Dirty Little Lies (Dirty Little #2) (6 page)

After he takes a sip of water, Ben says, “You’re in a much better mood than you were the last time I saw you.”
 

I know I promised myself I’d keep things light with him, and that includes steering clear of these emotional minefields that the two of us always seem to have difficulty navigating, but I can’t help myself today. Not after learning about what he did.
 

“I am in a good mood,” I admit.
 

“I’m glad,” he replies. “It suits you.”
 

“Thank you.” I do my best to fight the blush that I can feel rushing to my cheeks.
 

“Is it okay if I ask what got you in this mood?”
 

I know he’s doing a little digging here, hoping he’ll get a personal piece of information along with my actual answer.
 

“I just had a meeting with Mitzi Vandergraff.”
 

He looks puzzled. “I don’t think I’ve ever met a person who was even remotely happy after spending time with that woman.”
 

I let out a loud, unexpected laugh.
 

Ben’s eyes widen, but he laughs along with me, even though he’s obviously confused by my outburst.
 

“I haven’t heard you laugh in a long time,” he says with a gentle smile.
 

There’s a good reason for that; I haven’t felt like laughing around him in years. But now is not the time for such admissions. That would only hurt him, and hurting him is the very last thing I want to do right now.
 

“It’s nice,” Ben adds, before I have a chance to reply.
 

“It’s because of you.”
 

His eyes are even wider than they were just a second before. “What? Why?”
 

Cat’s out of the bag at this point, no use in trying to walk around it. I reach down into my purse, pull out the piece of paper I was looking at right before he showed up, and slide it across the table.
 

“Ben.” His name comes out much more tenderly than I meant it to.
 

When he realizes what I’m showing him, he breathes a soft, “Oh.”
 

“Why did you do this?” I’m careful to keep my voice soft, because I don’t want him to think that I’m accusing him of anything. I really just want to know why, what the angle is, if there is one. “Was it some kind of grand gesture, or were you trying to-”

“No,” he says vehemently. “It wasn’t a grand gesture. Well, it was a gesture, just not a grand one. I know how much that building means to you, Marisa. I would’ve done this regardless of whether you ever spoke to me again or not. Sorry I was late with it.” He clears his throat, and reaches up to adjust his tie. “I was…distracted before I got to go inside.”
 

I can’t help but smile at the way he explains his tardiness, but I’m still curious. “Why, then?”
 

He shrugs. “We went on our first date there. We made memories there. That place is special to me too, Marisa. I don’t like seeing it falling apart.”
 

Not really sure how to respond to that, I fiddle with the napkin that’s splayed out across my lap. “I didn’t think…”
“You didn’t think what?”
 

“I didn’t know that place meant anything to you. That those memories were special for you.”
 

Ben looks down, and turns his glass of water between his index finger and thumb. “Yeah, I…I can see why you might believe that.”
 

Even though I know I shouldn’t ask this, I do it anyway. “Why is it different now?”
 

I wasn’t ready to hear the answer to this question the other day, but all the fear that I’ve been feeling about finding out what Ben is playing at has morphed into an irritating curiosity. I have to know what’s going on, what the end game is here.
 

“Why is what different now?”
 

“Why are those memories special to you now? Why is the Murphy Building special to you now?” What I leave unspoken is the question that I want to ask the most: why am
I
special to him now? Instead, I say, “None of it seemed to matter to you much when it should have.”
 

He looks down, and takes a deep breath. “I deserve that.”
 

Yes, he does.
 

“I was trying to tell you before, Marisa. I needed my head to catch up with my heart. I was stupid back then. I wasn’t ready for you when I had you, and it’s one of the biggest regrets of my life.”
 

They’re the words that younger me always longed to hear, and they’re the words that older me just cannot afford to believe. Believing them means that I’m ready to risk my heart with this man again, and I cannot. Still, the sick, sadistic part of me has to ask.
 

“And you are now? Ready for me, I mean.”

He swallows so hard that I can actually see it. “Yes.” His voice is rough, and god help me...he looks sincere. “But I know you aren’t ready to believe me.”
 

He’s right. I’m not even close to allowing myself to believe him one more time, when all my past attempts have only ended with my own heartbreak. But I’m not rigid enough not to acknowledge that he does seem to have changed. The Ben I knew all those years ago was all about what
he
wanted, when
he
wanted it
.
He never had enough patience to wait for anything, to play the long game. So, in that respect, I don’t even recognize the man sitting in front of me.
 

The foolish, reckless, easily charmed part of me that loved him so desperately for so long wants to believe him. Wants to give him another shot just to feel the way I felt when I thought we were in love and together on the same page. Already he’s chipping away at the resolve it took me so long to build up.
 

The waiter arrives with our food right as I open my mouth to say...I’m not even sure what I was going to say to what he just told me. I figure that’s a sign - that maybe this is as good a time as any to take a step back and give myself some time to think about what’s happening, about what he just told me. Maybe Ben
has
changed. It certainly seems that way, and I think Ben has proven himself enough so far that it’s not just wishful thinking. He
is
different.
 

As we eat, we get caught up on each other’s lives.
 

Ben fills me in on how his parents are doing, about how his company’s softball team missed the playoffs by only a single point. He shows me pictures of the new apartment he just moved into, about trying his hand at some DIY projects during the remodel.
 

