry?”

  Changing the subject. Good idea.

  “Starving, actually,” I admit.

  “I’ll go order us something. If I’m not back in ten minutes, just wait longer.” He squeezes my shoulder before heading over to the bar.

  I cannot figure this guy out.

  But I don’t get too long to think about it because as soon as he’s gone Tessa corners me, forcing me into a chair at one of the tables our group has commandeered.

  She levels me with a pointed stare. “What are you doing?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I thought you hated this guy. What happened to your feud?”

  I sip my wine, taking my time answering. “I guess technically it still exists, but we called a truce.”

  “That didn’t look like feuding. It looked like flirting.”

  I sigh and set my glass down. “We were just talking, that’s all.”

  “Are you into this guy? Tell me the truth.” Her brown eyes are sharp on mine.

  “Tessa, no. No.” I add a third one for good measure. “Nope.”

  She narrows her eyes. Apparently denials in triplicate are unconvincing. “He’s been awful to you.”

  I squirm in my seat. I feel like I’m under cross-examination. “He was awful, at first. But he apologized, and I accepted it.”

  She looks unimpressed.

  “Look, I don’t need to make enemies of the people I’m supposed to be working with. It’s unprofessional, and it certainly isn’t going to help me get this bill passed. It was time to bury the hatchet.”

  As I state my case, I track Ben out of the corner of my eye. He’s chatting with a couple of women as he waits to order food, and they’re hanging on his every word, preening and tossing their hair, laughing too hard at his (likely subpar) jokes. I roll my eyes; the mating call of females is so transparent. When I swing my gaze back to Tessa, she’s watching me intently.

  “See? He’s over there picking up chicks right now. Plus, I think he’s dating that girl we saw him with in the elevator.” I flash back to Corinne’s cryptic among other things comment and shudder.

  Tessa sits back and folds her arms. “I feel the need to remind you of what happened to Shannon.”

  I groan. “I don’t need to hear about Shannon.”

  She continues like I haven’t spoken. “She started dating that guy in Representative Stark’s office even though we all knew it was a bad idea. ‘He’s different,’ she said. ‘It’ll be fine,’ she said. And what happened to her?”

  “She got fired,” I answer dutifully.

  “Fired for leaking him confidential information! And what happened to him?”

  “Nothing.”

  She pounds her fist on the table. “Nothing! And after all that, did their relationship even work out?”

  “It did not.”

  “No! He cheated on her with some intern from Stark’s reelection campaign. Meanwhile, her career has never recovered.” She leans back again, her expression troubled. “You need to be careful.”

  I laugh, but there’s an edge to it. “I can see you’re trying to protect me and I appreciate that, but there’s no need. Ben is just a work colleague. It is purely a business relationship. In fact, it’s not even that, since he’s made it crystal clear that his boss will never support our bill.”

  Her eyes soften as she leans in, placing a hand over mine. “I’m sorry if I’m being harsh. And trust me, I get what you’d see in him, okay? I have eyes. It’s just, I know the kind of guy you’re looking for. You want something long-term, like what Luke and I have. And I want that for you.”

  “I know you do.” I think I know what’ll get her off my back. “How about this. To prove I’m not into Ben, I will let you set up a profile for me on Donk—on LeftField.”

  She gasps. “You will?” She clutches my arm, Ben all but forgotten. “Yay! I think it’ll be so great for you, Kate. I’ll help you screen the guys. I’ll find you someone amazing!”

  By the time Ben makes it back ten minutes later, I’m pretty subdued. When he slides me a fresh glass of wine across the table, I can’t hide my surprise.

  “Thank you,” I say, meaning it. Maybe there’s hope for him yet.

  I listen quietly as Ben and Luke swap stories of life on the field or diamond or whatever the heck Ball on the Mall is referring to—frankly, it sounds less like a sporting event and more like one long argument over who has the best team name: Nasty Pitches versus Fake Boos versus Master Debaters. When our food arrives—wings, nachos, and sliders—a collective cheer goes up from the group, and Ben and I swap nonplussed looks. So much for our dinner.

  As we listen to Luke and Tessa perform an elaborate retelling of their engagement story, one of the women Ben was chatting with at the bar sidles up, smiling flirtatiously as she slips him a piece of paper. He smiles back politely as he slides it into his pocket without looking at it.

  Seriously?

  He catches me watching and smirks. I wrinkle my nose in distaste.

  As soon as everyone breaks into side conversations, I nod at him. “Aren’t you going to see what it says?”

  “I already know what it says.” He loads up a nacho and one-bites it.

  “So are you gonna call her?” See, Tessa? I can prove I’m not interested.

  He shrugs.

  “What, does she not like queso?”

  He smiles faintly. “She has to be my best friend. She wasn’t a best-friend type.”

