Page 8 of Personal Escort

“Is it work?” Cara holds up her hand. “We might need to cancel that ice cream,” she says apologetically to the waitress.

Ben shakes his head. “No, you can take the car back to Elana’s. I’ll grab a cab.”

I clear my throat. “I could drop Cara off.”

She gives me a grateful smile. “Oh, good idea. I wouldn’t want to miss the green tea ice cream here.”

“You’ve got your priorities sorted out.”

Her head bobs emphatically. “I spent all afternoon having watercress sandwiches batted out of my hand. I’ve earned this dessert.”

“What? Hold that thought, I need that story.” I stand up and shake Ben’s hand. “Good to see you, man.”

“Sorry to run.”

“I get it.”

“I know you do. Hey, walk me out?”

I nod, then point at Cara. “Don’t eat any of my ice cream. I’ll know.”

She winks. “Will you?”

I shake my head and follow Ben outside. Flatbush Ave. is busy tonight, and his car still hasn’t pulled up.

He shoves his hands in his pockets and winces as he stares up at the sky. “Do I need to warn you off my baby sister?”

I laugh. “No. I swear, nothing happened while she was out in California. She was a kid.”

“She’s not anymore.” He swears under his breath.

“Cara’s beautiful, smart, talented…and not interested in an old man like me. At all. Don’t worry.”

“Yeah. It’s just that she deserves more than a guy like us, you know?”

I frown, vaguely uncomfortable with that characterization—not that he’s wrong. Workaholics who rush out of restaurants on a Sunday night make terrible boyfriends. And it’s really just a matter of chance that this is Ben making a swift exit and not me.

Not that I’m in the running to be Cara’s boyfriend.

The unsettled feeling grows, getting less vague by the second. I change the subject. “What’s really going on?”

“I don’t know. Ever feel like you blinked and aged a decade?”

Not really, but that doesn’t seem like the right thing to say. “Sure.”

“You don’t, you asshole. You’re having nothing but fun times out on the west coast.”

I grin. “It’s good for the soul. Maybe you should relocate Gladiator, Inc.”

He growls. “No, it’s not that. I’m just…” He trails off as his car pulls to a stop in front of us. The driver gets out, but Ben waves him back. He opens the back door himself before looking back at me. “Next time, give us more of a heads up that you’re coming. And stay a bit longer. I miss your ugly face.”

“Life is short, Ben. If you aren’t happy, nothing wrong with making a change.”

“Dare I ask what Ben wanted?” Cara asks when I rejoin her at the table.

“He reamed me out for not spending more time here.” Not a complete lie.

She doesn’t buy it. She searches my face, her eyes sharp and knowing. Our friendship might be sporadic and framed by a weird I-remember-when-you-had-braces age gap, but we get each other. “That wasn’t what I was expecting you to say.”

---