November 9: A Novel

I wasn’t expecting this when he said to meet him at his house. I was more or less expecting an apartment, but this is a fairly modern two-story house. A house-house. He closes the front door behind me and heads for the stairs. I trail behind him.

“You didn’t bring luggage?” he asks.

I don’t want to think about how little time I’ll actually be here. “I’m heading back tonight.”

He stops mid-step and faces me. “Tonight? You aren’t even staying the night in California?”

I shake my head. “I can’t. I have to be back in New York by eight in the morning. My flight is at ten thirty tonight.”

“The flight is more than five hours,” he says, concerned. “With the time difference, you won’t even get home until after six in the morning.”

“I’ll sleep on the plane.”

His eyebrows draw apart and his mouth tightens. “I don’t like that for you,” he says. “You should have called. We could have changed the date or something.”

“I don’t know your phone number. Besides, that would have ruined the entire premise of your book. It’s November 9th or nothing, remember?”

I think he may be pouting, but I do recall him being the one to make that rule.

“I’m sorry I was late. We still have six hours left before I have to head to the airport.”

“Five and a half,” he clarifies. He begins walking up the stairs again. I follow him all the way to his room, but now I feel like he’s upset with me. I know there were probably ways around flying in and out on the same day, but to be honest, I wasn’t even sure he would show up. I thought he probably had crazy, spontaneous days with fake girlfriends all the time and he wouldn’t even remember me. I figured I wouldn’t be too embarrassed with myself for believing he would show up if I was able to get right back on the plane a few hours later and pretend it never happened.

But not only did he show up, he was still waiting two hours later.

Two hours.

It’s extremely flattering. I would have probably given up after the first hour, thinking he stood me up.

Ben opens a door and motions for me to walk in first. He smiles at me as I walk into his room, but his smile feels forced.

He has no right to be upset with me. We agreed to meet today and yes, I was late, but I showed up. I spin around and put my hands on my hips, ready to defend myself if he says another word about how little time we have. He closes the door and leans against it, but rather than bring it up again, he begins to kick off his shoes. The disappointment is gone from his face and he actually looks . . . I don’t know . . . happy.

After his shoes are off, he steps quickly toward me and shoves me. I let out a shriek when I fall backward, but before I can panic, my back meets a cloud. Or a bed. Whatever it is, it’s the most comfortable thing I’ve ever lain on.

He steps forward with a smirk on his face and a gleam in his eye. “Let’s get comfortable,” he says. “We have a lot of talking to do.” He stands between my knees and lifts one of my legs to remove my shoe. They’re just flats, so he slides it off easily. Rather than drop my foot, he runs his hand slowly down my leg as he lowers it to the bed.

I forgot how hot it is in California. He really needs to turn on a fan.

He lifts my other leg and removes that shoe in the same fashion, moving his hand down my leg at a torturous pace, all the while grinning at me.

Is the elevation different here than in New York? God, it’s so hard to breathe in this room.

Once I’m barefoot, he steps around me and takes a seat at the head of the bed.

“Come here,” he says.

I flip onto my stomach and he’s lying on a pillow with his head propped up on his hand. He pats the pillow next to him. “I don’t bite.”

“Damn shame,” I say as I crawl my way to where he is. I lie down on the pillow and face him. “Ninety percent of our time together since we met has been spent on a bed.”

“Nothing wrong with that. I love your hair.”

His words send me into a tizzy, but I smile like I hear it every day. “Why, thank you.”

We quietly take each other in for a moment. I was starting to forget what he looked like, but now that I’m in front of him it’s like I never even left. He looks less like a teenager now than he did last year. And it makes me wonder if, when I see him again next year, he’ll look just like a man. Not that there’s any difference between a man and a nineteen-year-old, because they’re the same thing.

“We don’t have much time,” he says. “I have a ton of questions. I have a book to write and I know absolutely nothing about you.”

I open my mouth to argue, because it seems like he knows everything about me. But then I clamp it shut, because I guess he doesn’t really know much about me. We only spent one day together.

“Did you write anything this year?”

He nods. “I did. Did you kiss anyone this year?”

I nod. “I did. Did you?”

He shrugs.

“Did you, Ben?”

He nods. “A few.”

I try not to let that affect me, but exactly how many constitutes a few?

“And did you compare them all to me?”