  “How would you know that from talking to her for five minutes?”

  “It only took you two minutes to know everything there was to know about me.”

  I groan. “Let it go, already. Geez.”

  He chuckles as he tips his head back to swig his beer.

  “You know, you’re awfully picky,” I point out, selecting an extra-cheesy nacho. “You sure this perfect match exists?”

  “Oh, she exists.” His smile looks a little forced.

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “The perfect girl for me is out there, trust me. Compatibility isn’t an exact science.”

  “Is compatible code for submissive? You want some hood ornament who agrees with everything you say? Snooze.”

  “That’s pretty rich coming from someone who refuses to date outside their political party.”

  That raises my hackles. “I don’t see you dating across the aisle.”

  He shrugs. “I wouldn’t say no. Opposites attract and all that.”

  “You don’t really want someone who’s your opposite,” I scoff.

  “Says who?”

  “Says . . . life. You’d spend all your time arguing. That’s not a recipe for a healthy relationship.”

 
“Depends on the type of relationship,” he mutters. He’s concentrating very hard on his plate of chicken wings.

  “What does that mean?”

  His eyes flick up to mine, then back down to his plate. “Never mind.”

  “No never mind. What did you mean?”

  He blows out a breath before looking up at me again. “Sex, Katie Cat. Dating your opposite would make for some amazing sex. Arguing as foreplay. Fighting, then making up. Wanting to kill each other, then rip each other’s clothes off.” His eyes spark. “Don’t you agree?”

  This conversation just veered way off course. “I guess I’ve never really thought about it.” Although I am now. Jesus.

  It plays out in my mind like an old Hollywood movie. It’s black-and-white and I’m backlit beautifully. Ben and I are yelling at each other and I slap him across the face. He throws me over his shoulder and I beat his back while he carries me into a room and throws me down on a fancy four-poster bed. He pins my arms above my head while I thrash and fight, and then he begins to ravage me.

  Ben reads me like a book. He crosses his arms over his chest, a slow, wicked grin stretching across his face. I don’t like this smile. It’s suggestive and indecent and a bunch of other things it shouldn’t be.

  “You ever been with someone who’s given you a run for your money, Kate?” Something in his tone makes me want to stand up and run.

  “Hate sex isn’t my style.” My voice wobbles a little on the word sex. I look longingly at the door. I could make a break for it.

  “It’s not mine either, but for you I’d make an exception.”

  Oh God. He went there.

  “It’d be like scratching an itch. And in our case, there’d be no friendship to ruin, right? It’s a win-win.” He takes a long, slow pull from his beer, keeping his eyes trained on me.

  “This is inappropriate.”

  “Let me guess,” he says, setting his bottle down. “Most men have no idea how to handle a woman like you.” He leans forward, lowering his voice. “But let me assure you: I am not most men.”

  My vision tunnels in as the thumping music fades into the background. The only thing I hear is my heartbeat in my ears. The only things I see are those eyes.

  Don’t let him do this to you again, Kate.

  “Okay, you’ve had your fun.” I try to sound dismissive, but my voice quavers, totally undermining my false bravado.

  “Have I?” He arches an eyebrow.

  “You’re just trying to get under my skin.”

  “Is it working?”

  “Will you cut it out, please? You’re making me nervous.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I can’t tell if you’re joking.”

  He stares at me for a long moment, then sighs and picks up his half-eaten chicken wing. “Relax, Katie Cat. I’m just kidding.” He pats my hand.

  I exhale slowly, not wanting him to see how thrown I am.

  “But let me know if you change your mind, and maybe I won’t be.”

  “Ben.”

  He waves me away, like the subject is closed. “So what’s the status of your bill these days?”

  “Um . . .” I swallow hard and blink a few times. I can’t downshift that fast. My brain is still flashing the phrase SEX WITH BEN like neon lights at a circus fair. My clothes feel like sandpaper on my skin. I cough and try to untuck my blouse from my skirt without him noticing. “It’s going . . . okay, I guess. There’ve been some positive developments, so I’m cautiously optimistic. For a while there I thought I’d have to give up.”

  He looks genuinely surprised. “No way. Not you.”

  I shrug. “It’s a numbers game, and we both know they’re not in my favor.”

  He points to the last slider on the plate, raising his eyebrows, and when I shake my head he grabs it.

  “Don’t give up. I’m rooting for you,” he says, talking around his mouthful.

  “Since when?”

  He swallows, washing it down with another swig of beer. “I never said I thought the bill was a bad idea.”

  “That’s exactly what you said!”

  “That is not what I said. I said you were barking up the wrong tree with Hammond. I never said anything about my personal feelings on it. As a matter of fact, I believe I tried to suggest some alternative strategies, but you shut me down.”

  “Are you saying you’d vote for it if you could?” The thought strangely warms me.

