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Authors: Jasinda Wilder
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bathrooms.”
“Like…shampoo and conditioner?” I tease.
“Well, how the hell am I supposed to know? I’m not a girl. I use two-in-one shampoo and conditioner and a bar of soap. What else would I need?”
Now why the hell does my mind bring up a visual of Ben taking a shower? I can almost see him running a bar of soap over his tan skin…I force the errant thought away.
“I could stand to rinse off, I guess. Thanks.”
Seconds later, Ben tosses his old clothes on a pile in the corner. “Bathroom is all yours. I put a clean towel on the sink.”
“Thanks.”
I fish a hair tie out of my purse and knot my hair on top of my head, and then take a quick shower. He wasn’t kidding. The shower literally has a single bottle of shampoo, a bar of soap, and a washcloth. My bathroom at home has easily a dozen different bottles, since my roommates and I each have our own shower supplies. I leave my hair and wash off, and then get out, tying the towel around my torso.
Ben is in the kitchen, and I glance at him as I move back into his room. His eyes go to mine, to the towel and my cleavage, and then away. I can’t help a little smile from crossing my lips at the way he quickly looks away, as if embarrassed to be caught looking at me. I close his door behind me and put on my bra and the dress, not bothering with underwear, which I stuff into my purse; I’d rather go commando than put on dirty underwear after a shower.
I slip my feet into my heels and join Ben in the kitchen, where he waits with his phone and wallet in his hand. “So. I’m ready,” I say.
He smiles at me. “I can call a cab.”
I frown. “Don’t you have a car?”
He nods. “Yeah, but I still can’t drive yet, not with my knee. Shouldn’t be too much longer, but…”
“Well, then, I can drive your car, if you don’t mind.”
He grabs a pair of keys from off the microwave and hands them to me. “Not at all. Let’s go.”
Ben drives a massive black truck, a three- or four-year-old Silverado with huge, knobby, off-road tires and a lift-kit. I glance at him, and the step up. “You gonna be able to get in okay?” I ask. He pulls open the passenger door, tosses his cane in, grabs the oh-shit bar with both hands and pulls himself up and in. “All right, then. Guess that’s a yes,” I say with a grin, climbing up.
“You gonna be able to drive this big ol’ monster of a truck?”
I snort at him. “I’m from Texas, Ben. What do you think?”
“All right, then,” he says, grinning. “Guess that’s a yes.”
Once again, I’m struck by how oddly comfortable I am, being around Ben. We don’t need to talk much as we drive to the nearest department store, and it’s easy to browse the aisles with him, picking out a pair of jeans, a T-shirt, a new bra and underwear, and a pair of sandals. The funniest part is when he opts to wait in the main aisle rather than going into the lingerie department with me. I pay for the items and change in the bathroom, call grandpa real quick and let him know I’m fine and not to worry about me, and then we’re off again, heading across town to a greasy spoon my high school friends and I used to go to all the time.
And it was just that easy. We sit and drink cup after cup of deliciously shitty coffee while we wait for our food, talking about movies and music and anything and everything. I can almost forget why I’m back in San Antonio.
Eventually, there’s nothing left to do but pay the bill, and Ben insists on paying for it. Which is cool. The last date I went on, the guy not only didn’t offer to pay for mine, but he didn’t even pay for his half, so I picked up the tab and blocked his number in my phone when I got home. I don’t expect chivalry or whatever, but it sure is nice when it happens.
“So, you got anything to do?” I ask. “After this, I mean?”
He shrugs. “Not really. I need to find a gym at some point, because I’ve still gotta work out my
“Like…shampoo and conditioner?” I tease.
“Well, how the hell am I supposed to know? I’m not a girl. I use two-in-one shampoo and conditioner and a bar of soap. What else would I need?”
Now why the hell does my mind bring up a visual of Ben taking a shower? I can almost see him running a bar of soap over his tan skin…I force the errant thought away.
“I could stand to rinse off, I guess. Thanks.”
Seconds later, Ben tosses his old clothes on a pile in the corner. “Bathroom is all yours. I put a clean towel on the sink.”
“Thanks.”
I fish a hair tie out of my purse and knot my hair on top of my head, and then take a quick shower. He wasn’t kidding. The shower literally has a single bottle of shampoo, a bar of soap, and a washcloth. My bathroom at home has easily a dozen different bottles, since my roommates and I each have our own shower supplies. I leave my hair and wash off, and then get out, tying the towel around my torso.
Ben is in the kitchen, and I glance at him as I move back into his room. His eyes go to mine, to the towel and my cleavage, and then away. I can’t help a little smile from crossing my lips at the way he quickly looks away, as if embarrassed to be caught looking at me. I close his door behind me and put on my bra and the dress, not bothering with underwear, which I stuff into my purse; I’d rather go commando than put on dirty underwear after a shower.
I slip my feet into my heels and join Ben in the kitchen, where he waits with his phone and wallet in his hand. “So. I’m ready,” I say.
He smiles at me. “I can call a cab.”
I frown. “Don’t you have a car?”
He nods. “Yeah, but I still can’t drive yet, not with my knee. Shouldn’t be too much longer, but…”
“Well, then, I can drive your car, if you don’t mind.”
He grabs a pair of keys from off the microwave and hands them to me. “Not at all. Let’s go.”
Ben drives a massive black truck, a three- or four-year-old Silverado with huge, knobby, off-road tires and a lift-kit. I glance at him, and the step up. “You gonna be able to get in okay?” I ask. He pulls open the passenger door, tosses his cane in, grabs the oh-shit bar with both hands and pulls himself up and in. “All right, then. Guess that’s a yes,” I say with a grin, climbing up.
“You gonna be able to drive this big ol’ monster of a truck?”
I snort at him. “I’m from Texas, Ben. What do you think?”
“All right, then,” he says, grinning. “Guess that’s a yes.”
Once again, I’m struck by how oddly comfortable I am, being around Ben. We don’t need to talk much as we drive to the nearest department store, and it’s easy to browse the aisles with him, picking out a pair of jeans, a T-shirt, a new bra and underwear, and a pair of sandals. The funniest part is when he opts to wait in the main aisle rather than going into the lingerie department with me. I pay for the items and change in the bathroom, call grandpa real quick and let him know I’m fine and not to worry about me, and then we’re off again, heading across town to a greasy spoon my high school friends and I used to go to all the time.
And it was just that easy. We sit and drink cup after cup of deliciously shitty coffee while we wait for our food, talking about movies and music and anything and everything. I can almost forget why I’m back in San Antonio.
Eventually, there’s nothing left to do but pay the bill, and Ben insists on paying for it. Which is cool. The last date I went on, the guy not only didn’t offer to pay for mine, but he didn’t even pay for his half, so I picked up the tab and blocked his number in my phone when I got home. I don’t expect chivalry or whatever, but it sure is nice when it happens.
“So, you got anything to do?” I ask. “After this, I mean?”
He shrugs. “Not really. I need to find a gym at some point, because I’ve still gotta work out my
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