Chapter Five — Marissa
I don't know what I expected from Ben's event at the children's hospital. Of course, even if he was a bit of an arrogant ass the rest of the time, he'd turn on the charm for these kids who were so excited to see their hero in real life.
It was sweet, though, watching him interact with the kids and take selfies and everything else. And I can't help but laugh at the way he gets me included in a bunch of the pictures—even though every time I think about seeing Ben at work, specifically when I'd seen him buck naked at work, I can't help but blush a little. I'm sure that shows up in all the photos, and I can only hope everyone just thinks I'm a bit shy.
As we're finally walking back out to the parking lot, Ben glances over at me. “Are you hungry?” he asks.
I think intently. Now that he mentions it, I realize I'm actually starving—no surprise, really, since it's one in the afternoon and I hadn't really eaten breakfast due to my jitters about my first real project for the Chicago Kings. Granted, it was just meant to be a small piece for their website, but still. It would have my name attached to it and everything, and that was big.
“Yeah, I could eat,” I say cautiously, not wanting to appear too… I didn't even know what. Weirdly enthusiastic? We were just two coworkers going to get lunch together.
“I'm fucking starving,” Ben groans, echoing my actual thoughts. “Honestly, I don't even know if I can make it across town without food in me, but there's this great little barbecue dive not that far from your apartment that I hardly ever have an excuse to go out to.” He glances over at me. “But let me guess, you're, like, a vegetarian or something—or you're one of those girls who somehow just 'doesn't like' meat, as though that were actually a thing.”
I roll my eyes. “Ben, remember that I work for the Chicago Kings,” I say. “I'm not one of those stick figures that you pick up at bars. I do actually eat, and I do actually eat meat.”
“Okay, okay,” Ben says, holding up both hands, but I can see the smile around the edges of his mouth. “I just wanted to check. But seriously, this place does really good barbecue. Although you probably already know that since you live right near it—it's called Hotter than Hades; you ever been there?”
I frown and shake my head. “Honestly, I don't even think I've heard of it,” I admit. “I just moved to the area not too long ago; before that, I was living out near the college. But I wanted something with a little less of a commute to get to the stadium.”
“Oh man,” Ben says. “Well, just wait—you're going to love it.” He looks actually happy, too, not the fake happy look that he gets when he's talking to reporters. I almost want to ask him if we're off the record at the moment, because this Ben is the type of man I actually want to be writing a story about.
Hey, maybe that's an idea to pitch to Mark: a series of snippets about Ben's daily life and what he does when he's off the field (other than banging a bunch of random floozies). I could really see that taking off with his younger, female groupies, and it wouldn't be too difficult to imagine what they would be interested in, given that…
...well, I was kind of developing a bit of a crush on him. Once you got past that cocky, obnoxious exterior, I had a feeling he might actually be a good guy.
“So, Marissa,” Ben drawls, glancing over at me—but he's still driving far more carefully than he had at first that morning. “What do you do when you're not hanging around with the Chicago Kings?”
I shrug a little. “I guess just the usual,” I tell him. “Watch some TV. Hang out with friends. I've been on kind of a baking kick lately. I made some chocolate-maple cookies yesterday that didn't turn out half bad.”
Ben groans. “I'd kill for a cookie,” he admits. “Totally not part of my diet plan. Barbecue is bad enough, but at least I can get on the treadmill and work that off later. But a cookie? Oh no. The trainers would kill me.”
“It must be tough, being the star quarterback,” I say. When I see the way he starts to defend himself, I quickly shake my head. “No, I mean that—I'm being serious! It must be really tough. I've never done anything even remotely comparable so I don't really know what all you go through—I mean, I can guess at a lot of it because I've read all about you and your daily routine and everything—at least, everything that's been published by the press, although I'm sure it's not all...entirely accurate, and-”
“You're babbling again,” Ben points out, grinning at me.
I snap my mouth shut with an audible click. “Sorry about that,” I say after a moment of silence. “It's a bad habit that I'm trying to break.”
“It's kind of cute,” Ben says, and oh my god, did Ben Price just tell me that my babbling was cute?
I furiously cast around for something else to say, trying to ignore how hot my cheeks feel at the moment. “What about you, though?” I finally manage to ask. “What does the famous Ben Price get up to—besides the things that we all already know about?”
Ben frowns and drums his fingers a little against the steering wheel. “I mean, I guess you kind of already know everything about me,” he says. “I train with the team. We have away games pretty often when we're in season. When we're in the offseason, I still keep training. I hang out with the guys. Hit up the pool. Just...stuff.”
“Wow, we're both really interesting,” I say sarcastically, rolling my eyes a little—and that gets a laugh out of Ben. I'm pretty proud of being able to do that…
We arrive at the barbecue place and head inside, and Ben is quick to lead us to a table at the back, almost before the hostess can greet us. “I get used to having to do that,” he explains to me as he slides into the booth. “You never know when the paparazzi are going to decide that something mundane is going to make one hell of a story, and me out to lunch with some chick—remember that no one knows who you are—is the perfect scoop for them.”
I scowl a little. “I wouldn't say no one knows who I am,” I say. “I did a few internships when I was in college. My name is out there—how do you think I landed a job with the Kings, after all?”
Ben, to my surprise, winces a little. “Right, sorry, I didn't mean it like that,” he says, and I actually kind of believe him. “I just mean that, it looks like I'm having a lunch with some girl. The paparazzi will spin that however they want to—probably in an unfavorable light, since it's me that we're talking about.”
“They're not all out to get you,” I say, looking down at my menu because I don't really have the guts to say this kind of stuff while looking in his eyes. “What I mean is, you kind of bring it upon yourself.”
Ben groans and opens his menu as well, pretending to hide behind it. “You're sounding like my agent again!” he cries, but when he pulls the menu away from his face, he's laughing again. “Come on, let's get a round of ribs and some wings and maybe some fries and see where that takes us. All on me, sweet legs.” He winks and I start blushing again at his forwardness.