  “Honestly? No. The sentiment behind the bill is good, but there are other ways I’d go about what you’re trying to accomplish.” When he sees my face fall, he quickly adds, “But I love an underdog story.”

  “Why couldn’t you have just said that when we first met?”

  “Would things be different?” His eyes fix on me with interest. This intense stare of his is unnerving.

  “I don’t know. I guess we could have been friends,” I say lamely.

  “And here I thought we were friends now,” he says, not breaking my gaze. “Aren’t we?”

  There’s a loaded silence as we consider each other, but I’m saved from answering by Marcus, who turns to us from the next table.

  “What are you kids getting into over here?” he singsongs suggestively, like he’s caught us in flagrante delicto. I rip my eyes away from Ben’s and smile at Marcus unsteadily, and his eyes narrow a fraction.

  “If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, I need to run to the ladies’ room.”

  I escape to the restroom, taking some time to freshen up and plot my exit. Ben’s had me off-balance all night, and I need to get out of here before it gets any worse. Besides, I’m tired and beyond ready to whip off this bra. The call of comfy pants is strong.

  When I get back to the table, everyone’s engrossed in a conversation with Luke about a case he’s working on. He’s consulting for one of the law firms involved in the civil rights versus religious liberties case that’s made it all the way to the Supreme Court.

  “No one really knows what’s going to happen,” Luke is saying. “It could go either way.”

  “I wonder what kind of repercussions it will have for small businesses,” Ben says.

  “Well, we all know which side you’re on.” It comes out a little sharper than I intended.

  Ben gives me a measured look. “And how would you know that, exactly?”

  A bunch of eyes land on me. Maybe that second glass of wine wasn’t the best idea.

  “Because we all know who the Republicans support in this case.”

  “That doesn’t mean I do.”

  “Sure it does. By the transitive property.”

  He looks at me like I’m speaking Swahili. “I’m sorry, by the transitive property?”

  “Yes. Your party supports a certain side, and you’re a member of that party; therefore by the transitive property, you also support it.”

  “That is definitely not how the transitive property works.”

  “Yes, it is. If a equals b and b equals c, then a equals c. You’re not the only one who knows math, Einstein.”

  His face has gone red. “The transitive property of equality applies to number sentences, not complex social issues. This is real life, not ninth-grade algebra.”

  “Thank you so much for mansplaining that to me, Ben,” I fire back.

  “Well, that escalated quickly,” Marcus says.

  I’m warming up to this debate now. “The transitive concept applies to plenty of other things besides numbers. Haven’t you ever heard of the transitive property of hooking up?”

  “I have,” Marcus pipes up helpfully.

  “Shut up, Marcus,” Ben barks.

  “If I hook up with Tessa and Tessa hooks up with Luke, then by extension, I’ve hooked up with Luke.”

  Ben slow blinks. “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear anything after you ho
oking up with Tessa.”

  “Me either,” says Luke.

  “Me three,” says Marcus, not to be outdone.

  “Argh, forget it. You can’t even follow the most basic logic.”

  “Logic? I’m not sure what I just heard, but it definitely wasn’t logical.” Ben’s huffing all over the place.

  “Don’t try to Jedi mind trick me with your math voodoo. I know what I’m talking about.” I have no idea what I’m talking about, actually, but triggering him like this is delightful.

  “You are completely wrong about this, but that’s not even the point.”

  “Then what is the point? I hardly even remember what this argument is about now.”

  “Me either,” adds Marcus. “But I am so here for it.”

  “The point,” Ben says through gritted teeth, “is that I’m actually open-minded while you only pretend to be.”

  “What?!”

  “You heard me. I make up my own mind about what I believe while you just spout the party line.”

  This again? “You’re going to sit there and tell me with a straight face that you’re more open-minded than I am? Seriously?”

  “Yes, seriously. If people don’t fit into your little box, then they’re out. Just a piece of advice, Kate: You shouldn’t write people off just because they don’t think the same way you do. It’s a bad look.”

  “I don’t write people off. And I don’t need your advice.” I stand and grab for my purse, but he gets to it first and holds it out of reach.

  “Oh, you don’t? Because I’m pretty sure you wrote me off the second you met me—maybe even before—and I’ve watched you do it with plenty of others. Not five minutes ago you told Marcus you’d never date a Republican. How open-minded is that?”

  Marcus raises his palms and slowly slides his chair away.

  “Knowing who I do and do not want to date doesn’t make me closed-minded. It makes me smart.”

  I make another grab for my purse, but it’s futile. He’s like a parent holding his child’s favorite toy out of reach. I have about a quarter of his wingspan.

  He tilts his head. “You’re so sure you’re more open-minded than I am, prove it.”

  “How exactly would I prove something like that?”