Page 81 of Paper Roses

Ben’s hand drops and his eyes fill with anger, but then he gives me a coaxing smile that I know very well. He uses it to get his way in all things. It’s the most successful thing in his repertoire. “Sorry. Poor choice of words. I came to take you for dinner.”

“It’s ten o’clock at night,” Jed says flatly.

“And we already had lasagne,” I add. I look up at Jed and smile. “After the lovely dance lesson.”

His face relaxes slightly, and he gives me a faint smile. “It was hungry work fucking up all those dance steps.”

I shove him, laughing, and his smile widens.

“Well, come for a drink with me instead, Artie,” Ben says coaxingly. I hesitate, and he rolls his eyes. “Surely Jed can spare you for a few minutes? Or does he need you every second of the day?”

What the hell does that mean?“Don’t be rude,” I say sharply.

Ben raises his eyebrows, obviously surprised at my tone.

Jed gives me a reassuring squeeze. “It’s fine,” he murmurs.

“Sorry,” Ben says, recovering quickly as usual. Laughing, he looks at Jed. “Please, can I take your husband?”

Jed looks steadily at him until Ben squirms—something I’ve never witnessed Ben do. Jed gives him a charming smile. “You can certainly borrow him, but I must insist you give him back.”

That gives me more of a thrill than it should, but Ben grimaces. “There you go, Artie. You have the royal permission.”

Jed’s watching me intently. When I catch his eye, he smiles and steps back. My body is suddenly cold without his touch.

“You should go,” he says placidly.

“Really?”

He nods. “Of course. It’s good to see old friends.”

“Well, we were a lot more than that,” Ben offers. “But we won’t mention it, eh, Artie?”

I ignore him and take the coat that Jed hands me distractedly. Then, before I can even say goodbye, Ben’s pulling me out of the door. It’s all so quick—like being a passenger on a runaway train.

“Don’t wait up,” Ben calls to Jed.

“I won’t be long,” I say.

Jed offers me a reassuring smile. “It’s fine,” he says. “Take as long as you want.”

Just before the door shuts, I look back. Jed is standing like a statue in the doorway, his expression closed and cold.

I sigh and fidget in my seat, watching Ben place another order at the bar. This is the third drink he’s had, and his conversational abilities have suffered the consequences. We’ve travelled so far down memory lane that I’ll need a bus to get back home. And my back is twinging because I’ve had to contort myself to stop Ben from touching me. The touches have been constant—light ones on my knee and hand, and firmer ones to my face—but they all feel much too intimate to give someone who’s married.

Fake married, I remind myself. I can’t help but be annoyed by Ben’s posturing as he walks towards our table clutching our drinks. There’s a swagger to his walk, and he lifts his chin so the light gleams on his golden hair. There was a time when I would’ve been breathless with admiration, but now I just want to roll my eyes and tell him to hurry up so I can go home.

This man once had the power to get me to do anything. It’s nice to realise the last vestiges of his sway over me have worn off.

“Here you go,” he says, putting my drink on the table.

“I thought I said I wanted a soft drink.” I frown at the large glass of wine.

“Lighten up, Artie. You’re old before your time. Like your husband,” he mutters.

“What?”

“Jesus, it was just a joke,” he says with a martyred look. “You used to have a sense of humour.”

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