He shakes his head. “I told you last year, that’s completely unfair to the rest of the female population. You’re incomparable.”

I’m so glad I came today. I don’t care if I don’t sleep for a week, it would be worth it just to have that compliment.

“How about your guys? Did you go on all five dates?”

“Guy,” I correct him. “There was just one. I tried.”

He raises an eyebrow, so I immediately go into defense mode. “Ben, you can’t expect me to put myself out there in a brand-new state when I’ve never really been out there. It takes time. I was so proud when I kissed the one guy. He thought I was stoked because of the kiss, but I was only happy because I crossed something off my homework.”

He laughs. “Well, one will do, I guess. But that means your homework for this year just got a lot harder.”

“Yeah, well. So will yours, then. And speaking of, I want proof of this book you’re writing. I want to read something you wrote about us.”

“No,” he says immediately.

I lift up on the bed. “What? No? You can’t tell me you wrote this year and not prove it to me. Give me something.”

“I don’t like people to read what I write.”

I laugh. “Seriously? That’s like an opera singer refusing to make sound when she performs.”

“It’s nothing like that. I’ll let you read it when I’m finished.”

“You’re going to make me wait four years?”

His lip curls up in a grin when he nods.

I fall back down onto the pillow with a defeated flop. “Sigh.”

“Did you just say sigh? Out loud? Instead of actually sighing?”

“Eye roll.”

He laughs and scoots closer to me. Now I’m looking up and he’s looking down and that would be fine and dandy if he wasn’t looking at me like he’s planning out exactly how his lips are going to mesh with mine.

I suck in a breath as his hand slides over my jaw. “I missed you, Fallon,” he whispers. “A lot. And screw it if I’m not supposed to admit that, but I tried the whole alpha-male thing for two seconds and I just can’t do it. So you don’t get alpha-Ben today. I’m sorry.”

Wow. Is he . . .

He is.

“Ben,” I say, narrowing my eyes. “Are you . . . booksting me?”

He cocks an eyebrow. “Booksting?”

“Yeah. When a hot guy talks books with a girl. It’s like sexting, but out loud and with books instead of sex. Nor does it have to do with texts. Okay, so it’s nothing like sexting, but it made sense in my head.”

He falls onto his back in laughter. I scoot toward him and place my hand on his chest as I lean over him. “Don’t stop,” I tease in a seductive voice. “Give me more, Ben. Did you read eBooks or . . .” I run my finger slowly down his chest. “Hardbacks?”

He pulls his hands behind his head and a smug look washes over his face. “Oh, they were hardbacks, all right. And I’m not sure if you’re ready for this, but . . . I have my very own TBR pile. You should see it, Fallon. It’s huge.”

I let out a moan, but I’m not so sure it’s pretend.

“I also know what makes a kiss book-worthy now,” he says. “So be prepared.” He lifts up onto his elbow again and loses the smile. “Seriously though. This female attraction to the alpha-male throws me off a little bit, because I’m not anything like the guys you read about.”

Yeah. You’re better.

“I could never drive a motorcycle, or fight another man just for fun. And as much as I’ve fantasized about having sex with you this year, I don’t think I could ever say, ‘I own you,’ with a straight face. And I’ve always wanted a tattoo, but probably just a small one, because no way in hell I could endure the pain. Overall, the books were interesting but they also made me feel highly inadequate.”

He can’t be serious. “Ben, not all the guys in the books I read are like that.”

He tilts his head. “But you obviously like the bad boys if you like reading about them.”

“Actually, that’s not true,” I tell him. “I enjoy reading books like that because it’s not at all the life I lead. It’s completely different than any situation I’ll ever be in, thank God. But I get entertainment out of it. Because as much as I like to read about a guy telling a girl she’s so, so wet for him . . . if anyone ever said that to me during sex, I wouldn’t be turned on by it. I would be terrified I accidentally peed on myself.”

Ben laughs.

“And if you and I were having sex and you told me you owned me, I would literally crawl out from under you, put on my clothes, walk out of your house, and go puke in your front yard. So just because I like reading about those kinds of guys, doesn’t mean I need my real-life guys to act like that.”

He grins. “Can I keep you?”

Too bad he’s only kidding. “I’m all yours for the next five hours.”

