“It means, shut the fuck up. You’re not funny.”
Ben’s face reddens. “They’re not laughing at you either, asshole.”
“I’m not trying to make jokes.”
He shakes his head in dismissal and focuses back on his plate, seeming oblivious to Lucy’s awed gawking. Mine too, maybe, when memories of our kisses start plunging through me in sweet anguish. Our legs no longer touch and the distance feels brutal as I lose control of my thoughts. The painful longing. The fury of wanting him so much my tongue stings for a taste. Right here, right now if he’d go for it. I don’t care. My mind burns with images of each line and angle of his sculpted body, the tinglewhen I touched his skin. My heart pounds in violent protest. He’s delusional if he thinks I can pull this off. What I wouldn’t do to pull that towel…
He clears his throat, sending me a discreet glance. Heat spreads over my chest as he lifts a brow in amusement, and I should be mortified that he caught me mid-fantasy. Instead, I can’t help but smile. His slight smirk only sends my pulse racing faster, and I would’ve thrown away our entire plan if he’d shown the slightest sign. But he doesn’t move, and I take advantage of the opportunity to talk to him with my mind now that I know he’s listening.
You got my note. I hope you understood it. “Remember my heart as I remove my trigger.” Did you like that? I did a good job pretending not to care about you this morning. I even made a friend in the process.
He barely hides his smile at my last comment, and I wish I could read his thoughts in return.
Ben’s a monster. How have you not taken a swing at him yet? Or maybe you have and that’s why he hates you. Okay, so I’m dying to know what Lucy’s thinking. Are her fantasies better than mine?
He coughs, forced to turn away, and this time I can’t suppress my amusement.
“What’s so funny?” Lucy asks.
“Nothing. I was just remembering something Matthew said this morning at the triathlon. Do you know Matthew and Connor?”
“They live over in the East Wing, don’t they?” Thomas asks.
“I think so,” I say, sounding very casual, I might add. “We’re supposed to hang out after dinner tonight. They seem nice.”
“Yeah, they’re okay.”
Sudden pressure spreads over my thigh. Firm, warm. Intentional. Shocked, I try not to react as the fire rages. Everypart of me hungers to touch him back, but I don’t dare. I can barely keep my composure as it is.
Are you insane?
He responds with a squeeze that takes my breath away. Laughter and conversation echo around us, but my mind only perceives one thing. Touch. Too much and not enough. I lose the battle with my will and find his hand under the table. Our fingers slide together and lock, a vision exploding in my head.
It’s a pastoral scene, serene and unexpected. I grip tighter. Picturesque mountains rise to the sky, crisp and green beneath a forested blanket. A dark-haired boy stands knee deep in a crystal stream, while the woman from the other visions waves to him. She takes his hand when he doesn’t budge and tugs him toward the shore. They fall, splashing and laughing as they climb the steep bank, covered in mud.
The sweet picture scars my awareness as much as the violent ones. I wish we were alone so I could share the moment with him and remind him of the rare periods of happiness in his life. It hurts so much, and I pull away, afraid to continue the strong connection right now. He seems to understand and puts even more space between us.
Will you meet me after my private session? I think-ask.
His face reveals nothing when I try to meet his gaze. Instead, he shoves back his chair and pushes to his feet.
“It’s been great, guys. Thanks for lunch.”
“You’re leaving? Clausen hasn’t dismissed us yet,” Thomas says.
“Give him my apologies.”
We watch him leave, the others murmuring to each other while I cast one more silent plea for a meeting.
No response.
After my turbulent lunch, I’m actually looking forward to a quiet moment with Anna in my afternoon counseling session. At the very least I could use a friendly face for a while, but that hope is quickly dashed as well. I hover in the threshold of her office at the unexpected man in her chair. No, it can’t be.
“Hello, Rebecca,” Anna says from behind him. “Director Clausen asked to do your session personally today.”
“Why? Where are you going?” I ask. Don’t panic. You can’t panic.
“I’m just taking a late lunch. I should be back tomorrow.”
