Make Me Bad (Page 27)

I stand and explain I’m going to the bathroom. As I pass Ben’s table with my chin raised and my shoulders pushed back, I completely ignore him.

It doesn’t matter. I know he’ll follow me anyway.

I barely take two steps down the side hallway where the bathrooms are located before I sense him behind me. I pick up my pace as if I’m trying to outrun him. I reach the door of the first bathroom and am about to twist the handle when his hand covers mine, keeping me from opening it.

His mouth hits the shell of my ear as his chest hits my back. His body blocks out the hallway light, casting me in shadow.

“Don’t you want to know what my challenge is?” he taunts.

I squeeze my eyes closed, trying to stay steady on my feet.

Isn’t this already a challenge? Having to stand here in this hallway with his skin on my skin and his body on mine? Keeping the truth from slipping out, burying my true desires—it’s all a challenge.

“Madison…”

Has he always seemed this intimidating or is it worse right now when my heart is stumbling over itself and my hand is shaking? We can’t do this—whatever this is.

We’re in a busy diner. This bathroom probably isn’t empty. In a second, someone’s going to try to turn the handle and exit but they won’t be able to because we’re keeping it closed from the outside.

“Ben,” I whisper. “My dad is going to find us.”

“He doesn’t have to know.”

His voice is low and menacing. He’s playing the villain I cast him as. Eli’s words filter through my mind: He wants you—bad.

“Did you try the milkshake?”

I hear the amusement in his tone and squeeze my eyes closed.

“That was reckless. You nearly got me caught.”

“And yet here you are.”

Voices carry down the hallway. Conversations seem to close in on us. Is that my dad? Is he still at our table?

Ben’s free hand squeezes my shoulder, and he applies just enough pressure that I’m forced to spin around and look up at him. When his gaze catches on my expression, his brows furrow in frustration. He looks devastatingly handsome…handsome and mad.

“Are you scared?” he asks, hands falling away from me.

Our eyes lock and my heart pounds.

“Terrified,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper.

Then I look away, embarrassed by my honesty.

He steps closer and our hips brush. The contact makes me lose my breath and he must enjoy it too because he reaches out to grip my waist, pulling me closer. “Worried your dad will find you back here with me?”

That’s nothing, nothing compared to my real fears: the falling sensation I felt when Ben walked into the diner, my excitement every time his name appears on my phone, the easy banter, the give and take. We’re building something. Can’t he feel it? Is that why he’s leaning closer? His chest brushing mine…

“Honey?” A voice carries down the hallway and I try to jerk away from Ben, but he doesn’t let me.

It’s our waitress carrying two plates of food: my salad and my dad’s hamburger.

If she thinks it’s weird that Ben and I are pressed up against the bathroom door, sharing an intimate moment, she doesn’t let on. She just tilts her head back toward our booth with a knowing look in her eyes. “Food’s ready.”

She disappears and Ben finally steps back. I take full advantage, bolting down that hallway as fast as my feet can take me, and I don’t even get my feelings hurt when Ben walks out a few minutes after me and doesn’t look in my direction. He throws some cash down onto his table, yanks his jacket on, and then he and Andy head outside.

My dad finally catches sight of him as they walk past us on the sidewalk.

His eyes narrow, but he doesn’t say a word. I pray he doesn’t realize Ben and Andy were in the restaurant. To him, it should look like they’re just walking by after work, like they would have done if Ben hadn’t spotted me in here and come inside to taunt me.

That night, I lie in bed, staring at my phone, analyzing the last text Ben sent. I have a challenge for you.

I never texted him back—even after we finished eating and left the diner—and I’m too chicken to text him back now. I’ll just ask him about it in the morning when we both show up at the library for story time.

I’ll be the one in charge then, the one calling the shots. I won’t have him cornering me in hallways and making me sweat.

