Chapter Six — Ben
I know it's a little bold to be out in public with Marissa like this, but that's part of why I've chosen a restaurant near her apartment. If anyone asks, I'll say it was just a simple lunch between coworkers after we finished up at the hospital—nothing big. But I'm treating it like it's a first date.
In light of that, I make sure I'm on my best behavior throughout the afternoon, and I can practically see her spreading her legs wider and wider as the meal goes on.
So when we arrive back at her apartment, of course I walk her to the door of her apartment on the third floor.
Marissa laughs at me. “Seriously, Ben, you didn't have to walk me up here,” she says, leaning against the door. “I know it's kind of a sketchy part of the city, but I really don't think I'm going to get murdered on the stairwell—maybe on the front stoop in the middle of the night, but not in the middle of the day in the stairwell.”
“Well, better safe than sorry,” I tell her, smiling at her in a way that I know makes women swoon. “You going to invite me in?”
Marissa's face clouds suddenly and then she shakes her head. “Trust me, you don't want to come in,” she tells me. “The place is kind of a wreck at the moment—I really need to do some laundry and just in general kind of straighten things out a little. But maybe some other time.”
“Oh come on,” I say. “I'm sure it's not that bad. Anyway, we've been having a good time this afternoon, right? So what's say we continue that good time in the privacy of your apartment?”
But Marissa's face becomes even more closed off at that, and she's shaking her head before I've even finished speaking. “I had a great time, Ben, don't get me wrong,” she tells me. “But not this time, okay?”
I can't help rolling my eyes at that, not sure what the hell is going on in the woman's brain at the moment. I've done everything right—I hung out with the kids, I got her laughing, I took her out for lunch, and I got her to open up to me a little about who she was outside of the office. I thought we were really “forming a connection” or whatever it was that women were looking for on a date.
So the logical conclusion of the afternoon, as far as I was concerned, was that we would go into her apartment and she would let me fuck her hard into the bed. That was the way things always went.
I reach out to tuck a lock of hair back behind Marissa's ear, wondering if maybe a little physical persuasion might do the trick. Slowly, I lean in and claim her lips. Even though I want to push her a little, to force the kiss and to slip my tongue inside of her mouth, I hold back, keeping the kiss sweet and gentle, trying to keep up the nice boy act.
To my surprise, Marissa slaps me across the face.
“I said no, Ben,” she says, her voice frosty with tightly-controlled anger. And although I expected her to be practically oozing with joy after a kiss from me, I can see only frustration in the pinched corners of her lips. “Goodbye.”
Without a backwards glance, she opens the door to her apartment and slams it behind her.
To be honest, it's one of the sexiest moments of my life right there. I was so sure this was actually going to happen, and to have her take it away from me, just like that… Wow.
But also, what the hell. Quite frankly, I'm a bit dumbfounded about the whole thing because I really did think it was a sure thing from the way Marissa was acting at the barbecue place and on the drive back to her place. And I know I could have a dozen dumb bitches at the snap of a finger, so who the fuck does she think she is anyway?
I'm not about to give up, though.
The next morning, I show up at her office with a dozen crisp red roses to hand. She looks a bit worried when she looks up and sees that it's me who knocked on the door, and she quickly stands up to shut the door behind me—presumably so that no one sees. I wonder if she realizes that she just made things look even more suspicious, since now we're shut off in private, alone, together. But I don't say anything about that.
“Look, Marissa,” I say, holding out the flowers to her. “I really wanted to apologize for my behavior yesterday afternoon. I know you said you weren't interested, and I really shouldn't have pushed you. I just couldn't help myself—all I'd been thinking about all day, from the time that I picked you up, was how much I wanted to kiss you.”
Marissa looked like she didn't know whether to be frustrated or pleased by that, and I took that as a good sign: at least she wasn't angry with me.
“You're a really nice woman, Marissa,” I tell her, playing on her sympathies. “And honestly, that's a bit terrifying for a guy like me—I'm so used to having women just throw themselves at me that I really don't know how to treat a nice girl like you. I was trying really hard yesterday to be on my best behavior, but… Well, I screwed up. I'd like to make it up to you.”
“That's not necessary,” Marissa says, but she accepts the roses, looking almost bashful. I have a feeling that somehow, it's her first time ever getting a dozen roses from a guy, and I'm kind of proud to have done that.
“No, seriously,” I say. “Let me take you on a date—a proper date. We'll go out for dinner on Friday night and-”
“No,” Marissa says firmly, before I can even finish outlining what I have in mind—and I'm a bit frustrated at that, because I actually spent a decent amount of time calling around that morning to get us a reservation at one of the most exclusive restaurants in the city.
“You can't say no if you don't even know what I'm offering,” I tell her.
“Yeah, I can,” she says. “Ben, do you realize what would happen if the franchise found out that we were dating? Mark would fire me in a second—even if I'd been here for years and had turned in a dozen really successful pieces, he'd still have me out of here. He warned me that before I even made it down to HR my first day.”
