Outside the Lines (Rebel Hearts #1) (9 page)

“I haven’t played that one yet,” Ben says. “But I want to. I haven’t—is that a Nintendo 64?” His eyes go wide.
 

“Yeah, saved from my childhood.”
 

“I haven’t played one of those in years. It still works?”

I nod. “It does. I have all the controllers and games from it too. Mario Kart on the 64 is still my favorite.”
 

Ben looks back at me with a smile. “Can we play?” He blinks quickly, as if he’s embarrassed for asking. “I mean, if you have to go to bed, I understand. Sometimes I forget most people get up early and have set hours since I don’t.”
 

My heart is about ready to jump out of my chest. “Yeah, we can play a few rounds.” I know I’m tired and need sleep, but a
few
rounds won’t hurt anything. “And I’m jealous of your lack of hours.”
 

He takes off his shoes. “It’s nice.”
 

I get out the game and two controllers, handing one to Ben. I let him chose his character first, watching intently like it’s an online personality test. It won’t tell you anything worthwhile, but it’s so important nonetheless.
 

He chooses Mario.
 

Safe move.
 
You can’t go wrong with Mario. I’m Toad, and we start the first Grand Prix race.
 

I win. Ben gets third. Not too shabby for not having played in years. A small part of me wonders if I should let him win the next race, since he’s in second the entire third lap. I can’t do it. I’m too competitive when it comes to games. Is that a flaw?
 

We end up placing first and second when races are over. The little celebration comes up on the screen. I watch it like I care, a little nervous to look at Ben. I want him to stay and play another round, but at the same time I’m so fucking tired from staying up so late.
 

“Well,” he says and set the controller on the coffee table. “I should get some sleep. I’m a guest speaker at an art class early tomorrow.” He stands and offers me a hand to help me off the couch. “And by early, I mean ten AM.”
 

“That’s almost my lunch break,” I say with a smile. Our eyes meet and he parts his lips. My heart skips a beat like a school girl eyeballing her crush across the cafeteria. “What kind of class are you talking to?”

He shrugs. “I’m not too sure. I’ll find out when I get there.”
 

I shake my head. “Thanks again for bringing me my wallet.”

“I’m glad I did,” he says and turns. We walk to the door together. “Good night, Felicity. See you Friday.”
 

“Yeah, Friday,” I say. He doesn’t lean in for a kiss or even give me a hug. He flashes that grin, and now I know he’s completely aware how charming he looks when he does it. I close the door and practically skip into my room for bed.

*

“You have got to knock it out of the park Friday night,” Cameron says to me, holding a spoonful of yogurt in the air. It’s Thursday morning, and I’m sitting in his office. “I’m talking tits out, dark eyeliner, and red lipstick. Stuff straight guys like.”
 

“Red lipstick doesn’t look good on me,” I say, stomach churning.
 

“It’s supposed to make you look more sexual, like remind men of how they want to put it in you or some nasty shit like that.”
 

My eyebrows push together. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Cameron shrugs. “I saw an article on Facebook about it, and that’s the real reason behind lipstick. To remind men that women have holes to stick it in.” He holds his hand up. “Their words, not mine. But isn’t the point of makeup to make you look more sexually attractive?”
 

“Maybe. Or maybe it’s just to make you feel pretty?”

“You are too innocent sometimes with your viewpoints,” he sighs. “But seriously. You gotta take it up a notch.”
 

“You really think the gaming friend-zoned him?” The knot in my stomach tightens.
 

Cameron shrugs. “I can’t say. Adam thinks so.”
 

“Why can’t I be friends with a guy
and
go out with him and have sexual feelings or whatever? Why does it have to be one or the other?”

“You do become friends with people, but that’s later.”
 

I nod. My dream guy is the hot and sexy knight in shining armor, but he’s also my friend. He’s someone I can have steamy sex with, and can lounge around the couch in my PJs playing video games with. I want the best of both worlds.
 

Am I wrong to think that’s possible?
 

