to his lips, needing more of him. Tiny groans vibrate in his throat and they make me want to hold him tighter, kiss him deeper. I don’t know how long it lasts—forever and yet not nearly long enough—before Benson throws his head back and lets out a long sigh. His hands frame my face and he lets his forehead rest against mine as we both struggle for air. His breath is hot on my lips and when I breathe, it smells like him.
And something in me knows that everything is different now.
Better? I hope so.
“Is this the part where I’m supposed to apologize?” Benson asks, and his voice is so low, so weak, it makes me want to cry all over again.
“Are you sorry?” I whisper. And I don’t know what I want to hear.
“Never,” he says, his whisper barely audible.
A strange joy fills me and this time it’s not overwhelming. It’s calm. Peaceful almost. “Then don’t apologize.”
But he stands up, his hands sliding away from me to take a new stance on his hips, and he looks at the bookshelf just to my left. “The timing, it was bad, you were crying, and I … I should have, no, I shouldn’t have—”
“Benson,” I interrupt. “It’s okay.”
“It’s not okay, I didn’t mean—”
“Benson,” I say, more firmly. I step forward and slide my hands down his arms, forcing his fists off his hips and sliding my fingers between his. “It’s okay.” I don’t want to ask, but I know I have to. “Is this why you dislike Quinn so much?”
Benson swallows hard before he speaks. “He has a name now?”
“Yes.”
“It’s one of the reasons,” he finally admits. “But the others are just as valid.”
My mind is having a seriously hard time thinking rationally. “What about Dana McCraven?”
Benson’s face flushes so red it’s almost maroon. “I made her up,” he admits. “I didn’t want you to see how puppy sick I was.”
“Really?” I ask, genuinely shocked.
And pleased.
“You asked one day and I just … came up with a name. It wasn’t supposed to become such a big lie. It was supposed to help me keep my distance,” he mumbles. Then his eyes dart up to mine for just an instant and the emotion I see makes my heart pound. “Didn’t work, I guess.”
“Well, I was convinced,” I say with a giggle.
“Dana McCraven can’t hold a candle to you,” Benson murmurs, grinning.
“Why didn’t you tell me before?” We could have been kissing like this for months! I want to shout.
“I didn’t want to lose what we had,” he mumbles. “I really liked you coming in every day.”
I start to grin like a sappy idiot.
Benson likes me.
Me!
He always did.
It’s a tiny spark of goodness in a world that has become so confusing lately that I feel like I’ve forgotten what to do with good news.
But, of course, my eyes choose that moment to catch sight of the ChapStick on the floor. “Benson!” I gasp, my hands tightening and probably hurting his fingers. “They’re gone!”
There’s only one lonely tube of ChapStick lying innocently on the carpet.
My face turns back to Benson and I resist the urge to grab the front of his shirt and shake him. “You saw them, right? I’m not imagining this. There were six, right?” My voice is getting high and loud and Benson rubs his hands up and down my arms as he shushes me.
“Yes, I saw them. They were there.” His eyes are wide again, his jaw set as he and I both stare at the carpet where the tubes all landed, as if they’ll suddenly appear again.
Our heads jerk up as Marie’s voice fills the library via the PA system. “The library will be closing in five minutes. Please bring your books to the front for checkout. The library will be closing in five minutes.”
“I have to go. I told Reese I’d be right back.”
Benson’s jaw is clenched so tightly I want to run my finger along it, make him relax. But after a second he says, “We need to talk about this. Tomorrow.”
“You work tomorrow afternoon. Should we just meet—”
“Not here,” Benson says firmly. “Maybe my place?”
My place—a pleasant ripple travels down my spine at the thought. But when Benson leans down to pick up the remaining ChapStick, I’m completely sober again.
“I’ll call in sick if I have to,” Benson says, running his hands through his hair and looking off into the distance. “I can figure this out,” he says softly. Then he turns and carefully takes my hand. “We can figure this out.”
I nod, feeding off his confidence. Mine is gone.
“Here,” he says, handing me a random book. “Go check this out. That way Marie won’t ask questions.”
“Okay.” I hold the book to my chest and start to walk away, then turn and look at him, desperate to kiss him again.
He leans ever so slightly forward.
But somehow, it’s just not right. Without the passion of the frantic moment, it’s like there’s a barrier we can’t cross. I settle for squeezing his hand before slipping wordlessly around the corner. I force myself not to look back, as if the entire world didn’t just turn upside down behind that row of dusty old books.
It’s only when I’m easing the car out of the library parking lot that I realize I never told Benson about Quinn. That I’ve hardly thought about Quinn since the moment Benson’s lips touched mine.
CHAPTER NINE
“So have you seen him again? Your mysterious, um, guy?”
No pretense, no greeting, no small talk. Elizabeth just jumps right in.
“Briefly,” I reply, and the words are out of my mouth before I remember it was in my aunt and uncle’s yard again. Will she tell Reese and Jay? Will she force me to call the police? She should. At least I think she should. My mind is still a frazzle of delight and confusion about Benson. About Quinn. Little details like when and where don’t seem to register.
“In public?”
I nod instantly, hoping she doesn’t sense the lie, the betrayal.
“So, then,” Elizabeth begins, and she’s speaking slowly, like she’s trying to decide what to say next—giving herself those extra few seconds to make up her mind, “what is it exactly that’s attracting you to him? I mean, I’m assuming I can conclude that you’re attracted,” she says with a shade of a laugh, tapping her pen absently against her notepad.
I force myself to leave Benson behind—to focus on Quinn. Just for a few minutes. “I—I don’t know exactly. He …” I pause, but then the feelings tumble from my lips before I even know what I’m saying. “He makes me feel like a whole new person. I know that doesn’t really make sense, but that’s how it is. He makes me happy that I … exist. At all.” I sound so lame. But even though I recognize that, the emotions pile up further—the ache inside me that I don’t realize is even there until he makes it go away, the way he seems to detach me from the ground, freeing me so I can fly.
I gulp. Where is this all coming from? I’ve only exchanged a handful of words with him and literally just made out with Benson yesterday.