Crush: An Everyday Heroes Novel (The Everyday Heroes World)

by Kelsie Rae

  “Your handsome little man was a rock star,” I announce. “I think we have plenty to work with.”

  “That’s it?” Grant asks like he doesn’t believe me.

  “Yup. He was a champ.”

  “Well, it helps when he has an awesome photographer to work with,” Emerson teases. “Thanks for inviting us to participate. This has been great!”

  “I think so too. I’ll be sure to email you all the images of your little guy as a thank you for letting him model for me.”

  “You’re way too kind, but we can’t wait to see them.”

  “You and me both. Have a good one, guys!”

  “You too!”

  As they walk away, I change the backdrop from a warm brown to a dark red then scan the warehouse for my next baby model.

  My eyes pop when I recognize the rock star in black leather boots, and the cutest baby propped on her hip. “Dylan?”

  “Hey!” she greets me with a knowing grin. Her entire demeanor screams badass musician, and it’s almost enough for me to forgive her for her meddling with my love life. Or lack thereof.

  “You didn’t tell me Sadie was going to be one of the models,” I accuse.

  “There was a cancellation.” With a shrug, she strides closer, then lowers her voice and adds, “I wanted to check on you, so sue me. Besides, Dr. Bennett assumed you wouldn’t mind if I crashed your party.”

  Unable to hide my discomfort, I cringe. “You talked to Ben?”

  “Not much. I just said that Emerson and Grant were bragging that he asked them to bring their little boy in for the calendar, so I offered to bring Sadie as an alternate.”

  “So you meddled,” I surmise.

  She grins. “Damn right, I did. And I regret nothing. Do you know that he’s been staring at you the whole time?”

  My forehead wrinkles as I look around and see the warehouse practically empty––with one exception. “What’s he still doing here? I told him to leave.”

  “Well, obviously he didn’t listen because he’s been here as long as we have, and I got here at least thirty minutes ago. You should’ve seen the emotions flashing across his face, Marcy. I could’ve popped some popcorn and watched for hours. He might not acknowledge it yet. In fact, he might not even recognize it himself, but that guy wants you. Bad.”

  “Yeah, he wants me so bad that he called me by someone else’s name during sex. Good one, Dyl.” I don’t bother to hide my sarcasm; she can hear it loud and clear.

  Popping out her hip, Dylan purses her lips and challenges, “Has he tried to talk to you yet?”

  “You mean, about…our little incident?”

  “Yeah.”

  My throat turns to sandpaper, and I chance a quick glance at Ben before tearing it away from him. “He might’ve sent me a few messages.”

  “And?”

  “And I didn’t respond,” I grit out.

  Patting Sadie’s back, Dylan starts to sway from side to side. “I think you should hear what he has to say, but that’s just me. Now, let’s get this thing started, and I demand you make this lil’ girl look cuter than her cousin.”

  Laughing, I motion to the deep red backdrop that’ll be perfect for December’s picture.

  “Right this way.”

  Sadie is adorable, and it doesn’t take long before she gives me a heart-melting yawn that makes her face scrunch up and turn the same color as the backdrop. Without a doubt, it’ll steal the show away from her just-as-adorable cousin.

  Satisfied that I captured it perfectly, I tell Dylan, “I think we’re golden. Thanks for coming today.”

  “Anytime. Grady’s working, so it’s not like we had anything else to do, anyway. I’ll talk to you later, right?”

  I know what she’s saying. She expects an update as soon as I have one for her. My nose wrinkles like I’ve smelled a dirty diaper, but I give her a grudging nod. “Fine. See ya later.”

  “Bye.”

  Her black leather boots click-clack against the concrete flooring as she disappears with her munchkin in tow, leaving me alone with the man of the hour. My skin prickles with awareness, but I ignore it and march toward him.

  “How long have you been standing there?” I demand. My discomfort is making me particularly salty. Too bad I don’t really give a shit.