He pushes me flat on my back. “Tell me about this boy you kissed.” His use of the word boy somehow seems like an insult to the guy. I like it. Jealous Ben is cute. “I need to know all the details about your kiss so I can add a subplot to the book.”

“A subplot?” I ask. “Does that mean you have an actual plot already?”

His expression doesn’t waver. “So how did you meet him?”

“Rehearsals.”

“Did you go on a date with him?”

“Two.”

“Why only two? What happened?”

I want to say “sigh” again out loud. I really don’t want to talk about him. “Nothing came of it. Do we really have to talk about it?”

“Yep. It was part of the agreement.”

I groan. “Fine. His name is Cody. He’s twenty-one. We were auditioning for the same play and we had a nice conversation. He asked for my number and I gave it to him.”

“You gave him your phone number?” Ben asks, dejected. “Why won’t you give me your phone number?”

“Because I actually like you. Anyway, we went out that weekend and kissed a few times. He was nice. Funny . . .”

Ben makes a face. “Funnier than me?”

“Your humor is incomparable, Ben. Stop interrupting me. So I agreed to go out with him a second time. We went back to his place to watch a movie. We started making out and . . . I just . . . I couldn’t do it.”

“Couldn’t do it? Like it it? Or just make out with him?”

I don’t know what’s more strange. Talking to Ben about making out with another guy or the fact that I’m so comfortable talking to Ben about making out with another guy.

Well, up to this point, anyway. Now I just want to shut up.

“I couldn’t do either. It was . . .” I close my eyes, not wanting to tell him the real reason why I couldn’t do it. But it’s Ben. He’s easy to talk to.

“It was different. He made me feel . . . I don’t know. Flawed.”

I can see the roll in Ben’s throat when he swallows. “Explain,” he says, his voice clipped. I like that he seems a little upset, like he doesn’t actually want to hear about me making out with someone else. I especially like how he seems a little protective of me.

I think Ben has more alpha in him than he gives himself credit for.

I blow out a heavy breath, preparing for the honesty I shouldn’t really want to share, but for some reason want to share.

“Last year when you touched me, you made me feel . . . pretty. Like I didn’t have any scars. Or . . . not like that, I said that wrong. You made me feel like the scars were part of what made me pretty. And I’ve never once felt like that, nor did I think I’d ever feel like that. So when I was with Cody, I noticed everything. How he only touched the right side of my face. How he only kissed the right side of my neck. How, when we were making out, he insisted the lights be off.”

Ben makes a face like he’s in pain again, but this time he’s very convincing. “Go on,” he says, forcing the words out of his mouth.

“He tried to take off my bra at one point and I just couldn’t do it. I didn’t want him to see it. He was really nice about it and didn’t ask me to keep going. And if I’m being honest, that bothered me a little. I kind of wanted him to console me and act like he still wanted me, but he seemed a little relieved that I stopped it.”

Ben rolls onto his back and rubs his hands up and down his face. After a moment, he resumes his position, looking down on me. “Please don’t ever speak to that fucking douchebag again.”

A surprising wave of heat rolls over me with those words. His thumb brushes my jaw and his expression is full of sincerity. “What didn’t you want him to see?”

The confusion on my face prompts him to be more detailed. “You said, ‘I didn’t want him to see it.’ But if your shirt was already off and he already saw your scars, what is it you’re referring to?”

I swallow. I want to pull a pillow over my face and hide. I can’t believe he caught that.

In fact, I think I will pull a pillow over my face.

“Stop,” he says, when I try to grab for the pillow. He tucks it back under my head and leans in closer. “It’s me, Fallon. Don’t be embarrassed. Tell me what you were referring to.”

I inhale a deep breath, hoping more air in my lungs will somehow give me more courage to answer him. And then I release the breath as slow as possible so I can drag out having to answer him.

I cover my eyes with my arm and say it as fast as I can. “My left breast.”

I wait for him to ask more questions, or make me move my arm, but he doesn’t. I can’t believe I just told him that. I’ve never told anyone that, not even Amber. During the fire, not only was most of the left half of my body burned, but as if that wasn’t punishment enough, I was injured when they tried to pull me out the top-story window. Luckily I don’t remember anything between falling asleep that night and waking up in the hospital, but the scars are a daily reminder. And my left breast bore the brunt of most of it. And I’m not stupid. I know to guys, breasts are supposed to be beautiful and symmetrical, and mine aren’t.

