Marriage Matters

Thirteen

Ben rushed into the bar. From his rumpled T-shirt, jeans and baseball cap, Chloe could tell he’d just gotten out of bed. She felt bad for waking him but the things June had said about her date with Geoff had freaked her out. If this date really was a big deal, Chloe needed Ben’s input . . . bad.

Peeling herself out of their typical booth, Chloe pushed her way through a small crowd of people. She stumbled into Ben and pulled him into a tight bear hug. “Oooph.” Her face smashed into the soft material of his T-shirt. He smelled spicy, like someone who’d just woken up.

Chloe gazed up at him with adoration. “You’re a lifesaver.”

Ben raised his eyebrows. “Um . . . are you drunk?”

After leaving June’s, Chloe had raced to the bar and downed an entire vodka soda. “I’m not drunk . . . I’m just not as alcohol tolerant as I used to be.”

Taking his large hand in hers, Chloe led him back to their booth. There was a Sam Adams waiting for him and a fresh vodka soda waiting for her. Moisture had beaded up on the glasses of both drinks, and Chloe reached for hers, taking a hearty sip.

“I don’t remember you ever being alcohol tolerant.” Ben slid into the wooden booth. “The first time we ever got drunk together, you punched me in the face.”

Chloe laughed. “You totally deserved it.”

The first time Chloe and Ben had ever tried alcohol was in the eighth grade. She was supposed to be at basketball practice but when it got cancelled, she called Ben. He swiped three bottles of Woodchuck Cider from his parents’ fridge and sneaked them over in his blue backpack. After drawing the shades on the window and locking her bedroom door, they took a seat on the bed. Ceremoniously, Ben passed Chloe a bottle. They’d clinked the necks, then took their first nervous sip. Ben raised his eyebrows, as though he liked it, but Chloe thought it tasted like rotten apple juice. Not wanting to seem like a wimp, she drank it anyway.

The alcohol made her sleepy, so instead of sharing the third bottle of cider like they’d planned, she snuggled up next to Ben and dozed off as they watched a movie. She awoke to the sensation of his hand under her shirt, feeling her right breast.

Chloe remembered this moment of her life in vivid detail. She could still see the pattern of the leaves on the ceiling, from the big tree just outside her window. She could smell the cider on her own breath and the powder of her deodorant as it burst into action. And she could remember everything about the way Ben’s warm, rough hand felt as he slowly explored her body.

Even though this moment wasn’t the first time she’d been touched by a boy—Jake Rogers had felt her up at a movie, brushing his thumb over the fabric of her lacy bra—this was the first time it had happened on bare skin. It was also the first time Chloe actually felt something. At Ben’s touch, strange sensations coursed through her body, particularly a longing between her legs.

When Chloe finally turned to look at Ben, the mattress shifting under her weight, she wondered if he was going to kiss her. She was surprised to find him staring at her with an intensity that went far beyond anything that her thirteen-year-old, hormone-tortured mind could handle. So, Chloe did the only thing she could—she drew back her fist and punched him in the face.

Ben yelped like a golden retriever, yanked his hand out of her shirt and bolted, totally forgetting his backpack. Chloe refused to give it back until he swore to never do anything like that again. True to his word, he hadn’t.

Studying him now, Chloe grinned. “Did I really wake you up?”

Ben looked at his watch. “It’s one thirty in the morning. Take a wild guess.”

“You should turn off your phone.” She had learned that lesson years ago, when June went through her insomnia phase. Because Chloe was in college, June assumed it was more than acceptable to call her at any hour of the night, letting the phone ring and ring until she picked up.

“I’m not going to turn off my ringer,” Ben said. “What if you’d been in trouble or something?” Taking off his baseball cap, he ran his hand through his blond curls and gave a loud yawn. His teeth were big and white, even in the back of his mouth. Ben had never had a cavity, which was incredibly annoying. Chloe seemed to have one every time she went to the dentist.

“Actually, I thought you were in trouble.” Ben put his hat on his head and leaned back in the booth. “Why else would you call me in the middle of the night?”

“I am in trouble.” Chloe gave an awkward laugh. “Today, in a Twilight Zone turn of events, that mean psychologist guy asked me out on a date. And . . .” For some reason, she felt nervous, like Ben was going to scold her. Like she’d done something wrong. “I said yes.”

Ben raised an eyebrow. “You did what?”

She cringed. “Yeah.”

“Right . . .” He scratched his head. “This is the same guy that you called an a*shole?”

“Yup.”

“The same one that you moped about for two days?”

“The very same.”

Ben put his head in his hands. “Chloe.”