  Ben’s broad shoulders lift into a shrug. “A while.”

  I sigh. “I think the shoot went well, and we’ll have plenty to work with. Once I’m done editing, I’ll send over some options, and we can narrow it down.”

  “Can we talk for a second?” It’s the desperation in his voice that makes me pause, questioning whether Krista might not have been too far off the mark with her initial assessment.

  With my gaze glued to my feet, I drag the toe of my sneaker against the concrete floor and mutter, “I’m, uh, I’m not really sure what you want to talk about.”

  Please don’t mention your wife.

  “Maybe we could start with the fact that I’m an ass?” he offers, dryly.

  I laugh, peeking up at him. “And?”

  “And I’m so freaking sorry, Marce. After Kate died, I had sex with a lot of different women.” My eyes widen, but I try to smooth my features so that he can’t tell how much the thought of him sleeping with someone who isn’t me hurts.

  He sees it anyway and grimaces before pressing forward. “I never felt a fucking thing for any of them. When you and I….” His voice trails off as he squeezes the back of his neck. “What we shared scared the hell out of me because it wasn’t numbing like the rest of my previous…encounters. It felt like the times I made love to my wife, which is the only explanation I can think of for why I––”

  “Don’t say it,” I beg. My voice cracks with my plea.

  Giving me a single, deliberate nod, Ben tries again. “I like you, Marcy. I like you in more than a friends-with-benefits kind of way. I like you in a can’t eat, can’t sleep kind of way, and I’m so sorry I hurt you, but I’m really hoping you can give me another chance.”

  My ears are buzzing, and I’m convinced I’ve heard him wrong while unsure if I want to pursue his suggestion even if I did hear him correctly. Shifting my weight from one foot to the other, I cross my arms defensively, and ask, “A chance at what?”

  “A chance for me to prove that I can treat you the way you deserve. A chance to take you on a real date instead of hiding behind the sorry excuse that we’re just friends when we both know that wasn’t true. I was just too much of a coward to face my feelings and to admit that I feel something for you that I haven’t felt since I saw my wife in Algebra class my sophomore year of high school.”

  I jerk back and release the air I’d been holding hostage in my lungs. “Are you sure that’s a good idea, Ben?”

  “No.” He laughs, and his genuine response seems to lighten the weight around my shoulders, pulling a soft chuckle from deep inside of me. “But the thought of not seeing you every night after work hurts on a level I never could’ve anticipated. I’ve told you I’m broken, and I can’t guarantee that I won’t screw up in the future, but I want to try a real relationship with you. I need to, or else I know I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.”

  “I can’t live in her shadow,” I whisper, hating how vulnerable I sound along with the fact that I’ve had to say the same thing twice in one day. First to Krista. Now, him. “I’m sorry, Ben, but I’m not Kate.”

  “I know that, and despite my shitty Freudian slip, I don’t want you to be Kate, and I don’t want you to ever feel like I’m trying to use you to replace her. In all honesty, you’re nothing like her.” He laughs again, but it’s sweet and a little bashful too, playing my heartstrings like a damn concert violinist. “I like you for you, Marce. And I like who I am when I’m around you. Aren’t those the things a guy’s supposed to look for when considering a relationship with someone? It should be that simple, and I’m sick of my past making things complicated.”

  Inching closer, he brushes a few strands of hair behind my ea
r and is completely oblivious to the effect it has on me. “Would you please let me take you on another date? A real one without my past getting in the way and screwing everything up?”

  My eyes close for an instant as I savor his touch before being snapped back to reality. “I’ll have to think about it.”

  “I can be patient.” He drops his arm to his side. “You know how to reach me.”

  “Okay.”

  I rock back on my heels with the intention of packing up and leaving when he stops me. “And, Marcy?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I really am so sorry.”

  Swallowing past the lump in my throat, I murmur, “I believe you.”

