“You’ll never guess what happened.” Anne linked her arm with mine, towing me toward the crowded dinner table.
Toward my doom.
A crowd of about seven sat around it with drinks in hand, laughing and chatting. I think it was The National playing quietly on the sound system. Candles flickered and small twinkling party lights hung overhead. My mouth watered despite my queasy stomach, what with all the delicious foodie scents filling the air. Wow, Anne and Mal had really gone all out for the occasion of their two-month wedding anniversary. Suddenly, my black tights and pale blue tunic (a loose-knit fabric which in no way hugged or hindered the waistline) seemed insufficient. Though it was hard to go for glamour with a plastic bag in your pocket just in case you needed to hurl.
“What happened?” I asked, dragging my feet ever so slightly.
She leaned in and whisper-hissed theatrically, “Ben brought a date.”
Everything stopped. And I do mean everything. My lungs, my feet … everything.
A flicker of a frown crossed Anne’s face. “Liz?”
I blinked, slowly coming back to life. “Yeah?”
“You okay?”
“Sure. So, um, Ben brought a date?”
“Can you believe it?”
“No.” I really couldn’t. My brain had stalled, same as everything else. There’d been no date in my plans for speaking with Ben tonight.
“I know. First time for everything I guess. Everyone’s slightly weirded out, though she seems nice enough.”
“But Ben doesn’t date,” I said, my voice sounding hollow somehow, as if it were an echo coming from far away. “He doesn’t even believe in relationships.”
Anne cocked her head, smiling ever so slightly. “Lizzy, you don’t still have a crush on him, do you?”
“No.” I barked out a laugh. As if. He’d disabused me of such idiotic notions, in Vegas. “So much no my cup is overflowing and the no is spilling onto the floor.”
“Good.” She sighed happily.
“Lizzy!” A booming loud voice rang out.
“Hey, Mal.”
“Say hello to your Aunt Elizabeth, son.” My new brother-in-law thrust a black-and-white puppy straight at me. A wet little tongue swiped my lips, and warm panting puppy breath, ripe with the scent of dog biscuits, filled my face. Not good.
“Whoa.” I leaned way the hell back, trying to breathe through the urge to yet again heave. Pregnancy was the best. “Hi, Killer.”
“Give him to me,” said Anne. “Not everybody wants to French kiss the dog, Mal.”
The blond, heavily tattooed man grinned, handing the fur baby over. “But he’s a great kisser. I taught him myself.”
“Unfortunately, that’s true.” Anne tucked the pup under an arm, giving him a scratch on the head. “How are you? You said you’d been feeling sick, the other day on the phone.”
“All better,” I lied. Or partly lied. After all, I definitely wasn’t sick.
“Did you go to the doctor?”
“No need.”
“Why don’t I make an appointment tomorrow, just in case?”
“Not necessary.”
“But—”
“Anne, relax. I’m telling you I’m not sick.” I gave her my brightest smile. “I promise, I’m fine.”
“All right.” She placed the pup on the ground and pulled out a chair in the middle of the table. “I saved you a place next to me.”
“Thanks.”
And so it was (with me trying not to barf while wiping dog spit off my face) that I saw him again. Ben, sitting opposite, staring straight at me. Those dark eyes … I immediately looked down. He didn’t affect me. He didn’t. I just wasn’t ready to face up to this. Wherein this equaled him and me and that room and Vegas and the consequences that were currently growing in my belly.
I couldn’t do it, not yet.
“Hey, Liz,” he said, deep voice calm, casual.
“Hey.”
Yeah. I was so over him. The date thing had thrown me, but now I was back on track. I just had to compartmentalize any unhelpful lingering feelings, file them away for never.
I took a step closer, daring a peek only to find him watching me warily. He threw back some beer then set the bottle down, swiping his thumb across his mouth to catch a stray drop. In Vegas, he’d first tasted of beer, lust, and need. The most dizzying mix. He had beautiful lips, perfectly framed by his short beard. His hair had grown out of the shaved on the sides and longish on top cool hipster cut, and honestly, he looked kind of shaggy, wild.
And big, though he always looked big.
A silver ring pierced one side of his nose and he had on a green plaid shirt, top button open to showcase his thick neck and the edge of a black rose tattoo. Any money blue jeans and black boots were below. Apart from Vegas at the wedding, and then later that night in my room, I’d never seen him out of jeans. Let me assure you, there’s nothing bad about the man naked. Everything was as it should be and then some. In fact, he’d looked a lot like a dream come true.
My dream.
I swallowed hard, ignoring my perky nipples while firmly pushing the memory back down where it belonged. Buried among the Hannah Montana song lyrics, Vampire Diary character histories, and other useless and potentially damaging information collected over the years. None of it mattered anymore.
The room had gone quiet. How awkward.
Ben tugged at the collar of his shirt, shifting in his seat.
Why the hell was he staring at me? Maybe because I was still staring at him. Shit. My knees gave out and I collapsed into the chair with an ever so dainty thud. I kept my eyes cast down because down was safe. So long as I didn’t look at him or this date of his, I’d be fine and dandy. Dinner couldn’t last for more than three, four hours max. No worries.
I half raised a hand in greeting. “Hi, everyone.”
Hey’s and hi’s and variations of both floated back.
“How have you been, Liz?” asked Ev, from further down the table. She was seated beside her husband, David Ferris, Stage Dive’s lead guitarist and songwriter.
“Great.” Crap. “You?”
“Good.”
I sucked in a deep breath and smiled. “Excellent.”
“You been busy with school?” She pulled out a hair tie and bundled her blond hair up into a rough ponytail. God bless the girl. At least it wasn’t just me keeping it casual. “We haven’t seen you since Christmas.”