Page 29 of A Good Book

“What? Why not? Throw me a bone or give me a boner. Come on. I need something.”

“Stop.” I snorted.

“You’d tell her that Benjamin Ashford is hella smart?”

I nodded, untangling the dryer cord.

“Kind?”

Another nod.

“Handsome?”

When I glanced up at him, he lifted his chin and stroked it while pursing his lips.

I bobbed my head. “Sure.”

“Sure? That’s your answer to me being handsome?”

“What’s wrong with sure? It’s kind of a yes.”

“Kind of a yes? Gabbs, where’s the conviction?”

“Sorry. I don’t look at you that way anymore.”

Before he responded, I plugged in my hair dryer and quickly turned it on. Then I flipped my hair upside down and dried it while combing my fingers through it.

My dryer stopped, and I glanced back at the wall. Ben was next to the outlet, holding the unplugged cord in his hand.

“Hey, why’d you do that?”

“You don’t look at me that wayanymore?”

I squirmed for a few seconds under his scrutinizing gaze before I snagged the cord from his hand. “You misunderstood. I meant I don’t look at you that way any more than I look at my”—my mind scrambled for the right comparison—“than I look at my dad as handsome. Like when I was really young, I wanted to marry my daddy, but nowmy fatheris old and gross.”

“So when we were young, you wanted to marry me?”

“Go.” I pointed toward the door. “I have to dry my hair, grab breakfast, and study.”

Ben’s smile swelled into a triumphant grin. “When you dreamed of marrying me, did your dad officiate? Who was your maid of honor? One of your sisters? Probably Eve, huh? Were the bridesmaids’ dresses green like the off-the-shoulder dress you wore for your senior pictures?” He shook his head and whistled. “Damn, I loved that dress. And I’ll never forget how upset your dad was that your mom encouraged you to get something that showed so much skin.”

“Benjamin, get out of here.” I opened the door and waited for him to take his smug grin out of my room.

He stopped at the door, gazing down at me, but I kept my focus on his chest.

“I remember what your face looked like before your acne went away,” I said as if I thought it was a pointy enough pin to deflate his ego.

It wasn’t.

“I remember when you started your period, and I let you wear my sweatshirt tied around your waist for the rest of the day so no one would see the blood spot.”

Ihadloved him so hard for that, but I hated that he wouldn’t let that memory die in the past like I did that day when one of my girlfriends whispered in my ear,“Don’t panic, but you have blood on the back of your shorts. You must have started your period.”

I pushed him into the hallway with the ease of moving a two-hundred-pound dresser three feet. “You promised never to mention that again.”

“Well, yes.” He chuckled. “But everything has an expiration date. A statute of limitations. Right?”

“Yep. Including our friendship. Nice knowing you.” I closed the door.

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