Make Me Bad (Page 39)

Ben, to his credit, isn’t necessarily antagonizing them, but he’s not being friendly either. Also, I know he doesn’t mean to be, but he’s a force to be reckoned with. His presence takes up a lot of room. I keep trying to get his attention so I can tell him to sink down in his chair a little. I don’t know…maybe if he affects worse posture, he won’t seem so intimidating?

There’s a lot of testosterone and ego in this room. I haven’t managed to eat a single bite of my donut, and if I drink any more coffee, I won’t be able to sleep for a month.

“So, did you guys see the score from the baseball game last night?” I ask, pointing to the newspaper.

They offer nonverbal grunts.

Right.

Okay, this isn’t just awkward—it’s full-on cringe-worthy. I want to disappear into thin air.

I truly didn’t think this whole feud of theirs would last this long. It’s been weeks since Ben and I…you know…on the futon. I blush thinking about it. I can’t even look in the direction of said piece of furniture or I’ll start sweating.

Since then, we’ve spent almost every waking moment together. It’s pathetic. My heart might still beat in my body, but it’s now inscribed with the initials B.R.

Every day, when the clock strikes 5:30 PM, I sprint right out the front door of the library, shouting goodbye to Eli as he heads for his car. I proceed down to Main Street and am at Ben’s firm, in his office, kissing his face at exactly 5:35 PM. Sometimes he’s on a phone call and sometimes he’s in there with Andy, but I don’t care. I kiss him no matter what. Andy always covers his eyes and tells us to get a room. Ben always kicks him out soon after.

Then I sit patiently on his couch, reading while he wraps up whatever he has going on. If he has to work late, we eat dinner at his office and then I head home, but more often than not, he drives us back to his house so we can spend the evening together and make dinner at his house. During the drive, his hand usually finds a spot on my body he can torture me with: the nape of my neck, the inside of my thigh, my forearm, hand, anything.

We make it into his driveway, he throws that puppy into park, and we race to the front door. Dinner prep is long forgotten as we tear at each other’s clothes. Oh, Chinese food? Sounds great. Take off your pants. I know we’re in the honeymoon phase. I know we won’t always be rabid like this, but that’s okay. For right now, I’m enjoying it. My clothes, however, are not. I’ve lost about forty-five buttons, and half my panties are torn!

At the end of the night, I have him drive me home. In fact, I insist upon it. I’ve yet to stay over at his house. It’d be too easy to give in. Believe me, I’ve tested his bed, and that mattress is made from some kind of NASA-engineered bullshit. It’s out of this world (heh heh.) I will not let it tempt me. I’m standing on my own two feet, dammit! Or at least that’s what I’m telling myself.

Still, even without giving in to the urge to stay at his house and sleep on his luxurious bed, I know this thing between us is magical and I’m starting to wonder if he’s the real deal. The one. The yin to my yang. I’m fairly confident he is, which is why we’re here, enduring this hellacious breakfast.

The three of them have to get along.

This silent game has got to end.

I tilt my head toward the door.

“Did you see the new deadbolt Ben installed?”

It’s the perfect bridge to connect the three of them: they all care about me and my safety! I will talk about deadbolts and locks and security measures for forty days straight if it means they’ll actually converse with one another.

“Doesn’t really help the fact that the door is made of particle board,” Colten grunts.

Ben’s eyes narrow and I lean forward to grip his forearm. “I know, Ben hates the door too.”

Look! Let’s bond over doors! This is fun!

Ben puts his coffee cup down and turns to my dad. “I’d like to know the progress of the investigation concerning the man who held Madison up at gunpoint a few months ago.”

Oh god, not this again. He’s obsessed, brings it up every chance he gets. Just last week, he made me go through every single detail of that night again as if he was Nancy Drew, looking for some overlooked clue. I’m thinking of buying him an oversized magnifying glass as a joke. I don’t think it’d go over well, though.