The strong, brooding, alpha-male is fine in fiction, but in real life, all that pushing up against a wall and fucking does not a real relationship make. I’ll have days when I’m not in the mood. I’ll have days when I’m sick and not attractive. I want the orgasm-so-hard-I-can’t-walk sex
and
love and friendship.
 

“And you think I can fix this?”

“Oh of course.” He takes another bite of yogurt. “You just have to show him you’re more than one of the guys.”
 

I nod, thinking I should probably listen to Cameron. He’s always given me great advice before, yet there is a knot in my stomach—a separate knot from the friend-zone knot—that says I should just be me. I want a relationship, not a one-night stand. Yeah, sex with a hot guy would be great too, but I can’t deny the deep-down longing for something long term.
 

Someday, right?
 

Someday I’ll figure this crap we call life out and learn how to fully ignore society’s definition of what a woman should be, from the way we look and dress to the way we’re supposed to clean the house, raise the kids, and have dinner ready and waiting on the table.
 

Someday.
 

CHAPTER SEVEN

I stand on the closed toilet, precariously balancing on tall heels, and snap a picture of myself in the mirror. I carefully jump down, wishing I had another way to get a full body shot of my reflection in the mirror in my bathroom, and send the picture to Erin.
 

I rush into my closet and change my top, slipping a silky black tank top on, and quickly shimmy into a pair of dark jeans. I ditch the heels, opting to holding them in my other hand instead of risking falling and breaking my neck before the date with Ben. I send her another picture, then move to the sink to take the hot rollers out of my hair.
 

A few seconds later she replies, saying both her and her hubby like outfit number two better. Good. I won’t have to change again. With much care, I loosen the curls and create a new hole in the Ozone with hairspray, touch up my makeup, and accessorize with a red-jeweled necklace, matching earrings, and a black bracelet. I sit on the closed toilet to put on a pair of tall black heels, tastefully spotted with gold and scarlet gems. Yes, they are Gryffindor shoes, and yes, I fucking love them.
 

I put them on, spray myself with perfume, and look in the mirror.
 

“You are awesome,” I tell myself. “The shit, actually. If Ben doesn’t like you, then fuck him. His loss.” I nod at myself, trying to believe the pep talk. Can I have a glass of wine? Just half a glass?
 

I’m so nervous.
 

I tighten my bra straps and reach inside my shirt to give my breasts a boost. I have on a push-up bra and might have done a super-light version of Cosplay cleavage, which entails using contouring to make my breasts look fuller and rounder … not that they need much help though.
 

I leave the bathroom and straighten my bedspread. Ya know, just in case we come back here and things get physical. When was the last time I washed my sheets? Last week? Two weeks ago? Maybe longer since I can’t even fucking remember.
 

I cringe and go crazy with the Febreze. I shove my dirty laundry into the closet, force the doors closed, and go into the living room. I have about ten minutes before Ben gets here to pick me up. We’re going to Osteria Rossa, a fancy Italian restaurant in Grand Rapids. I’d yet to go there, and am really looking forward to yummy food.
 

I sit on the couch, getting the evil eye from Ser Pounce because I pushed him off my lap, not wanting to get covered in cat fur, and flip through channels. I end up watching the tail end of an episode of
Naked and Afraid
until the doorbell rings. I shoot up, count to ten, run my hands over my top, and go to the door.
 

“Wow,” Ben blurts when I open the door. His dark eyes widen and he slowly looks me up and down, clearly not caring that he’s obviously checking me out. “You look amazing.”
 

“Thanks,” I say, trying to brush off the compliment and not smile like a goon. “You don’t look so bad yourself.” He’s wearing dark pants and a black button-up shirt. He’s effortlessly put together. I take a step to the side. “Come in.”
 

We move into the living room and he turns, eyes fucking me all over again. He closes his eyes in a long blink and bites his bottom lip. The he shakes himself and smiles.
 

“Hungry?”
 

“I am,” I say. “You?”

“I’m always hungry.” He sees Ser Pounce and reaches out to pet him. The fat cat hisses and turns his nose.
 