I feel Ben’s hand meet my wrist and he pulls my arm from my face. He gently palms my cheek. “Why would it bother you for anyone to see it? Because it’s scarred?”

I nod, but then I shake my head. “This is so embarrassing, Ben.”

“Not to me,” he says. “And it sure as hell shouldn’t be for you. I’ve seen you without a shirt already, remember? As I recall, it was pretty magnificent.”

“You’ve seen me without a shirt, but you should see me without a bra. You would understand.”

Ben immediately lifts up onto his elbow. “Okay.”

I stare at him in disbelief. “That wasn’t an invitation.”

“But I want to see it.”

I shake my head. I even laugh, because there’s no way in hell I’m just going to plop my boob out of my shirt so he can gawk at its hideousness.

“I want to do the book justice, and your injuries are something I have to talk about. So you should let me see it. We’ll consider it research.”

It feels like his words just backhanded my heart. “What?” My voice is so unsteady, it sounds like I’m crying. But I’m not. Yet. “What do you mean you’ll have to talk about it in the book? You aren’t really writing about my scars, are you?”

Confusion encompasses his face. “It’s part of your story. Of course I’m writing about it.”

I lift up on my elbows and narrow my eyes in his direction. “I wanted you to fictionalize me and make me pretty, Ben. You can’t make the main character a freak show. No one wants to identify with that. Main characters should be beautiful and . . .”

Ben immediately rolls on top of me and covers my mouth with his hand. He inhales a deep breath in preparation for what seems like a fight. He releases it quickly, his jaw twitching with irritation.

“You listen to me,” he says, keeping his hand secured over my mouth so that I can’t interrupt him. “It pisses me off that you allow something so trivial to define such a huge part of you. I can’t make you pretty in this book, because that would be an insult. You’re fucking beautiful. And you’re funny. And the only times I’m not completely enamored by you are the moments you’re feeling sorry for yourself. Because I don’t know if you’ve realized this yet, but you’re alive, Fallon. And every time you look in the mirror, you don’t have the right to hate what you see. Because you survived when a lot of people don’t get that lucky. So from now on when you think about your scars, you aren’t allowed to resent them. You’re going to embrace them, because you’re lucky to be on this earth to see them. And any guy you allow to touch your scars better thank you for that privilege.”

My chest hurts.

I can’t breathe.

He removes his hand from my mouth and when he does, I gasp for breath. My eyes rim with tears and I can’t stop myself from shaking as I try to suppress them. Ben lowers himself completely on top of me, cradling my head in his hands. He presses his lips to the side of my head and then whispers, “You deserved that, Fallon.”

And I nod, because he’s right.

He’s right.

Of course he’s right. I’m alive and I’m healthy and yes, the fire left its thumbprint on my skin, but it didn’t take the most important parts of me. It wasn’t able to reach anything beneath the surface. So why am I treating myself like it did?

I have to stop doing this to myself.

“Shh,” he whispers, thumbing the tears on my cheeks. My emotions are all over the place. I’m so pissed that he felt he has the right to even talk to me that way, but the fact that he just talked to me that way made my heart wish it had lips so it could kiss him. And I’m pissed off at myself for being so self-centered these last few years. Sure, the fire sucked. Yes, I wish it never happened. But it did and I can’t change it so I need to get over it.

I want to laugh, because everything he just said feels like a weight has been removed from my chest and I’m breathing for the first time in three years.

Everything feels different. Newer. Like the air is buzzing, reminding me that I’m lucky to be here, breathing it in.

So I do just that. I take in a deep breath and I throw my arms around him, burying my head in the crevice of his neck and shoulder.

“Thank you,” I whisper. “You asshole.”

I feel him laughing, so I lie back down on my pillow and allow him to wipe more tears away. He’s looking down at me like I’m a beautiful mess, and I’m not going to allow myself to question that. Because I am. I’m a beautiful fucking mess and he’s lucky to be on top of me right now.

I slide my hands to his chest and feel his heart pounding through his shirt. It’s pounding as hard as mine is.

We lock eyes and he doesn’t ask permission when he dips his head and brushes my mouth with his. “Fallon, I’m worked up so damn tight. I’m going to kiss you now and I’m not sorry.”