It’s silly that he’s this worried about it, and it’s partly my fault. I never should have told him I thought someone was following me the other night after work. I was walking to Ben’s firm from the library and that feeling overcame me, the same one I felt that night I was held at gunpoint. I could have sworn someone was watching me and it freaked me out, so I told Ben about it as soon I saw him. Now, I regret that. He thinks the same guy was following me, and he wouldn’t listen when I tried to convince him it was just the wind playing tricks on me.

He thinks it’s something more serious.

Even now, he’s in full lawyer mode. I’ve seen him like this before at his office. I’ve stumbled in on him while he’s on the phone with a client or wrapping up a meeting, and it’s like he’s Ben the Hard-Ass. Business Ben. I like it. I want Business Ben to bend me over his business desk.

Not the time, Madison.

My dad crosses his arms over his chest and his brows scrunch together to form one thick line. “That’s not really your concern.”

20

Ben

Not my concern?

Is he kidding?

I glance over at Madison, and she’s ten seconds from crumbling. Her gaze is on her untouched donut. Her hand is shaking as she reaches for her coffee. She tried so hard to get us all here this morning and force us to get along, and none of us is really putting forward much effort. We’re all too stubborn. I’m surprised our egos haven’t blown the roof off yet.

“Madison is my concern,” I say, turning to meet her father’s gaze head-on.

He wants me to kowtow to him, or better yet, he wants me to fulfill all the expectations he has for me. They want me to be heartless, to use her and leave her. Colten already said I’m not good enough for Madison, and it’s clear her father agrees. They both want to be right about me so badly they’d choose it over Madison’s happiness. I’d point that out to them now if it wouldn’t cause a scene.

Madison jumps to her feet. “Why don’t I top off everyone’s coffee?”

She’s already grabbing cups, but I won’t let her take mine. She doesn’t need to wait on us hand and foot. “I’ll get some in a second. Thank you.”

She nods and turns away. I glance back to her father in time to see him exchange a glance with Colten. I have no idea how long they’re planning on holding out. A year from now, will it still be like this? Two years?

No. That would tear Madison apart. She deserves better. She deserves to have us try, at least.

So I’ll go first.

“Mr. Hart, I’d like to apologize for anything I might have done as a teenager to ruin your perception of me. I’m sure we did some pretty stupid stuff back then and—”

“No apology necessary.”

What he means to say is, I don’t accept.

Fine. Let’s all just sit here and make Madison suffer. Pass the fuckin’ donuts.

The second half of breakfast goes as dismally as the first. When her dad and brother stand to leave, I hang back, giving Madison space to say goodbye to them without me hovering nearby, but then I’m shocked when her dad tilts his head out past the door.

“Ben, let me talk to you for a second.”

Oh good, I bet this is the part where he holds up a shotgun and threatens my life if I don’t leave his daughter alone. I prepare for the worst, but at the bottom of the stairs outside, he shoos Colten along and turns to me. His eyes are less hard than they’ve been all morning. He props his hands on his hips and turns to me. Madison tells me he’s a big softy. I’m wondering if that’s really the case.

“We don’t want Madison to worry. That’s why I didn’t want to answer your question in there.” I instantly bristle. Withholding information from Madison isn’t the way to keep her safe. She’s not a child. “Madison and you both gave statements about that incident, but it wasn’t enough to go on. The perp was wearing a mask. His height and build weren’t all that unique, and there was no physical evidence left at the scene when my guys swept it later that night. We’ve increased the police presence around the library as much as possible, but the fact is, the guy will likely get away with what he did to her.”

My gut clenches.

That’s the last thing I wanted him to say.

“My fear isn’t so much that he’ll get away with it, but rather that it’ll happen again. What happens next time when I’m not there to intervene?”

My question seems to stump him for a second. “You seem to be taking this relationship with my daughter pretty seriously.”

I lift my chin and reply with one word: “Yes.”

His eyes narrow as he studies me in an unusually intense manner. It’s like he’s trying to read my thoughts. Then he shrugs and sort of chuckles—I swear the man chuckles—before he turns and unlocks his police cruiser.