Page 68 of The Devil You Know
“I know,” he says. “That’s why I made them buy it for me.”
I wipe my face again. I look down at the gold band on my fourth finger. Sometimes during the day, I look at it to remind myself of Ben. Or at least, I used to. I don’t think I’ve done that in a long time.
Maybe Ben is right. Maybe our marriage has become nothing more than a division of labor.
“Jane,” Ryan says softly. I turn to look at him, at the features I got to know so well during what I used to think were the hardest years of my life. “I just want you to know that… if your husband doesn’t appreciate how great you are, then to hell with that guy. To hell with Pip. Because you’re… I mean, if I hadn’t been such an idiot…”
I feel all the little hairs on my arms stand at attention. “What are you saying?”
“I don’t know what I’m saying.” He shakes his head. “But you… you’re the only woman I’ve ever met who made me want to take that damned test and figure out once and for all if I could have a real life. And I wish that…”
He looks like he has more to say, but instead of saying it, he leans forward and kisses me.
For a decade, ever since that night we ate Peking duck together, the only man that I have kissed has been Ben. But kissing Ryan is so familiar—it’s like riding a bike. If you’ve done it before, doing it again is so easy. Too easy.
But the problem is that I can’t stop. And neither can he.
It makes me feel better. All the anger and hurt I felt from the words my husband said to me last night drain out of my body as Ryan gently pushes me down on the leather sofa and continues to kiss me. Christ, he’s still a really good kisser. Then he pulls his scrub top over his head and I nearly gasp at the sight of his chest—wow, he certainly hasn’t let himself go over the last decade.
Against my will, I’m reminded of the first time Ben and I had sex. We had been dating for a couple of months, but he hadn’t been pushy with me like some men were. But that night, we had just been to a wedding of one of Ben’s friends where he was one of the groomsmen. There was a reason that Ryan refused to ever take me to a wedding when we were dating—“it gives you womenideas.”
Well, maybe that wedding did give me ideas. Or maybe it was because Ben looked so handsome in histuxedo. I remember catching his eye during the ceremony, and when he smiled at me, I melted. I couldn’t keep my hands off him during the entire taxi ride home—I could see the driver giving us dirty looks in the rearview mirror.
When he was following me up to my apartment, I murmured in his ear, “You got a condom in your wallet?” Ben’s brown eyes widened and he flashed me a grin like I’d told him he’d won the lottery. The answer was yes, by the way.
And in the privacy of my bedroom, he pulled off his black jacket, his tie, and then he unbuttoned his pressed white shirt. Except when Ben took off his shirt, his ears turned red and he said, “Sorry.” Lord knows what he was apologizing for. Did he think I was expecting The Rock’s chest to materialize under his tuxedo? Ben’s chest was slim, hairy but nottoohairy, and perfect. And when I pulled off my own shirt, he made me feel like I was perfect too.
I remember the way Ben kissed me, his fingers trembling with eagerness. He couldn’t figure out the clasp on the back of my bra. He worked on it for over a minute, finally pausing between kisses to enlist both his hands and all his concentrations to get it open. I teased him over that one for months, until one day he made me sit in his embrace and allow him to practice until he could undo the clasp one-handed.
Sex with other men before him was usually good and sometimes great, but it was never quite like it was with Ben. Maybe it was his eagerness or excitement, but there was something that just feltrightabout it. I felt like a piece of bread with peanut butter on it that had just found a matching piece of bread coated with jelly.
Ben would like that analogy.
We couldn’t keep our hands off each other for most of our courtship, and even after we got married. When we finally decided to go off birth control, I got pregnant instantly. When I first told him, he grinned and said, “Well, of course you’re knocked up. We had sex like a million times last month.”
When I was one week overdue with Leah, and we had tried all the long walks, spicy foods, and evening primrose oil that I could stand, Ben insisted on taking me to bed despite my protests that I felt like a whale—I had gained forty pounds in pregnancy, my stomach was the size of a beach ball, and every inch of me was swollen and disgusting. But Ben kissed me everywhere and acted like I was just as sexy as I ever was. And the next morning, I started having regular contractions.
I was in labor with Leah for over twenty-four hours. Ben never left my side once during that entire time. In retrospect, I’m not sure when he went to the bathroom, because I cannot recall one second when he wasn’t holding my hand. The nurse had to force him to eat somefood from their kitchen, because Ben insisted, “If she can’t eat, I’m not eating.”
I didn’t cry the first time I held Leah. But I cried the first time that I saw Ben hold her. He sat on a chair beside me, awkwardly holding that tiny little bundle we made in his arms, and all I could think was, “I’m so glad I picked him.” I was so glad I picked this man to be my husband, to be the father of my daughter, to be my partner for the rest of my life.
Oh God, Ben.
I shove against Ryan—harder than I’d intended. He jerks away from me, blinking his eyes in surprise. He tries to lean in again, but I hold him at arm’s length.
“You’vegotto be kidding me, Jane,” he grunts.
“I’m sorry,” I murmur. “But I… I can’t do this.”
“Sure you can.” He leans in again to kiss me, and this time I roll out from under him, clutching my shirt to hold it closed. He sighs loudly and drops his head against the couch. “Christ, I need a cold shower.”
“I’m sorry,” I say again. “But I just… I mean, Ben’s my husband, and I can’t…”
“Is that so?” Ryan rolls his eyes but he doesn’t look as angry as he has a right to be. The thing is, I love Ryan. Or at least, I used to love him, and I thought that I was capable of loving him again. Except as we were kissing, it was all too obvious to me that Ryan Reilly is not my soulmate. He’s a guy that I enjoyed hooking up with yearsago but he’s not the love of my life. The love of my life is at home right now, with the child we made together. And even though he walked out on me last night, I’ve got to try to make it work with him. Whatever it takes, I’m going to do it. Ben is the one I’m meant to be with.
I hear a buzz coming from my purse. A text message.
“I should see what that is,” I murmur.
