“Ben . . .” she started.
My finger over her lips silenced her. “I’m just not capable of giving you everything you need.”
She took my hand and squeezed it in hers, as if saying, “You’re wrong.”
My chest throbbed. She looked at me like I was good and whole and someone she wanted to take care of. I wouldn’t push her away, as long as she knew what she was getting and not getting. “I don’t know where I’ll be living a few months from now. There’s constant temptation in this business. Don’t complicate this, Emmy. It’s two and a half months. Let me have you.”
She hesitated.
“Baby, you’re on my mind constantly. There’s no one else. Come on . . . let me have you how I want you. I promise you won’t regret it.”
Emmy
Let me have you. Ben’s words rang in my head while his soulful eyes remained locked on mine. Could I do that? Could I hand him the keys to my body and not my heart? I realized with shocking clarity that this was who he was—how he grew up. He had watched his mom with a constant parade of men, and that was the norm. Moving all the time, relying only on himself. He learned to meet his physical needs with whomever was there with him, never getting too attached, knowing he’d eventually move on.
In contrast, my parents were high school sweethearts. I was pretty sure they’d been intimate only with each other—yet I knew they regretted nothing. They were still deeply in love after all these years.
The resolute look in his eyes, his belief that he was better off alone, broke my heart.
I tried not to read too much into it. He said it was two and half more months—just sex. But every time he said or did something sweet, like this breakfast, or opening up to me, or insisting I spend the night in his bed, my heart got confused. I knew it was stupid, wishful thinking, but maybe we could be more. Maybe I could change his mind about commitment. It was probably stupid, but my brain latched on anyway. Didn’t every girl want the fairytale romance with Prince Charming? Maybe this was my chance. I couldn’t give up on him.
“Thank you for dinner,” I murmured, determined to relax and enjoy myself, despite his disappointing attitude on relationships.
“Anytime, beautiful.”
Each time he called me beautiful my heart skipped a beat. He made me feel all squirmy, like I was fifteen again, trying to attract the cute guy’s attention. Luckily, I seemed to have somehow captured his complete attention and adoration. His thumbs stroked my instep and his eyes stayed locked on mine.
“Does this feel good?” he asked, pressing his knuckles firmly into the bottom of my foot.
Good wasn’t a strong enough word. After walking all day in unsupportive flats that pinched my feet, this was heaven. “I f**king love it. Actually I flove it.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Inventing new words, Miss Clarke?”
I smiled and nodded shyly.
“I’ll call Webster’s,” he said. “Have it added to the dictionary.”
His playfulness should have lightened the tone, but I could tell something more was on his mind. He continued rubbing my feet for several minutes in silence before laying them gingerly at the end of the bed to join me, leaning against the headboard. He didn’t meet my eyes, just continued staring straight ahead.
“I take meds for anxiety and insomnia, and a couple different prescription sleep aids. I’ve had trouble sleeping since I was a kid. And the anxiety meds help with that. I don’t like taking the sleep aids. They make me feel like a zombie.”
I waited, nodding slightly, urging him to continue.
“I didn’t have the most traditional upbringing.”
That was the understatement of the year. His mom was a celebrity and they’d lived all over the world. I knew instead of going to school he’d had a private tutor that traveled with them.
“I used to stay up late at night, baby-sitting my mom while she partied. Used to force my eyelids to stay open, trying my hardest to stay awake. I was convinced something bad would happen if I fell asleep. It was a stupid childhood fear, really. But I used to find her in the morning and regret not staying up to take care of her.”
His childhood had been so different from mine. Instead of days filled with climbing trees and catching frogs, and nights spent making pillow-forts, Ben watched over his mom. It broke my heart. I now understood the intensity in his eyes was due in part to his life experiences, the wariness to open himself up for a relationship. But it had to mean something that he was sharing this with me.
Ben took a deep breath and released it slowly. I gave his hand a gentle squeeze, urging him onward.
“I’d find her in the morning, sick, hungover, vomit in her hair, mascara smudged under her eyes, or worse, unconscious on the floor. Sleep was the enemy. And even now, I don’t know why that stayed with me all these years—the hectic travel schedule, time zone changes, stress from work, you name it. I guess old habits die hard, because I still can’t sleep for shit.”
I thought about the times I’d seen Ben on set, the hardened intensity in his eyes. His steely look had nothing to do with hours of practice in front of a mirror, but instead had everything to do with a sad, lonely life replete of love. How had no one made this beautiful man feel loved and cared for?
He shrugged, looking down. “I’m probably not the guy you thought I was.”
I grabbed his hands and gave them a squeeze. “No.” His eyes lifted to meet mine. “You’re better. You’re sweet and giving and insanely good at dirty texts.” And a boy that loved his momma was something I could relate to.