“Water. I should have said, ‘Do you want any water?’ ”
Ben laughed and sat on the couch. I grabbed two glasses and went to the refrigerator to fill them, which is when I saw the big bottle of champagne sitting there, ice cold and left over from New Year’s Eve.
“I have champagne!” I said and grabbed it out of the fridge. I walked to the living room and held it up in front of Ben. “Bubbly?”
He laughed. “Yeah! Let’s break open the bubbly.”
We ran to the kitchen and got wineglasses. I attempted to open the bottle and failed, so Ben stepped in and popped it open. The champagne sprayed all over our faces, but neither one of us much cared. He poured our glasses, and we sat down on the couch.
It was awkward for a minute. We were stuck in silence. I drank from my glass for a bit too long, staring at the golden bubbles. Why was it awkward now? I wondered. I wasn’t sure. I stood up for a minute and felt the whoosh of the alcohol to my head.
“I’ll be right back,” I said. “I’m just going to go . . . ” What? What was I going to go do? I wasn’t sure.
Ben grabbed my hand and looked at me. He stared into my eyes. His eyes looked to be pleading with me. Just like that, I threw myself onto his lap, straddling his waist. I kissed him. My arms wandered down onto his shoulders. His hands grabbed my hips. I could feel them through my jeans. He pulled me tight as he kissed me, his arms running up my back and into my hair. It felt like he was desperate to kiss me. As we moved our heads and hands in sync, my body started to ache where it wasn’t being touched.
“I like you,” he said to me, breathlessly.
I laughed. “I can see that,” I said.
“No,” he said, pulling his face away from mine for a moment, looking at me like I was important. “I like you.”
Boys had told me they liked me before. They had said it in eighth grade and in high school. They had said it drunk at parties. One had said it in a college cafeteria. Some of them looked down at the ground when they mumbled it. Some of them stuttered. Each time I had told them I liked them back. And I realized now that each time I had been lying.
No man had ever made me feel this admired before, nor had I admired someone back this much before. What had Ben done in the past few hours to make me care so much? I didn’t know. All I knew was that when he said that to me, I knew that he meant it. And when I heard it come out of his mouth, it felt like I’d been waiting to hear it my entire life.
“I like you too,” I said. I kissed him again and he grabbed me. He put his hands around my waist and he moved me toward him, closing what little gap there was between us. He kissed my ears and jawline, sending goose bumps up the back of my neck, for what felt like hours. I finally had to stand up. There was a cramp in my hip.
When I looked at the clock, it was after 8:00 p.m.
“Wow,” I said. “This is . . . that was . . . a long time.”
“Are you hungry?” he asked me.
“Yeah.” I nodded, realizing that I was hungry. “Are you?”
“Yeah. What should we do? Go out? Cook here? Order in?”
“Well, pizza is out. We had that last night.” We hadn’t eaten it together, but I knew the way I said it implied that we had. I liked hearing myself say it. I liked that I sounded like his girlfriend at that moment—which made me feel a little insane. I was ready to get monogrammed towels for us and I barely knew him.
“Right. So my vote is order Chinese or cook here, depending on what you have.” He gestured toward the kitchen. “Can I look?”
I stood up and showed him the way. “Be my guest!”
We walked into the kitchen and stood in front of the refrigerator. He stood behind me, his arms around my torso, his face in my neck. I showed him what I had, and it was sparse, although had either of us been a decent cook, I’m sure we could have come up with something.