  19

  Marcy

  It’s been a week. A really long week of editing with only the distraction of cute babies to take away the constant voice inside my head that whispers I should message Ben.

  Chewing on my thumbnail, I stare at my phone and let the minutes tick by as I debate if I’m strong enough to go down this road again. The sting from Ben’s little slip-up is still fresh. Too fresh.

  But I miss him.

  A lot.

  More than I’d like to admit, which is why my damn phone keeps taunting me anytime I have a free minute. Hell, it taunts me even when my mind is concentrating on something. It’s like a damn strobe light flashing through the everyday monotony that is my life, telling me to message Ben.

  And I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be able to ignore it.

  Digging my fingernails into my fist, I finally give in and open the B&B app before finding my message thread with Ben.

  Marcy123Marcy: Hi.

  There. I sent it.

  The phone lands with a soft thunk against my coffee table before I reach for the remote control to turn on a show because I’m in desperate need of a distraction. But as soon as my hand hovers over the remote, my phone lights up, vibrating against the hard surface with a loud buzz.

  DRBen918: Hey.

  That’s it?

  Before I can chuck my phone against the wall in frustration, it vibrates a second time.

  DRBen918: I tried to come up with something wittier than a simple hello, but then I was too anxious to hear from you, so I sent the first thing that popped into my head. What are you up to?

  His honesty makes me smile and slowly melts away a bit of my anxiety.

  Marcy123Marcy: Not much. Just finished a long day of editing, but I’m too tired to go out and too sick of a screen to surf Facebook or watch a show. What are you up to?

  DRBen918: I’d like to be on my way to pick up takeout and bring it to a girl I’ve been dying to see, but I don’t want to be too presumptuous.

  Marcy123Marcy: Is this your way of asking if you can come over?

  DRBen918: Would you say yes if it was?

  I catch myself grinning down at the phone in my hand before attempting to smooth out my features. Unfortunately, the damn thing feels like it’s permanently etched into my face as long as Ben keeps texting me.

  Marcy123Marcy: Maybe. Depends on what kind of takeout we’re talking about here.

  DRBen918: What kind do you want? I’m at your disposal.

  Marcy123Marcy: Would you judge me if I asked for some of Mama Bertha’s pancakes?

  I grimace as an image of Krista pops into my head. She’s petite. And dainty. And a size zero. Which means I can only assume Kate was the same way. Then there’s me. I was curvy before I was pregnant with a kid. Now, I feel like a freaking whale in a burlap sack anytime I try on clothes.

  Before I can backpedal and ask for a salad, Ben sends me another message.

  DRBen918: Haha. Be there in twenty.

  Screw it. I want pancakes.

  Marcy123Marcy: The clock’s ticking. Don’t keep me waiting, boy. ;)

  DRBen918: Wouldn’t dream of it.

  “You’re lucky you live down the street from Bertha’s,” Ben tells me as soon as I swing the door open. His hands are full of styrofoam containers, and he heads into the kitchen before setting them down on the table. “Come take a seat before they get soggy.”

  An open container is nudged toward me as soon as my butt hits the chair, followed by a little plastic cup of syrup and a set of plastic utensils wrapped in a white paper napkin.

  My mouth waters at the smell. “You are seriously my hero. Thank you.” Pouring a generous amount of syrup on top of my already buttered pancakes, I dig in and let out a moan. My eyes roll back in my head as the classic comfort food flavors explode across my tongue.

  “Don’t mention it,” he mutters while watching me carefully.

  “Did you get anything?” I ask through my mouthful of breakfast-y goodness.

  Blinking slowly as if some sort of spell has been cast on him, he clears his throat then opens a second container. This one holds an omelet smothered in cheese. “Yeah, I got the Denver omelet.”

  “Good choice,” I compliment with a teasing grin. “Not as good as the pancakes, but I guess I can let you off the hook.”

  Dropping his voice down an octave, he whispers, “Will you judge me if I tell you that I’ve never tried Bertha’s pancakes even though I’ve heard they’re famous?”

