30 First Dates (29 page)

 "Umm…." He paused, and the pause went on long enough for her to feel sure she'd lost her easy out. "I…guess I can, yeah. Yeah. I can."

Relieved, she laughed. "You sure about that?"

"Yeah," he said. "Let me just talk to Cat, and…yeah. I'll be there in like, half an hour. That okay?"

So he had to clear his appointments through Catherine now? Erin tried to shake off the unfair jealousy that comment inspired. Now more than ever, she had no claims over Ben. "Yes, that's okay," she said, careful to keep her voice neutral.

"Well, okay, then," he said. "Okay. See you in a bit."

*  *  *

Two hours later, Erin nestled deeper into Ben's side, struggling to keep her eyes open. They'd put on
Dances With Wolves
, and fascinating as Kevin Costner was in his rugged western getup, the movie just wasn't her cup of tea.

Ben nudged her under her chin. "Wake up, E. You've gotta actually watch the movie for it to count." She glanced up, smiling sleepily, and found him looking down at her, his face inches from hers. She pulled back a little quicker than the moment called for and then instantly felt bad.

"Okay, okay. I'm awake," she said, making light of her flub. "Want another beer?" She leaned over to eye his bottle of Southern Pecan.

"Nah, I'm good," he said, pulling her back beside him. "Sleep if you want," he added. "I'll tell you what happens."

She tried to view the move not in light of his pronouncement two weeks earlier, but as she might have before that happened—as something Ben, her friend, would naturally do. She wriggled a little to get comfortable again and resumed her former position snuggled up against him.

If he was okay with this, considering what he'd come here and said to her tonight, she was okay with it, too.

He'd moved in with Catherine. Erin was floored when he told her—not necessarily that he'd done it, but that he'd done it so fast. She tried to avoid pondering her own role in that decision, but it was hard not to when she considered the timing of his move. He was keeping his lease on his apartment and still had most of his furniture there—largely because Catherine had an already-furnished house on the outskirts of University Park and didn't have much room for his stuff—but he'd moved his clothes and most of his other belongings in and was living there full-time.

Erin tried to picture him sharing Catherine's "master suite." She envisioned a stuffy queen-size sleigh bed and wondered which side Catherine deigned to be his.
As if. You don't even know this woman.
If Ben wanted her, Catherine had to be a decent person, if a little uptight-seeming for Erin's tastes.

Fully awake now, her mind shifted from Ben and Catherine to Devon, whom she'd called back just before Ben arrived. She apologized profusely and told him when she didn't reach him, she made other plans. It was a lame excuse, but it was also true.

If he was jealous, or pissed, or otherwise offended, she couldn't tell. But then, he did have Ethan with him. Erin could hear his little voice in the background of the call, relieved it kept Devon from bringing up the real rub of her reneged invitation.

Oh, in all the ways to use an eight-year-old, she thought, that had to be about the lowest one. Just thinking about it, her cheeks reddened with shame, and she glanced up at Ben, who was intent on the movie.

What had she been thinking, calling Devon up like that? Sure, her one night in with him had been good—
very
good—but it had almost had serious consequences, too. She squirmed, wondering what she'd be doing right now if this night had gone differently. She shivered, and when she glanced up at Ben again, he was looking down at her thoughtfully.

"What?" they both asked at the same time. Erin laughed awkwardly.

"Nothing," she said, and looked back at the TV screen.

He shrugged, and neither of them said anything for a long moment. Suddenly Erin felt, really felt, the intimacy of their position. She'd sat like this with him at least a dozen times, on a dozen different nights, and she'd never once felt self-conscious—or felt anything outside friendship stirring in the air around them. But what had
he
felt, she wondered? If he really thought about her the way he'd said in the park, how differently did he view their friendship?

She moved away from him and stood up, stretching out of her sleepy, curled up position before turning and heading toward the kitchen. Confused, he asked, "Do you want me to pause the movie?" His hand reached for the remote on the coffee table.

"No, I'll be right back," she said. "Just getting a drink."