And then his lips claim mine. My head is swimming, my body feels like it’s floating and I can’t move my arms. But I don’t have to, because he raises my hands above my head and interlocks our fingers, pushing them into the mattress. His tongue slides against mine and there’s so much feeling in it, it’s as if he’s kissing me the same way he looks at me. From the inside out.

He slowly plants kisses down my neck, keeping my hands secured to the bed, not allowing me to touch him back while he explores my skin. God, I’ve missed him. I’ve missed the way I feel when I’m with him. I wish I could have this every day. Once a year isn’t near enough.

The pressure on my right hand disappears as he runs his fingers down the length of my arm, all the way to my waist. His mouth has returned to mine and he’s kissing me again as his hand slowly begins to crawl inside my shirt. Just feeling his fingertips on my skin reminds me of why I think about him every night when my head meets my pillow.

“I’m taking off your shirt,” he says.

I don’t even hesitate.

I don’t even hesitate?

He pulls the shirt over my head and tosses it behind him. His eyes fall to my breasts, covered with a black lace bra that I was convinced he wouldn’t see tonight. He smiles a devilish smile, running his fingertips over the lace. He cups my right breast in his hand, dragging his thumb over the fabric covering my nipple. The second he does that, I flinch, because I’ve read enough books to know that the next move is going to be touching me beneath the fabric. My entire body tenses because I don’t think I want him to remove my bra. I don’t want him to see all of me. No one has ever seen all of me.

“Baby,” he says, sliding his lips across my chest. “Relax, okay?”

I could try, but now I’m tense because he called me baby and not because he’s about to go where no one has gone before.

I’ve always found that term of endearment to be a little grating, but it so works when he says it.

I thread my fingers through the back of his hair and guide him toward my left breast, wondering how this went from zero to ten in a matter of seconds. Oh, God, he’s pulling down my bra strap. His mouth is right there, trailing over the curve of my breast and his fingers are pulling the material lower . . . lower . . . lower . . . gone.

I feel the air against my exposed breast, but my eyes are closed too tight to see the look on his face. But I can feel his lips as he kisses his way across my chest without hesitation, sliding his tongue against my skin, sucking and kissing and squeezing and . . . enjoying.

“Fallon.”

He wants me to look at him, but I’m much more comfortable with my eyes closed.

“Open your eyes, Fallon.”

I can do this.

I open my eyes and I’m staring up at the ceiling.

I can do this.

I slowly bring my gaze down until I’m looking him in the eyes. “You’re beautiful. Every inch of you is so beautiful.” He presses his lips between my breasts and then drags them slowly across my skin, running his tongue over my scars. I wait for him to make an excuse . . . to back away from me.

But he doesn’t. He grins up at me instead. “Are you okay? Can I keep going?”

My first inclination is to shake my head, because I shouldn’t want him to. Any time I’ve imagined this happening with a guy in the past, I picture myself with a perfect body and no scars. But here I am, staring down at Ben as he explores every part of me I’ve wished were different. And he’s actually enjoying it.

And . . . so am I.

I nod, and maybe moan again because holy shit he looks hot. The fact that I’m the reason for that heated look in his eyes makes me feel even more desirable than when I imagine being perfect. He kisses his way back up my neck until he’s hovering over me. He slides a hand to the nape of my neck and dips his head.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know how to slow myself down when I’m with you.”

But not only does he slow himself down. He stops completely, because the door to his bedroom swings open.

Ben lies on top of me in a flash, covering me, but he isn’t fast enough for me to miss the girl standing in the doorway, wide-eyed.

Oh, God. The door. A girl.

“Ben?” she says.

I think I might panic.

“Can we have a minute, Jordyn?” Ben says, without looking back at her.

The door quickly slams shut and a muffled apology comes from the other side of it. “Sorry! Oh, wow, so sorry!”

Her reaction isn’t that of a pissed-off girlfriend, so that fills me with relief. It does little to relieve my embarrassment, though.

“I’m so sorry,” Ben says. “I had no idea she was home.” He gives me a quick peck on the mouth and then lifts up. “Don’t worry. This is way more embarrassing for her than it is for us.”

I pull my bra back up over my breasts and I sit up on the bed. “Speak for yourself.”

Ben retrieves my shirt from the foot of the bed and returns to me, helping me pull it over my head. He’s grinning.

“It’s not funny,” I whisper.

He laughs quietly. “If you knew Jordyn, you’d know that this is actually hilarious.”

