Page 66 of When Ben Loved Tim
“For real,” he says. “What would my excuse be?”
“That’s what I keep wondering when sneaking into your house at night.”
“C’mon,” Tim insists. “Her street is just ahead!”
I roll my eyes, unbuckle my seatbelt, and lean over until my head is in his lap. The center console is relatively flat, but still not comfortable to drape myself over.
“That’s a way better idea,” Tim says, shifting his hips.
“I thought you’d like it,” I grumble. The truth is, I do too. It’s the situation I hate.
“While you’re down there…” Tim says leadingly.
“Not a chance!” I growl. “You’re lucky I don’t bite it off, you jerk!”
“Sorry, Benjamin,” he replies.
“Are you though?”
“Yeah.” His tone is soft. “I really am.”
His fingers weave through my hair, and it feels so good that my anger abandons me. I love his touch too much. But I do muster a little more indignation. “How long am I supposed to stay down here?”
“Just until we’re out of the neighborhood,” he says.
He continues to stroke my hair, making me weaker by the second. By the time the coast is clear, I almost don’t want to sit up. When I do, I’m surprised by the direction we’re heading.
“I think you took a wrong turn,” I say. “The steakhouse is the other way.”
“We’re going to a different one.”
I check my mental map. The steakhouse is part of a chain, and there isn’t another until the next town over. “Why drive so far?” I ask, despite already knowing the answer.
“Do you really want to be interrupted by anyone we know?” he asks.
“I guess not.”
“Cool,” he says, turning up the volume again. Then he smiles at me in expectation.
Those pearly white teeth are my kryptonite. I sing, the music filling me with everything I feel for him. He’s right. I don’t want anyone to intrude on our night together. When it’s just us, the rest of the world ceases to exist. I’m more than willing to retreat into our private universe, although it does feel different this time, since we won’t be entirely alone.
That becomes especially apparent when we enter a busy restaurant. Tim squirms while standing in line to talk to the woman behind the podium, the area around us lined with people waiting to be seated. When we’re shown to our table, it’s in the corner by a window.
“Here you go!” the server says cheerfully.
“Uh…” Tim says, not yet sitting. “We were supposed to have a booth.”
Which are high-backed and provide much more privacy.
“I’m sorry,” the server says, “but it’s a busy night and our booths can sit up to six.”
She places the menus on the small square table. “Someone will be with you shortly,” she says before rushing off.
Tim eyes the chairs before his attention moves to the crowded dining room and then the window, where a group of people are walking by outside. This is getting ridiculous. “Oh for fuck’s sake!” I snap. “You sit here.” I pull out the chair with its back to the dining room. Then I plop down in the chair closest to the window. “If anyone sees you on their way in,” I say, “I’ll dive beneath the table in shame. Happy?”
Tim is quiet as he sits. I’m still fuming.
A waiter comes by to take our drink orders. Then I glare unseeing at the menu.
