Talk Me Down. Victoria Dahl
turtleneck. Pink, pink, pink. It was his new favorite color.
“Lori, you need help?”
“I’ve got it,” she called as she crawled into the backseat. Ben didn’t bother asking her to buckle. She really was only about a hundred feet from home.
Molly started to climb up, pulling herself in slow motion, so what could he do but wrap his hands around her waist to hoist her in? The sweater was thin, her skin hot beneath, and Ben had an almost irresistible urge to follow her up, stretch her out on the wide front seat and cover her up with his body.
Then again, all the computer equipment in the middle might put a damper on things. Not exactly satin sheets and feather pillows.
“Ben?” she breathed, as if she wouldn’t mind having a keyboard pressed into her back at all.
“Mmm?”
Her eyes were wide in the dark, her face turned up to his. She licked her lips, calling all his attention to her mouth, his favorite shade of his new favorite color…and then she collapsed into laughter.
Right. The drunk-off-her-ass part had escaped his mind for a moment.
“Let’s go, Chief,” Lori called from the back, reminding him there was also a friend-in-the-backseat part of the evening. Then there was the possible-illegal-sex-trade complication.
“Okay,” he breathed and stepped far out of the way before he shut the door on Molly and her many shades of pink. He’d only had two beers tonight; he was fine to drive, but apparently not fine to press his hand into the hot curve of her waist.
Ben tried to convince himself he wasn’t half-hard in the middle of Main Street as he rounded the truck and slid in behind the seat.
Lori waved her hand from the back as he started the engine and jacked up the heat. “Ben, do you think I’m a lesbian?”
“Um…” A glance in the mirror showed nothing but her upraised wrist and limp fingers. “No, I hadn’t really…Why? Are you trying to, uh, find yourself or…?”
“I just want a decent date!” she wailed. “And not with some Ricky Nowell!”
“Mmm-hmm.” He’d found over the years that it was best to simply feign understanding with drunk people.
“If the opportunity ever arises, would you send a nice guy my way? I just want to go out to a movie, you know? Maybe get a little some-some. Is that so wrong?”
“Of course not.”
Molly was shaking her head in very serious sympathy. “I was just kidding about getting it on in front of you, Ben.”
“Yeah, I got that.”
“Lori’s not really a lesbian.”
“I’m getting that, too. And here we are!”
Lori popped up from the seat, and her forehead made a slow beeline for Ben’s headrest.
“Ow.”
That settled Ben’s question about whether she needed to be walked to her door. He ended up walking her all the way to the couch. By the time he returned to the truck, Molly was curled up with her cheek pressed against the seat back and her feet tucked beneath her.
“Hey, Ben,” she breathed and opened her eyes in a slow, sleepy smile. Some malevolent force sat hard on his chest. It was the devil, or maybe just a random satyr, whispering that this was exactly how she’d look after a night of good, hard sex. This was exactly how she could look tomorrow.
Ben twisted the ignition with extra force and heard the outraged screech of the starter. Right. The truck was already running.
“What’s wrong with your truck?”
“It’s horny,” he muttered.
“Mmm.” Another sympathetic shake of her head. Apparently it all made perfect sense to her.
Though he was well-versed on every speed limit in town, Ben broke every one on the way to Molly’s house. Professor Logic he might be during the daylight hours, but he was becoming acquainted with a whole new personality tonight. Captain Man-Slut, maybe. He didn’t care about complications or questions or intoxication. He knew he’d care in the morning, and he didn’t give a shit about that, either. He just wanted some Molly, bad.
The two hours in the bar had been pure pleasure for Ben. He’d recognized the old Molly he’d liked so well all those years ago. She’d been silly and immature, giggly and girly, but all of her still glowing with that sheen of comfort, of being at ease with herself.
She seemed to draw eyes without even noticing, seemed comfortable with attention without needing it. And she laughed. A lot. Ben didn’t laugh much, and he thought it would be a grace in his life, a blessing, to hear a woman laugh every day, every hour. To hear her laugh in his bed.
Something shivered inside his chest, scaring the hell out of him. Ben eased his foot off the accelerator and slowed down to twenty-five. He had to get it together, or he was going to make a serious mistake. He didn’t know a damn thing about her, not anymore.
As soon as he pulled into her driveway, he put the truck in Park and turned to her. “Please tell me what you do for a living.”
She arched an eyebrow. “Are you trying to take advantage of my blood alcohol level?”
“Absolutely. You know me, Molly. You know how much I hate secrets. You know I could never trust someone who wouldn’t be honest and up-front.”
“I am being honest and up-front.” She didn’t seem at all disturbed, just sad. She was still curled up and sleepy, unconcerned that his guts were tangled in knots.
“You must be doing something you’re ashamed of or you wouldn’t hide it.”
“No, I’m not ashamed.”
Instead of banging his head against the steering wheel, Ben made a calculated move. Calculated, but pleasurable all the same. He reached across the space of the truck and touched her, brushing her temple with the pad of his thumb. “Why won’t you tell me?”
Her eyes closed. She made a tiny humming sound as he dragged his knuckles over her soft skin. His thumb brushed her bottom lip, a kiss of her pink temptation against his rougher texture.
“Why, Molly?” he whispered.
She opened eyes full of sorrow. “Lots of reasons. My parents…Quinn is so smart and successful. They’re so proud of him, and they should be. He’s amazing.
“But I’ve never been as smart, never as good in school. And my work isn’t like his, either. It’s easier this way. They understand that they’d probably be disappointed, but they don’t know. They can’t be sure. Maybe I’m a spy. Maybe I’m an artist. Whatever it is, they can’t measure it against Quinn’s accomplishments, because I won’t let them.”
“Jesus, Moll. I know they’ve always been gaga over Quinn’s grades and awards, but they love you to death.”
“Yeah, and I’d like to keep it that way.”
“What does that mean? Just tell me, I promise not to say anything to Quinn. Tell me what you’re doing.”
She turned and looked out the windshield. “No. If you’re going to think I’m a bad person, just go ahead.” She made a wide gesture, nearly clocking him in the face. “Look, I know I said all that stuff about Ricky Nowell, and nice girls don’t do that, but he was really horrible to me that night, and I just…” She turned a corkscrew with her left hand.
“Ricky Nowell? I don’t…Wasn’t he your boyfriend in high school?”
“Yes, unfortunately! So don’t go judging me!”
“Molly, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I’m not doing anything