I feel out of the loop and it isn’t until this moment that I realize how very little I actually know about Ben. “Is she your sister?”

“She will be in a few days,” he says, answering me as he slips on his shoes. “She’s marrying my brother Kyle this weekend. They’re having the wedding out back.”

He has a brother?

I’m reminded of how little I actually know about his family.

“The wedding is here? Do they live here?”

He nods. “My brothers and I inherited the house after my mom died. We all live here since there’s plenty of space. My older brother travels a lot, so he’s gone more than he’s here, though. Kyle and Jordyn share the master bedroom downstairs.”

I don’t know why I assumed Ben was an only child. And I had no idea his mother passed away. I feel like this guy whose mouth was just devouring my breasts is a complete stranger. He must see the confusion and embarrassment still on my face, so he leans over me and smiles reassuringly. “We’ll play twenty questions later and you’ll know almost everything about me. As boring as my life is. But for now, I want you to meet my future sister.” He pulls on my hands until I’m standing. I put my shoes back on and follow him out of the bedroom. We get to the top of the stairs and he stops and gives me the sweetest, softest kiss before continuing his descent to find Jordyn.

Blame it on the fact that I’m a sucker for romance novels, but I’ve been convinced that the grander the gesture, the greater the love. Some of my favorite scenes from the books I read are those pivotal points in the arc of the story when the guy declares his love for the girl in a huge way. But the way this one little kiss from Ben just left me feeling, I think I’ve been overlooking the best parts of romance novels. Maybe the grand gestures don’t matter nearly as much as all the inconsequential things between the two main characters.

It makes me want to go back and reread everything I’ve ever read, now that I’m experiencing these things with someone in real life.

“I’m so sorry,” someone is saying as Ben pulls me into the kitchen. “I had no idea you were home and I was looking for scissors but you are home and she’s definitely not a pair of scissors.”

She’s cute. Shorter than me, California-blond hair and a face that can’t hide a single emotion. Because right now, just looking at her, I can tell she’s about to crack.

“Jordyn, this is Fallon,” Ben says, gesturing toward me.

I wave and Jordyn immediately crosses the room and hugs me. “Nice to meet you, Fallon. Don’t be embarrassed, it’s perfectly normal for Ben to have girls in his room.”

I cut my eyes to Ben and he lifts his hands in defense like he has no idea why she just said that. I lift my palms up in a “help me” gesture, because she’s clinging tight and I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. Ben clears his throat and Jordyn finally releases me.

“Oh God, that totally came out wrong,” she says, shaking out her hands. “It’s not normal for him to have girls in his room. Not at all what I meant,” she says. “I just mean it’s nothing to be ashamed of, we’re all adults. I wasn’t implying that you’re one of many. In fact, he rarely ever brings girls here so that’s why I didn’t think twice before walking into his room, because it’s so rare I never thought he’d actually be in there. With you. With a girl.” She’s pacing now, and every time I catch a glimpse of her face, she looks on the verge of tears. I’ve never seen anyone more in need of a hug than she is right now.

I walk over to her and she stops pacing. I place both of my hands on her shoulders. I take a deep, exaggerated breath, straightening my posture. She copies the movement, dragging air into her lungs. I calmly exhale, and she follows suit. I smile. “It’s okay, Jordyn. Ben and I are absolutely fine. But you look like you could use a drink. Or ten.”

She nods feverishly and then slaps her hand over her mouth as soon as the tears come.

Oh, Jesus. What now? I look to Ben for help, but he’s looking at me like this is completely normal behavior for her. He does make his way toward her though, turning her around to face him.

“Hey,” Ben says soothingly, pulling her into a hug. “What’s wrong?”

She shakes her head, pointing toward another room. “The placeholders came and half of them are spelled wrong and the tables and chairs were supposed to be here this morning, but they moved delivery to tomorrow and tomorrow doesn’t work because tomorrow is when I’m supposed to have my last fitting and now I have to be here for the delivery and my mom’s flight was canceled so she can’t help me finish the flower arrangements tonight and . . .”

Ben cuts her off. “Calm down,” he says. He motions toward the refrigerator, so I walk to the kitchen and find a half-full bottle of wine. I pour Jordyn a glass while Ben calms her down. When I hand it to her, she’s sitting on a bar stool, wiping at her tears.