I ask him if he and Oliver still play frisbee in Central Park on Saturday mornings like a couple of frat boys. Back in college, I’d always wake up to an empty bed on the weekend mornings, and could usually find Ben there.
 

He laughs, tells me that they’ve graduated to talking about the stock market over breakfast after running a few miles on the treadmill. I tell him about Corinne (seems like Felicity has kept him updated on her life), about my site and branding efforts, about the book I’ve been reading before bed that I have difficulty putting down.
 

It feels comfortable, sharing things like this. Talking to him like we’re old friends. This is what I was worried about, why I tried to keep things physical between us. My relationship with Ben has always been dichotomous. Fiery and full of passion, but comfortable, like a warm sweater on a cold winter night.
 

It’s a dangerous combination.
 

“I’ll have to buy that book,” he says, finishing off the last bit of steak that was left on his plate.
 

“You should,” I reply with a smile. “It’s just your speed.”
 

“When they inevitably make a movie out of it, maybe we could go together,” he says tentatively. He’s testing the waters.
 

I grin. The prospect isn’t as unsavory as it would’ve been before. The more time I spend with him, the more time I want to spend with him. I want to know more about him, more about what makes him tick now that he’s older. It’s scary and exhilarating, like standing on a ledge that I’ve fallen off of so many times before, but knowing I have the strength to stay upright this time.
 

“Maybe we could.”
 

He grins, and that’s worth any of the lingering doubt or nervousness I feel at the answer.
 

“Not to push my luck here,” he says, leaning forward. My heart starts beating double time. “But Caleb’s become quite the cook lately, and he’s having a barbecue this weekend. Mia mentioned meeting you at the fundraiser, and she really liked you. She and Caleb both want you to come, and I’m extending the invitation.”
 

“Like a date?” I ask warily.
 

Ben shrugs. “That depends on you, Marisa. I want to date you, but I know you’re not ready to give me that chance. So, this could just be two friends going to dinner at another friend’s house, if that’s something you’re more comfortable with right now.”
 

“I think I’d like to go to dinner with a friend.” I catch the disappointment for a split second, and...god help me. “For now.”
 

He perks right up at that, his eyes so bright and earnest and unbelieving. “For now?”
 

I’m not going to commit to anything yet, but I find myself more willing today than I was yesterday. Not totally willing, but...able to be swayed, at least.
 

“For now.”
 

His responding smile is brighter than the sun.
 

Even though it’s not a scenario that my mind would’ve ever dreamed up, sitting around the table with Ben, Caleb, and Oliver makes me feel oddly nostalgic. The last time we were all together like this was my last year in college, and the cracks in my relationship with Ben were already too large to fill.
 

Caleb’s settling down, and Ben...well, it seems like maybe he’s on the verge of wanting to do that, too. Oliver’s the loner he’s always been. Mia is here with us, and so is Felicity. There’s an easiness and familiarity to our conversation, to just being together in the same place, that takes me by surprise. I can’t quite pinpoint why that is, though.
 

We’re at Caleb and Mia’s apartment, the remnants of some perfectly grilled steaks and veggies on our plates. Our bellies are full, and we’re laughing at a story Caleb is telling us about a trip he and Mia took to the farmer’s market this morning.
 

I’ve been here for hours, and it still floors me just how much five years has changed Caleb. I never could’ve imagined the guy I knew back in college living with someone like Mia, looking at her the way he does, talking about going to the farmer’s market like it’s one of his favorite things. It’s like one day we were all a bunch of college kids, and then I blinked and we were suddenly adults.
 

It makes me wonder if Ben really is serious about giving things another go. Trying to have an honest, adult relationship with me; one that’s not based on lies and full of infidelity.
 

Ben is sitting next to me, nursing a glass of wine. He’s wearing a dark-blue cotton shirt with the sleeves rolled up, giving me a nice view of his ridiculously muscular forearms. He’s relaxed, comfortable in a way that he hasn’t been when it’s just the two of us together. Maybe that has something to do with the conversation we had yesterday. All the stress of
wanting
is gone now that he’s finally put himself out there.
 

Ben’s arm brushes mine every time he takes a sip of his red, and it sends shivers down my spine. He’s not playing fair, even though I’m not sure that he’s actually playing this time around. Maybe he’s not trying to turn me on and is managing to do it anyway, just being himself. Of course, when I look at the muscles on his forearm tighten, all I can think of is the way they look when he’s holding himself above me in bed, his body pressed to mine, making me see stars.
 

More laughter pulls me out of my little fantasy, and I join in, not really sure what exactly is so funny. I missed whatever the punchline was, too busy fantasizing about Ben, which is just like old times.
 

Ben turns and gives me a curious look, like he recognizes that my laugh isn’t real, and he wants to make sure that everything is okay.
 

I just smile.
 

“Needless to say, we forgot the celery,” Mia says, giggling.
 

“Ugh, celery,” Ben and I say in unison. We both look at each other, a little startled, a little wistful. Our hatred of that foul vegetable was one of the first things we bonded over when we first met.
 

I grin as I say, “Ninety-five percent water.”
 

“Five percent evil,” Ben finishes.
 

This red-hot blush creeps up, probably working its way up from my frantically beating heart. Ben and I must be looking at each other like a couple of fools, because everyone at the table is watching us.