Stella
I’m doing that thing where I freak out for absolutely no reason. And I can’t even text Hazel to talk me down from my imaginary ledge because this is her brother that has thrown me into my cycle of nonsense.
I wish I hadn’t already put on my lounging clothes because I feel like everything is so molded to my body, it’s doing nothing to hide every bump and roll I have. It doesn’t matter. I try to remind myself of that. Ben sees me no differently than he sees his sister. So who cares what I wear?
I steal a glance at Ben as he comes back into the living room after dumping his bag in his bedroom.
He makes a detour into the kitchen. “Do you want anything to drink? Or I could make some popcorn?” he calls.
“Not right now. Thanks though.” If I eat now while I’m all in a dither, I’ll end up making myself sick.
I’m being ridiculous. This is Ben. I’ve known Ben for years. Is Ben hot? Yes, yes he is. Stupidly so. He’s tall and while he’s lean—because he is a soccer player—he’s still cut and chilled to perfection. But I’ve kinda had a thing for redheads since I met the Weasley twins. And Ben is the best kind of ginger. His russet-colored hair and matching beard are the same exact coppery color as his eyes and he’s got these sexy freckles. Gah, he’s so stinking handsome.
I want to strip him naked and see if he’s got those freckles all over his body. And I totally want to know if his carpet matches his drapes. Can you say that about a man? I guess it’s a good thing I brought my vibrator because I’m clearly a complete horndog today. I don’t know what’s gotten into me.
Well, nothing! That’s the problem.
I’m giggling to myself like a damned idiot when he comes back into the living room.
“Amusing yourself?” he asks and then he drops himself down on the couch next to me. Okay he’s not actually sitting next to me as in our hips and butts aren’t touching, but he manspreads like a pro so part of his thigh and his knee is pressed to my leg.
The warmth permeating through his athletic pants and into my yoga pants seems to have short circuited my brain and I stare at him dumbly.
“What?”
“You were laughing. Did you want to share it with the class?”
“Oh, no.” I grab the remote to busy myself with something. “Are you sure you want to watch this?”
“Yes because I’ve never seen it, but also because I saw somewhere recently that if you watch this movie first and then follow it with Die Hard, then you get to see Alan Rickman get punished for what he does to Emma Thompson. So I guess to fully enjoy Hans Gruber falling off that Nakatomi Plaza, I need to see what, in fact, he does to Ms. Thompson.”
I shake my head. “He’s terrible. I mean he is an amazing actor, was, whatever. But yeah, in this movie he’s a real jackass.” Then I chuckle. “So it does make sense that it will be kinda gratifying to watch him die so dramatically in Die Hard. Okay, let’s do this. I’ll start if from the beginning because I hadn’t gotten very far.”
We’re half an hour in when Ben abruptly stands. “I need a beer. You want a beer?”
He stomps off to the kitchen.
I pause the movie.
“You didn’t mention there were naked people in this movie,” he says.
His voice sounds weird. I mean yeah, the two movie stand-in characters are naked a lot and also simulating sex acts, but their dialogue kinda defuses any would-be sexual tension of the scene.
“I didn’t realize it would be an issue. It’s kind of a funny bit in the movie.”
He comes back in, beer bottle in one hand, bag of chips in the other. “It’s not a big deal. I just wasn’t expecting it.”
“No one does. It’s out of the fabric of the rest of the movie, that’s what makes it funny.”
“I’ll take your word for it.” This time when he sits, he’s a little closer to me so that our thighs are nearly pressed together.
We watch the rest of the movie in relative silence only pausing once more when I need a pee break. When the movie is finally over he turns to face me on the couch, one arm braced on the back behind me.
I don’t turn and blatantly stare at the bulge of his bicep that’s trying to bust through his black t-shirt that proudly declares, “I’m a Keeper.” Of course there’s a soccer ball next to the words and I get it, because he’s the goalie, but gah, I feel that double meaning in my soul. He is a keeper and dammit it all to hell, but I wish he was mine.
“Alright, Blue, tell me who’s your favorite couple.”
“David and Natalie. Although the Brits must have a very different definition of fat than we do here in America because she’s not big at all. But I love them. I love that he goes to that school play with her.”
He smiles widely at me and I can barely see the hints of his dimples hiding beneath his beard.
“What about you?” I ask.
“That Colin guy was an idiot and American women are not that stupid to fall for a guy just because of an accent.”
I laugh. “I agree. It’s a funny stereotype though.”
“I don’t know that I had a favorite, but I hated the Keira Knightly plot line. That guy from the Walking Dead was not only a fucking pussy for hiding his feelings for so long, but he was a shit friend to decide to finally tell her after they were married. Total crap.”
“So you think if you have feelings for someone you should be bold enough to tell them?” I ask.
What am I doing?
His coppery gaze drops briefly to my lips which wakes my nipples up enough for them to press against my tank. He looks away and then rubs a hand across the back of his neck.
“I guess it depends. I mean yes, I think in most cases, you should be honest, but there are a few cases—like that one in the movie—where he should have just kept his feelings to himself. Telling her only served him in that case and that’s not real love. He was selfish.”
I swallow the lump in my throat and nod. What was I expecting? What did I really think would happen if I brought up the topic of unrequited love? It’s not like I have any fantasies that Ben has been secretly in love with me.
“I think they’ll start the fireworks soon. Wanna go sit on the deck and watch?” he asks.
“Oh yeah, I’ve never been out here for that. Somehow I always missed it on the fourth of July, too.” I stand and grab Jeff’s leash because he probably needs to go outside too. Then I slip on my old backless Chucks and follow Ben out the back sliding door.
I’d like to say that I don’t stare at his ass, but that would be a lie. Because damn, what grey sweatpants do for the front of man, dark grey athletic pants do for a nice, bubble butt.
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