“Thank you,” she says as she takes the wine. “I’m normally not this crazy or high-strung but it’s the worst week of my life. And I know it’ll be worth it in the end but . . .” She eyes me hard. “Never get married. Ever. Unless you go to Vegas.”

I make it look like I’m soaking in her advice, but her stress level is enough to make anyone not look forward to a wedding.

“Wait,” she says, pointing at me. “Your name is Fallon? As in Fallon O’Neil?”

Oh, no. It’s not often I get recognized from the show, but when it does happen, it’s usually by girls who are about Jordyn’s age. Girls who probably watched the show religiously.

“You aren’t the actress who used to star on that detective show, are you?”

Ben’s arm goes around my shoulder like he’s proud of that fact. “She sure is.”

“No way!” she says. “I used to watch that show all the time! Well, until they replaced you with that one chick who couldn’t act worth a flip.”

That comment makes me feel good. I couldn’t bring myself to watch the show after I was replaced, but I won’t lie and say I wasn’t a little relieved that it went off the air two seasons later due to a drop in ratings.

“Why did you quit the show?” she says. And then, “Oh. Wait, I remember. You were injured, right? Is that where you got the scars from?”

I can feel Ben’s arm immediately tense. “Jordyn,” he says.

I appreciate that he’s attempting to intercept the conversation for my sake, but it’s hard to be offended by Jordyn when it’s obvious she’s just curious and not at all judging.

“It’s fine,” I say, as soon as she looks like she’s about to apologize. “It was an unfortunate accident, and it sucked that I had to quit the show. But I’m grateful I survived. It could have been a lot worse.”

I feel Ben press a kiss against the side of my head, and I assume it’s because he appreciates that the encouraging words he said to me upstairs might have actually sunk in.

The front door slams and everyone’s attention shifts from the conversation about my career to the sound of a man’s voice.

“Where’s my little bitch?” he calls out.

Oh, lord. I hope this isn’t the groom.

“Ian’s home,” Ben says. He grabs my hand and pulls me toward the living room. “Come meet my big brother.”

I follow Ben into the living room to see a man kneeling down by the front door, petting a little white dog. “There’s my little bitch,” he says sweetly to the dog. As sweet as that sentence can sound, anyway.

“Look what the cat flew in,” Ben says, getting the guy’s attention.

It isn’t until Ian stands up that I notice he’s in a pilot’s uniform. Ben immediately motions toward me. I’m not gonna lie, meeting new people is awkward enough. But meeting Ben’s family is a whole new level of awkward.

“Ian, this is Fallon. Fallon, Ian.”

Ian immediately steps forward and grabs my hand, shaking it. He and Ben look so much alike, I can’t help but stare. He’s got Ben’s strong jaw and they have the same mouth, but Ian is slightly taller and has blond hair.

“And Fallon is your . . .” He leaves the sentence hanging, waiting for Ben to finish it. But Ben stares at me and waits for me to finish it.

What the hell? Talk about being put on the spot.

“I’m Ben’s . . . plotline?”

Ben laughs loudly, but Ian cocks a curious eyebrow. He looks even more like Ben when he does this. “You finally writing an actual book?” Ian asks him.

Ben rolls his eyes and grabs my hand to pull me back toward the stairs. “She’s not my plotline, she’s my girlfriend and today is our one-year anniversary.”

Jordyn is in the living room now, standing next to Ian. They’re both looking at Ben like he’s been keeping the world’s biggest secret.

“You’ve been dating for a whole year?” Jordyn asks, directing her question at me. Before I can tell her he’s only kidding, she throws her hands up in defeat. “Ben, you told me you weren’t bringing a plus one! I didn’t order enough chairs and oh, my God, it’s probably too late!” She storms out of the room to go make an unnecessary phone call.

I slap Ben on the arm. “That was so mean! She’s already stressed as it is.”

He laughs and then rolls his eyes dramatically with a groan. “Fine.” He follows after Jordyn and as soon as it’s just me and Ian in the room, the front door opens. Again. Jesus Christ, how many people can fit in this house?

When the next guy walks through the front door, he sees Ian first. They hug and he slaps Ian on the back. “You said you didn’t come in until tomorrow.”

Ian shrugs. “Miles took today’s runs for me so I could get here sooner. Weather is supposed to be bad tomorrow and I didn’t want to get delayed.”