In fact, the next morning, I’m back to my chipper self, more confident than ever that I can deal with my all-consuming crush on Ben Rosenberg and live to tell the tale. I act like yesterday never happened, like we didn’t almost kiss in that diner hallway and my feelings aren’t in danger of boiling over. I’ve been doing it for weeks, feigning disinterest. Today should be no different, except for the fact that Ben didn’t get the memo. He doesn’t want to play along.

He walks in with an air about him, like he’s just won the race and he’s doing a victory lap. He’s wearing a black shirt, and I decide that color should be deleted from his wardrobe because I just can’t take it. He must like the way I ogle him, though, because he’s clearly gloating as he passes me a surprise latte.

“I had them add a little hazelnut. That’s how you like it, right?”

“Oh.” I glance down at the to-go cup, a little shocked. “Yes, thank you.”

“No problem. How was the rest of your dinner?”

I clear my throat. “Fine. Better than fine, in fact. I ate all of my salad.”

I glance up in time to catch his very subtle smirk. “Like a good little girl.”

My stomach ties itself into a knot—a double knot.

“You think you really got me yesterday, don’t you? That show in the hallway? Very daring. If my dad had found us, you’d be six feet under right now.”

He shrugs, unperturbed. “Maybe, but it would have been worth it. You should have seen yourself. You really thought I was going to take advantage of you right there, in the middle of the diner.”

My eyes go wide. My cheeks burn hot.

“What?! No I didn’t!”

He chuckles. “Come on, Madison. It was all in good fun—part of your plan, remember?”

Of course. All part of my plan.

What’s my plan again?

“So even if that waitress hadn’t interrupted, nothing would have happened?”

“What kind of man do you take me for?”

A dangerously tempting one.

He smiles, and ah, yes. He knows exactly how I feel. I’m sure of it.

He’s not fooling me.

This friendship is starting to get messy. You can’t flirt and text and touch as much as we do without crossing some lines. Doesn’t he realize that?

I decide to put a stop to this conversation by sending him over to the ladder I asked Lenny to bring down. We have work to do. Today’s story time is winter wonderland themed. My dress is ice blue and I have a snowman clip in my hair.

I want to hang paper snowflakes from the ceiling for the kids. They’ll flip, and fortunately, Ben is game. He takes off his jacket and sets down his coffee before he climbs right on up. I hand him a couple of snowflakes connected to strings and then step back to watch him work.

His shirt rides up as he stretches to attach the first one, and I catch a few inches of his toned torso. I nearly lick my chops. Good thing he’s too busy to notice.

“Is that good?” he asks, in reference to the snowflake.

I mumble something inaudible then scurry back to my table. I’m glad I have a solid objective to get back to: arranging a pile of snowballs.

“Do you have plans later? Andy wants us all to watch a movie at his house.”

“Us?”

“You, me, Arianna, Kevin, Eli.”

It seems I have no choice. I’ll be spending the evening in Ben’s company, suffering, keeping my dirty thoughts to myself.

“And I told him to pick something scary,” he continues.

I glance back over, glad to see his shirt has fixed itself. Thank God.

“Why?”

So I’ll be forced to cower in fear? Sidle up close? Hide my face against his chest?

His brow arches. “Because you want to be bad, Hart. Blood and gore go hand in hand with that, don’t you think?”

So it has nothing to do with us touching. Fine.

I turn around and return to my task. We work in silence and I wonder if I should bring up the boyfriend search again as a way to test the waters between us. It’s an underhanded tactic, maybe even a little childish, but it’s the only tool I’ve got, so I’ll use it.

“I’ve been wondering,” I start. “How has the search been going for my nice guy?” He grunts, but I trudge on. “You know, since Andy rejected me…I keep expecting you to find someone to take his place.”

“I’ve been too busy at the firm to think much about it.”

His tone sounds stiff.

“Oh?” I start to arrange the name tags. “That’s understandable. You know what? Maybe you could find someone to invite to Andy’s tonight,” I suggest sweetly, as if getting my hopes up. “What better way to get to know someone than in a group setting?”

“Wouldn’t work,” he says brusquely, shutting the door on the subject.