“I know, I know . . .” And she did know. Dr. Gable had been horrible when they’d first met. “I like him.” She plucked the lime out of her drink and dropped it onto her napkin. It made a wet spot that slowly expanded out and across the paper. “I’ve had a crush on him since he spoke at our school.”

“Yeah, but come on.” Ben grabbed the napkin and wadded it up. “Since when are you into guys who are mean to you?”

“It was a misunderstanding. He was nervous, I was nervous . . .”

Ben took a drink of beer, not saying anything. He pulled his baseball cap low over his eyes.

“Look . . .” Chloe touched his hand. “The man wears ascots. He can’t be that bad.”

“I’m sorry. Did you just say . . . ?”

“Ascots.”

“Huh.” Ben sat back in the booth with a thud. “Ass-cots,” he said, drawing the word out. “This guy sounds like a douche. I can guarantee he’s not good enough for you.”

Considering the fact that Dr. Gable was thirty-six, owned his own practice and knew how to rock a pair of green sweatpants, Chloe couldn’t help but disagree. Still, she’d called Ben here for a reason.

“I knew you’d say that.” She took a deep breath. “But I need your help. I haven’t gone on a date in forever. I need you to coach me.”

Ben snorted. “Give me a break. You don’t need any coaching.”

There was a wooden bowl full of wasabi-covered peanuts sitting on the table. Ben scooped up a few and popped them into his mouth. His eyes scanned the bar, as though trying to figure out exactly how he’d been conned out of his cozy bed.

“Ben, I’m serious.” Chloe’s cheeks colored slightly. “I haven’t gone on a date since undergrad.”

He stopped chewing. “Come on.” Thinking, he rubbed his hand against the blond stubble lining his jaw. “No. That’s not true. You were seeing—”

“I’ve hung out with people.” Ben had met more than a few of the guys who had traipsed in and out of her life. “I just haven’t gone on an official date. I need you to give me a crash course.”

Instead of laughing in her face, Ben’s bright blue eyes searched hers. “Huh. I think you’re being serious.” Plucking the straw from her drink, he twirled it between his fingers as though deep in thought. Finally, he popped it between his lips like a toothpick. “Okay.” Adjusting the rim of his baseball cap, he gave her a sly look. “I’ll do it.”

“Oh, thank you,” she cried. “Thank you so much.” Embarrassing herself on the date with Dr. Gable would not be nearly as likely with Ben’s help. Eagerly, she pulled out a notepad from her purse. Pen poised, she said, “Go for it. I’m ready.”

Ben burst out laughing. “What are you doing? You’re gonna take notes?” He reached out and touched her pen as though to convince himself it were real.

“I’m a student.” Chloe snatched the pen away. “Of course I’m going to take notes.”

Ben pulled his baseball cap low over his eyes. “Darlin’,” he said. “You don’t need to take notes. I’m not going to tell you how to go on a date. I’m going to show you.”

“Show me?” she said, surprised.

“You’re going on a date. With me.”

Well, that was a whole different ball game. Chloe considered the idea. It was very Eliza Doolittle. She imagined Ben teaching her how to walk across the room, pronounce certain words and, at the end of the night, engage in a proper kiss. At that thought, she blushed furiously.

It was rare that Chloe allowed herself to think of Ben as a guy but considering they were sitting in a low-lit bar, sitting so close together, it was hard not to. He looked good, as always. In fact, she had to admit, he looked downright sexy.

“No,” Chloe said, crossing her arms. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Ben leaned forward. His arms flexed slightly as he reached for another peanut and popped it in his mouth. “You scared? Afraid I might try to”—his eyes grazed over hers—“kiss you at the door?”

Chloe felt an involuntary flutter in her stomach. “Don’t be stupid.” She shifted in her seat. “I’d—”

“Punch me in the face.” Ben finished the sentence for her, laughing. “I know. Alright,” he said. “There’s nothing to be scared of. We’ll do it tomorrow.” Catching her horrified expression, he clarified, “Do it, as in, we’ll go on a date tomorrow.”

Just as Chloe was about to insist that it was a stupid idea, that she never should have suggested it, an image of the good doctor strolled through her mind. Calm, self-assured . . . and for some reason, wearing an ascot covered with grinning alligators. It would be much smarter to make a fool out of herself in front of Ben instead of Dr. Gable.

“Alright,” Chloe agreed. “I’m in.” Reaching for her drink, she clinked it with Ben’s. “Proof as to just how desperate I am.”

“Ah,” Ben said, looking like a wounded playboy. “Here’s your first dating tip: Never tell a guy that you’re only going out with him because you’re desperate.”

Chloe grinned. They sat there in silence, watching the people around them. There was a couple over by the bar making out like they were the only ones in the room. Taking a long sip of her drink, she wondered how long they’d known each other.