Page 57 of The Fear of Falling
Groaning, I grab my keys and head out to my car. I almost stop for a bagel to delay things more, but my conscience doesn’t let me make the turn. I’ll have to face Benson sooner or later, now without a Lynda buffer, and I will have to find out if I can stick to my guns or if the sight of him will make me retreat.
The texts finally come in right as I’m pulling to a stop in the parking garage.
Sadie:
So the thumb isn’t extended which means it’s not an I love you… Is he a Texas Longhorns fan? I’m just as confused by that as you are. But I LOVE that you’re getting your flirt on! You go girl!
Dani:
It means he’s VERY bad at emojis. *crying laughing* You should send him one back and see what he does. Also, yay for getting your flirt on!
Poppy:
Maybe they are devil horns because he’s being bad by flirting with you??? I’m not sure I can allow you to like a bad emoji-er.
Lucy:
Umm… I’ve got nothing. I’m going with Dani and saying he’s very bad at emojis. This is better than a romance novel!!
Well that was maddeningly unhelpful. I obviously won’t get anything useful from Dani or my cousins, so I square my shoulders and head inside, my feet growing heavier with each step.
I find Benson standing in the doorway leading to the balcony, a mug of coffee in his hand and his eyes fixed on the view of the mountains. Here in Riverton, on the west side of the Salt Lake Valley, we have a pretty good vantage point, and Benson tends to take a few minutes every day to sit and look at the Wasatch Front.
“Do you miss it?” I ask.
Benson jumps with a curse, coffee splashing from his mug onto his shirt and staining the pastel blue fabric with a large spot of brown.
“Oh!” I wince, mortified. “I am so sorry.”
“Are you always this quiet?” Exasperation makes his voice breathy, but there’s a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes as he gingerly sets his mug on Lynda’s desk and starts unbuttoning his shirt.
Is he going to strip down in the middle of the lobby? I can’t decide if I love that or hate it.
“Um.” I grab a tissue and hold it out to him, but he only stares at it while he finishes with his buttons. The undershirt he has onunderneath is just as soaked, and his face clearly says,It’s going to take more than that.“Hang on.”
As my embarrassment continues to intensify, leaving me dizzy and overheated, I open the closet door behind Lynda’s desk and flip on the light. We keep a bunch of books on hand in case we need something quickly and don’t have time to head to the warehouse twenty minutes north of the office, but there should be some merch in here somewhere. We made way more than we needed to for Dani’s first post-viral event.
“Ah ha!” I find the box I’m looking for and start digging, hoping I can find something that will fit Benson for the time being.
“What is all this stuff?”
I squeak and bang my head on the shelf above me. Though Benson grimaces sympathetically from the doorway, it only takes a second before he’s laughing. Snorting, I join in, and soon I’m laughing so hard that I have to sit down.
“Payback?” I ask when I can breathe again.
Benson, wearing only his undershirt now, smirks and shakes his head. “How petty do you think I am, Baldwin?”
Baldwin. He’s never called me by my last name before, and it feels like a wall has slid into place between us. I hate it.
I toss a shirt at him. “I wouldn’t know. You were pretty perfect in Italy, and I’m still waiting to learn more about who you really are underneath all that charm.” Oh hey, that sounded pretty good!
Eyebrows lifting, he holds the shirt up to take a look at it. “Dani’s book?” Before I can answer, he grabs the back collar of his undershirt and lifts it over his head in one swift movement.
And I am not prepared. I don’t know if anyone in the world could prepare themselves for the sight suddenly in front of me. I knew Benson was built, and he dazzled me with his biceps all the time in Florence. But this? Seeing the ridges of his torsowithout any pesky fabric to block the view? This man is basically a Roman god. Neptune, Apollo, Mars. Any of them. All of them at once.
Benson tugs the shirt over his head, regrettably pulling it down to cover his abs. “So is all of this swag and stuff?” he asks, apparently clueless about my ogling. Thank goodness. “What sort of things do you use this for?”
“Signings and preorders, mostly.” My words come out a bit garbled even though he’s fully dressed again. Maybe it’s the fact that he opted for a pair of dark wash jeans today instead of slacks, and with theOf Curses and Pomegranatesshirt and all its dark colors, his blue eyes are really popping.