Truth was, she had to get out of there for a minute, breathe her own air. She hadn't thought of Ben as anything but a friend
before
he'd said he was in love with her—at least, she hadn't thought it often—but now she couldn't stop thinking about their conversation in the park. He'd told her earlier in the night that he hadn't meant it, that he'd only said what he had because of what
she'd
told him, that he hated to think of her pregnant and alone.

She didn't believe him.

She waited longer than a minute, fishing in the pantry for something to eat—she never had ordered food like she planned. When she returned to the living room she was juggling a jar of peanut butter and a box of Ritz crackers along with a newly opened beer.

"Dinner of champions," she said, setting it all on the coffee table.

"Haven't you eaten?" Ben asked. He did pause the movie, and she smiled at the concerned look on his face.

"Nah, but it's all right," she said. "I had a late lunch." She perched at the opposite end of the sofa from where she'd been sitting before and popped open a sleeve of crackers. She felt Ben watching her as he sat back and pushed play.

She munched for a while and then licked the remaining peanut butter off the knife before jumping up to take the remains to the kitchen. When she got back, Ben had paused the movie again.

"Are you okay?" he asked as she curled up back in her own corner.

"I'm fine," she answered in a bright voice that was only somewhat disingenuous. "Why do you ask?"

"You just don't seem like yourself tonight."

Erin leaned forward and picked up her beer, and when she settled back into the sofa cushions he reached out and beckoned for her to move closer.

"Come back," he said in a soft voice. "I promise I won't bite."

She chewed her lip and stayed where she was.

"I knew it," he said, shaking his head. "I've ruined everything, haven't I?"

The corners of Erin's mouth turned down, and she did scoot toward him. "No, Ben. No. You haven't ruined anything." She wanted so badly to set things right between them. She certainly didn't want to be the one to perpetuate this newfound distance that had sprung up over the past week.

She didn't cuddle back into his side, though, instead maintaining just enough space between them on the sofa that they weren't touching. She wasn't sure why, except that she
wanted
to be next to him—wanted to be the only one
he
wanted to snuggle up with. Again, she marveled at this jealousy she felt for Cat, when the last thing she should do was begrudge Ben a girlfriend.

But why
was
he here, trying to snuggle up with her, when his live-in girlfriend was presumably at home without him?

"Why did Cat let you come here tonight?" she asked suddenly.

Ben raised his eyebrows. "What do you mean?"

"If you two are serious, which you obviously are, why did she let you come over here to hang out with me, a woman she barely knows but who's known
you
for most of your life?"

He looked decidedly uncomfortable. "She knows we're just friends."

Erin furrowed her brow and studied him for a few seconds. "She doesn't know you're here, does she?"

He squirmed deeper into the corner of the sofa, like he was trying to make himself smaller. Finally, he coughed lightly and said, "No. She thinks I'm watching the game with Nate." He watched the play of emotions over Erin's face and then leaned toward her, his expression pleading. "I don't want things to be weird between us, Erin. I don't want to lose this." He gestured between the two of them and her TV. "I don't want things to change."

Cautiously, she leaned into him again, and he raised his arm to drape it across her shoulders. She didn't say anything else, lost in a tangle of thoughts. He restarted the movie, and after several minutes his hand found its way to her arm and his cool fingers traced slowly up and down her bare bicep.

Her skin tingled where his fingers touched it, and she closed her eyes tightly. Inexplicably, she felt tied up inside, emotions she didn't understand welling up until she felt she couldn't hold them in.

She looked up at him, suddenly and even more inexplicably thinking she might cry. His expression was sad, frustrated, helpless—exactly how she felt.

In her defense, she didn't see it coming. But afterward she couldn't have answered whose lips found whose first. Within seconds she'd moved from the sofa to his lap. And then she was straddling him, her fingers coiled in his hair, his breath hot on her face and neck.
My Ben
, she kept thinking, over and over.
My Ben.