The brother I don’t know yet says, “Dude, if you would have missed the rehearsal dinner, Jordyn would have my . . .” His voice trails off when he notices me standing in the middle of the living room. I expect him to say something, but he just carefully eyes me up and down with suspicion, as if they don’t have visitors very often. Ian steps in and motions toward me.

“Have you met Ben’s girlfriend?”

The guy’s expression doesn’t change, other than an almost unnoticeable arch of his brow. He quickly straightens up and walks toward me. “Kyle Kessler,” he says, extending a hand. “And you are?”

“Fallon,” I say in a slightly intimidated voice. “Fallon O’Neil.”

Unlike Ian and Ben, Kyle doesn’t give off the welcoming vibe. It’s not that he gives off an unfriendly vibe . . . he’s just nothing like his brothers. He’s more serious. More intimidating. For a second, I see him glance at the left side of my face and it makes me wonder what he thinks of Ben for bringing someone like me home. But then I remember Ben’s words to me upstairs, and how lucky Ben is to have brought someone like me home. Rather than follow through with my initial urge to let my hair fall in my face, I stand taller—more confident. Kyle releases my hand when Ben walks back into the living room.

“All is well with Jordyn,” he says. Ben stops short when he sees Kyle. His eyes widen a little, as if he’s shocked to see Kyle, and I notice a shift in his demeanor. He tries to cover it up with a smile. “You said you wouldn’t be home until tonight.”

Kyle drops his keys onto a nearby table and then points at Ben. “We need to talk.”

I can’t place the tone in Kyle’s voice. He doesn’t sound outright angry, but he also doesn’t seem to be pleased with Ben.

Ben shoots me a reassuring smile before following Kyle out of the room. “Be right back,” he says.

I’m left alone with Ian again. I shove my hands in the pockets of my jeans, unsure of what to do with myself while I wait for Ben.

Ian bends down and scoops up the little white dog at his feet. He nods his head toward the stairs. “I haven’t showered in three days. That’s where I’ll be if either of them asks.”

“Yeah,” I say. “It was nice meeting you, Ian.”

He smiles. “You too, Fallon.”

And now I’m alone. These last few minutes have been all kinds of strange. Ben’s family is . . . interesting.

I look around the living room, trying to get a clue as to who Ben is. There are pictures on the mantel of him and his brothers. I pick one up to get a closer look. It’s hard to tell now, but in the earlier pictures it’s clear that Ben is the baby and Ian is the oldest. I just have no idea how many years separate the brothers. Maybe two or three?

I don’t see any pictures of their mother anywhere. It makes me wonder how long ago she died and where their father is. Ben hasn’t mentioned anything about him yet.

I hear a loud thud come from the hallway. Worried it might be Jordyn, I walk in that direction. I immediately pause when I see Ben pressed up against the wall with Kyle’s arm against his throat.

“Are you an idiot?” Kyle says through clenched teeth. Ben is looking at Kyle like he wants to kill him, but he isn’t making an effort to fight back. Just as I’m about to rush down the hallway to pull Kyle off of him, Ben catches sight of me out of the corner of his eye. Kyle then turns to see what caught Ben’s attention and as soon as he sees me, he takes a step back, releasing Ben.

I’m so confused by what just happened. Kyle is standing between Ben and me, looking back and forth between us. Just when it looks as if he’s about to turn and walk away, he spins around and decks Ben right in the eye, slamming him into the wall behind him.

“What the hell!” I yell at Kyle. I rush to Ben and he holds up a hand, keeping me at a distance.

“It’s okay,” he says. “Go upstairs. I’ll be up in a minute.” He’s covering his eye with his hand, and Kyle is still standing there, looking like he wants to hit him again. But he immediately backs down when Jordyn comes rushing around the corner to take in the scene. She looks back and forth from Kyle to Ben in shock, like this is completely out of character for both of them.

Which makes this entire scene even more confusing. I don’t have brothers, so as far as I know, brothers punch each other all the time. But going by Jordyn’s reaction, that’s not the case in this household. She’ll probably break down in tears again any second.

“Did you just hit him?” she says to Kyle.

For a split second, Kyle looks ashamed, as if he wants to apologize. But then he blows out a quick breath and turns his attention to Ben. “You deserved that,” he says, backing out of the hallway. “You fucking deserved that.”