“Aww, come on, Marissa,” I say. “Rules are meant to be broken. Going out to dinner isn't a big deal; people do that all the time around here.”
“I said no, and I mean that,” she says, shaking her head. I guess she's just playing hard-to-get again, and I try to think of what else I can offer her.
“Well, I'll make sure and throw a touchdown for you on Sunday,” I promise her.
Marissa rolls her eyes a little. “You'd better throw a touchdown, but not just for me,” she says, clearly trying to get the conversation back on neutral territory. “You're playing the Wildcats on Sunday, and they're our biggest rivals!”
Chapter Seven — Marissa POV
I keep glancing over at the roses for the rest of the day, my mind sidetracked by thoughts about Ben. God, if only I were able to act on my desire for him. He's being such a nice guy, such an absolute gentleman for the most part, and I have a feeling that I'm one of the few people who ever get to see this side of him. I feel bad for rejecting him, but it's exactly what I told him: there's no way I can jeopardize my job over this. No matter how much I want to just…
I blush at the thoughts running through my mind, thinking back to the previous afternoon, after our kiss. I just wanted to melt right there, to go entirely pliant and let Ben use me however he wanted to. I wanted him to press me back against the door and kiss me again—this time, like he really meant it. I wanted him to-
Well, there were a lot of things that I wanted. The moment I went inside, I was hunting for my computer and pulling up another of Ben's videos, imaging that it was his fingers touching me gently, that he was whispering those sweet words of praise into my ears. I came almost embarrassingly fast and quickly closed the screen, feeling refreshed, but not satisfied.
So seeing Ben appear in my doorway first thing in the morning was almost more than I could take. And having him ask me out on a date… Well. That was one of the most difficult tests of my willpower that I'd ever had to undergo.
There were so many great perks to my job, though, that I couldn't imagine giving it up—even if it meant I got to date Ben Price, for however long I could keep him interested in me.
***
Here I am, up in the team box at the stadium, preparing to watch the game of the season, Kings versus Wildcats. If only my dad could be here with me! The view is amazing, and I'm so prepared for some serious action. The best part of all is, I don't even have to worry about covering this game; one of the more senior writers is going to do that. I just get to sit back and relax and enjoy.
It's a great game, too. Ben is smashing it on the field. It seems like every time our team gets the ball, we're marching at least most of the way down to the other end zone and getting touchdown after touchdown up on the scoreboard.
After the first touchdown, which Ben scores by himself, running it in after a successful blitz, he turns towards the team box and points. Of course, no one else really gets what he's doing, but I remember that promise from the other day, when he said he was going to score a touchdown for me. I only hope my blush isn't too obvious to anyone else in the box…
Of course, our defense isn't doing that well, so the Wildcats are also getting touchdowns and field goals up there as well—but overall, we're coming out ahead, and we're all hoping for a clean win.
It's late in the third quarter when everything falls apart.
Our men huddle out on the field and then move into formation. Ben hikes the ball and falls back to throw, looking for an open receiver. As he's waiting for it, though, he gets blindsided and a three-hundred-pound linebacker slams into him.
Ben goes down hard, and he doesn't get back up. There's silence in the box.
As the trainers and Coach Jeffries run out onto the field, Ben sits up and grabs for his ankle. Even from where we are, it's pretty obvious that his foot is not hanging the way it should be, and Ben is practically white with pain. The trainers huddle around him, and almost in unison, we all turn our eyes towards the jumbotron, where they're showing a recap of the hit and the subsequent injury.
In slow-mo, it looks really bad. We all cringe a little as we see his ankle snap to the side. There's no way it's not broken. I feel like I'm going to be sick.
The paramedics are running out onto the field as well, and one of the little medic carts rolls over to wheel Ben off.
I'm hardly thinking at all, my thoughts just a chaotic jumble of horror, when Mark drops a hand on my shoulder, causing me to jolt a little. His words, when they come, almost seem as though they're coming from far away.
“I don't know what you did, Marissa, but Ben told me that the two of you really had a connection on Tuesday,” he tells me. “Now, we all know what Ben is like when he's injured”—he glances around the room, and everyone grimaces even more—“and he's...not an easy charge. We need to get someone over to the hospital, though, so that we can put out a press release. In light of this supposed connection that the two of you have...”
I stare at him—surely he isn't suggesting that I, the newest member of the team, be the one to report on Ben's condition when something this important was happening!
“It's just easy work,” Mark tells me, as though reading my mind. “You're not even writing a story about it. We just need the bare facts: what's injured, how long he'll be out, all of that. I'm sure you can do it.”
“Okay,” I find myself agreeing—because what else am I supposed to do? I take one final glance towards the field and then rush out of the box, already on my way to the trainers' office so I can figure out which hospital Ben has been transferred to.