“He’s an asshole, don’t take it personally,” I say. “I wanted a dog, but my old apartment didn’t allow dogs. I think Ser Pounce knows that he was my second choice and resents life because of it.”
 

Ben laughs, and I’m relieved. Not everyone understands my weird sense of serious-sounding sarcasm. “We should probably take off. Ready?”

“I am,” I repeat and grab my purse. Ben waits for me as I lock the front door, then opens the passenger side door of his Audi for me. I get in, breathing in the scent of new leather and paint. I turn and see a sheet draped over the backseat, protecting the leather from all the art supplies he has thrown in the back. Yes, definitely a chaotic mess creative type. We make small talk, mostly Ben telling me how Mindy still can’t figure out how to use the website.
 

He opens the door and offers me his hand when we get to the restaurant. I carefully step onto the curb, clutching my purse in the other hand. Ben locks the car and pockets his keys.
 

And he doesn’t let go of my hand.
 

We have reservations, and only wait a couple of minutes before the hostess leads us to a table in the back of the restaurant. The lighting is low and it’s supa fancy. I feel nervous again.

You’re the shit
.

Yes. I am. We sit opposite each other. Ben orders a bottle of red wine—thank God—and the waiter brings us bread to nibble on as we look over the menu.
 

“You said you haven’t lived here long,” Ben starts as he takes a drink of wine.
 

“No, I got a new job and moved from Mistwood about seven months ago.”

“Mistwood?”

“It’s a small-ish town near Lake Michigan.”
 

He nods. “Do you like it here?”
 

I shrug. “It’s been okay so far. It’s kind of fun being somewhere new, and the job is pretty easy.”
 

“I’d think so,” he comments. “What’s someone who graduated from MIT doing working in customer service?”

“Oh,” I say and put another piece of bread on my plate. “I don’t actually do customer service. I was filling in for someone else at the company I work for.”
 

“What do you actually do, then?”

“Code websites. Easy-peasy stuff.” I wave my hand in the air. “I used to be a software programmer before this. Loved the job, but the place I worked didn’t offer much room for growth. Or raises,” I add with a wry smile. “Who knows where I’ll be in a year or two.”
 

Ben is smiling. “You’ve got the wanderlust bug.”
 

“I do,” I agree. “I like traveling and going new places.”
 

“So do I.” He dips his bread in oil and takes a bite.
 

I take another drink of wine. “Have you always been here?”

“I grew up in Detroit,” he says. “My father was in the military so we moved around a lot until I was a teen, and he was done with the army for good.”
 

“That must have been hard,” I reply, knowing how hard middle and high school was for me and I had the same friends throughout both.
 

“It wasn’t so bad.” He shrugs. “When you’re constantly going somewhere new it forces you to not be shy. I think it pushed me to be an artist too.”

“Really? How so?”

“I liked sports, but you can’t join teams mid season,” he starts to explain. “Which makes it harder to make friends. But you can always join art clubs no matter what point it is in the school year.”

“I wouldn’t have taken you for an art club type,” I admit. “You don’t look the type.”

“You said it: looks can be deceiving.” He lets out a breath. “I always liked art, liked being able to get lost in something.”

That’s how I feel about Cosplay and fantasy. I feel another connection to Ben. “And you’re good at it, right?”
 

He smiles. “That too. I really don’t think anyone can be
bad
at art. It’s expressing something. If you can’t paint landscapes, sculpt. There’s always another way to get what you feel on the inside onto something on the outside.” He shakes his head. “It wasn’t always easy moving around, and art gave me that outlet.”

I like seeing this deeper side to him. “That makes sense.”

“I did eventually get used to moving, and used to making new friends. And that’s how my parents met,” he goes on. “My dad was stationed in Japan for a while. Brought my mom back with him.” He laughs softly. “I think my grandparents are still pissed about it.”
 

“Have you ever gone there to visit them?”

He moves his head up and down as he finishes chewing. “A few times. I haven’t been there in years though, and I’m wanting to go back.”