  I gasp. “You’ve never had the pancakes at Bertha’s diner?”

  “Nope. Don’t get me wrong, I like pancakes, but I probably haven’t had them in a decade or so. I’m usually more of a bacon and eggs kind of guy. And the only sweet breakfast I ever used to eat was….”

  I set my fork down, sensing his discomfort, though I have no idea what brought it on. “Was what?”

  “Nothing.” He pushes a bite of egg and cheese around in the container but doesn’t bother to eat it.

  “You can tell me,” I prod gently.

  Shrugging one shoulder, he picks up a heaping forkful of omelet before twisting the handle to let the bite fall back onto his plate. “It’s not a big deal.”

  “It feels like a big deal to you.”

  “Kate was more of a french toast kind of girl. Sometimes, I would steal a bite of hers here and there, but she didn’t order pancakes either so….”

  “So, you’ve never really tried them,” I finish for him.

  “I guess not.”

  Desperate to change the subject, I cut off a small bite, stab my fork through it, then offer it to Ben. “Well, I guess now’s your chance.”

  He eyes it warily. “Are you sure my first experience with Bertha’s pancakes should be takeout? While I’ve heard good things, I’m not sure that right now would be a good time to pop my Bertha’s pancake cherry. You don’t want to sour my experience, right?”

  “Bertha’s pancake cherry?” I snort. “Trust me. You’ll be surprised. Besides, you were the one who pointed out I only live like a block away from the place, remember? It’s still fresh and delectable. I promise.”

  He opens his mouth and takes the bite. Then his gaze narrows like a food critic as he chews the bite slowly, making sure to inspect every flavor before reaching his conclusion.

  “And?” I pester him.

  “And those are the best damn pancakes I’ve ever tasted,” he admits in a monotone voice.

  I laugh. “Is that right?”

  “Sure are. I don’t suppose you’d wanna trade, would you?”

  Holding onto my basketball of a stomach, I try to stifle my amusement, but it’s no use.

  “No deal,” I cackle.

  “Come on. What’s a guy gotta do around here to sneak another taste?”

  My curiosity piques, but it’s quickly followed by my reservations. There are so many ways I could take his comment, especially when his eyes sneak a quick peek at my mouth before returning to my cautious gaze. But then I hear his husky voice murmuring Kate’s name instead of mine, and my appetite vanishes.

  “Where’d you go?” I can see the concern on his face, no matter how hard he tries to conceal it.

  “Nowhere,” I lie.

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “And I don’t know what I can say
to change your mind, so maybe we should just change the subject.”

  Shaking his head, he rounds the table then drops to his knees in front of me. His calloused fingers tickle against my skin as he cups my face with his strong hands.

  “Marcy.”

  “What, Ben?” I breathe, trying to sound indifferent even though I know he can see right through my defenses.

  His sigh is heavy. “I don’t expect you to trust me again easily. And I sure as hell didn’t come over here for sex, so I don’t want you to think that I’m telling you this because I’m hoping to get into your pants. Even though I would definitely love it if you’d let me touch you again.” If I weren’t close to breaking right now, I’d find his rambling endearing.

  “But I need you to know that I haven’t stopped thinking about you since I found you sitting in my exam room. You,” he emphasizes while brushing his thumb against my cheek. “Not Kate. You. You’ve been able to drown out my pain––and my haunting memories––better than anything or anyone else since Kate died. When I called you her name, it wasn’t because I was thinking of her. It was because I wasn’t, and some shitty subconscious defense mechanism stepped in to remind me of the pain I’d been drowning in. To remind me of the loss of my wife. Because when I’m around you, all of that shit starts to fade away. And that scares me. I am begging you to please stop comparing yourself to her. Because you’re not her. And that’s okay. I want you for you, Marcy Holden. For your quirks, and your giving nature, and your talents. And even your shitty cooking. Just…you. In all of your genuine glory.”