She felt like a different person—no, more like she was having an out-of-body experience, as his fingers moved beneath her clothes and made contact with her overheated skin. Her shirt was over her head, on the table, almost toppling his empty beer bottle. His shirt was on the floor, his mouth finding one of her nipples, slowly, and then the other. She felt Ben,
Ben, her Ben
hard against her, and she struggled with the zipper on his jeans. He lifted her in his arms and carried her into her room.

She remembered what she'd told her doctor earlier that day—
"I'll take my chances"
—and was thankful when Ben asked if she had a condom. Thankful that she did.

And then
her
Ben, who wasn't hers, was wrapped around her, and inside her, and she suddenly was overtaken by the crippling guilt of what she'd done.

Well, This Is Awkward

Erin woke when she felt the bed move, and for a couple of seconds she lay there in confusion, realizing the movement hadn't come from her. Then she remembered, and almost gasped out loud. She opened her eyes. Light was streaming through her bedroom window, and it took her another second to make the connection that Ben had been here all night and to realize the implications that had for him.

She turned onto her side, and he was facing her, his eyes open.

"Hey," he said, his tone sheepish.

She couldn't help but smile at his puppy dog expression. "Hey." Her voice was as soft as his, tentative. What the hell to say?

"What time is it?" she asked, trying to gauge the angle of the light coming through the blinds. She heard noises outside her room, which meant Sherri was still home. Today was Thursday. If she hadn't left for work yet, it must be pretty early.

"It's 6:50," Ben said as she stretched up to try to see her clock. Realizing she was naked, she held the sheet close to her body as she laid her head back on her pillow. Then she realized how pointless an effort it was. She blushed as she recalled specific moments from the night before.

"What time do you have to be at work?" she asked, her voice rough from having slept so hard and so little. She hadn't looked at the clock…after…but she knew they'd been up late. He'd seemed to feel the same way she did—unsure what the next day would bring or if they'd ever have this chance again. After their first frenzied time, they'd done it again, slower. And maybe again. Honestly, she'd lost count. Erin's breath quickened, and she felt light-headed and sick with guilt.

"I usually get there about 8:30," he said. "Nate gets in around the same time…I'd better call him. He's going to have to be my alibi."

Erin closed her eyes. "I'm sorry," she said in a whisper.

He laughed, causing her eyes to pop back open in surprise. He was looking at her with a tender expression. "Don't be," he said. "I'm not."

"Ben, I—" He stopped her by moving one hand from under the covers and putting a finger to her lips. His hand grazed her bare stomach on the way up, causing a shiver to run through her entire body.

"I know," he said. "Shhh."

He gazed at her in silence for a long moment and then rolled away from her and off the bed. She tried not to stare as he walked around the bed and into the bathroom. This was so beyond weird.

While he was in the shower, she took the opportunity to slide out of bed, pull on her short white terry robe, and brush her teeth. Then she left the room to give him some privacy, popping back in to lay the T-shirt he'd been wearing the night before on top of her bed beside his jeans.

Sherri accosted her in the kitchen. "Who the hell were you with last night?" she demanded in a loud whisper as the sound of the shower in Erin's bathroom cut off. She was already dressed for work.

Erin pursed her lips and shook her head.

"Is it Devon? It's Devon, right?" Her eyes were bright. Sherri was Devon's biggest cheerleader. She'd rooted for him over Paul all along.

Erin bit her lower lip and moved around Sherri to pour herself a bowl of cereal.

Sherri gaped at her. "You're not going to tell me?" Her eyes widened. "Ohmigod. It's
not
Devon. You
dog
. I can't believe this!" She looked Erin up and down. "Who are you, and what have you done with my roommate?"

Erin still didn't say anything. She decided to eat her breakfast in her room. As she walked out the door, Sherri called after her, "He's got to leave sometime. I can just stay here till I see for myself."

Erin shrugged, knowing she wouldn't make good on that threat, but worried Ben was going to beat her out the door anyway. Not that it mattered. She'd tell Sherri soon, just not now. She had to wrap her own head around it first.

She went back into her room and shut the door.