Crush - Kelsie Rae Page 0,41
next to me?”
I laugh, though it still feels a little forced before I take a seat beside him. As soon as my butt hits the cushion, a knock vibrates against the door. Laughing together, I stand back up, answer it, then bring the hot Thai food over to the coffee table.
“Bon appétit,” I tell him before taking a giant bite of chicken curry.
We eat in a comfortable silence until our bellies are full, and the alcohol has smoothed a few of the worry lines on Ben’s handsome face. His muscles have melted into the couch as I finish my last bite and catch him staring at me. Even though he knows he’s been caught, he doesn’t bother to look away, and the intensity in his gaze turns my stomach into knots. I try to ignore them, but it’s damn near impossible.
“Do you…want a refill?” I ask, lifting my chin at the empty tumbler in his hand.
“Sure. I’ll go get it, though.”
“I can get it––”
“I know you can. But despite how much you like to hide it, you’re pregnant, and I’m happy to pull my weight around here.” He disappears into the kitchen and comes back a few minutes later, nursing his glass as he studies me carefully from a few feet away.
Squirming from his attention, again, I mutter, “What is it?”
“Nothing.”
“Do I have curry on my face?” I wipe the side of my mouth with my thumb.
“No.” He chuckles. “You look perfect.”
My entire body freezes. “Oh.”
What the hell am I supposed to say to that?
“Thank you?”
“I wanted to uh…to talk to you about something.”
“Okay?” Reminding myself to breathe, I exhale and pat the cushion that’s still warm from him sitting on it. “I’m all ears.”
His long legs eat up the distance between us with ease. Then he sits back down, takes another swig of Jameson, and sets the glass down on the coffee table next to the styrofoam Thai containers. “I wanted you to know that I think you’re a saint.”
The nonchalance of his over-the-top comment makes me laugh until my cheeks are burning. “I’m sorry, what?”
“I said you’re a saint, Marcy Holden,” he reiterates.
I cover my face and laugh even harder. “I think that whiskey is making you hallucinate. I am so far from a saint that it’s not even funny.”
“And I beg to differ,” he counters. “I didn’t entirely understand the why behind you becoming a surrogate even though you explained it to me. I know why you would on paper, but when I saw their faces today, their awe, it was incredible, Marce.”
“It’s not that big of a deal––”
“It’s a huge deal,” he corrects me before resting his hand on my knee. I’m not even sure if he notices that he’s touching me. But I do. I can feel the tips of his fingers through the thick material of my jeans. Every tiny flex. Every minor shift.
All of it.
My breath hitches as I meet his gaze.
“I didn’t get to have that moment with my wife, and it almost killed me. I know that even though our circumstances are different, Anthony and Sway probably didn’t expect to ever experience that moment either. I know they both probably grieved in their own ways when they found out about Sway’s condition and had to mourn the loss of the unborn children they didn’t believe they’d ever meet.” A tear slides down my cheek because I’d never really thought of it that way. Hastily, I wipe it away as he continues, “But today, I saw you give them that gift. And I guess I just wanted you to know that I’m proud of you. I’m in awe of you. And I’m so lucky that you think a broken guy like me is worth your time.”
Raising my hand, I cup the side of his face and pray he can hear my sincerity as I murmur, “You’re not broken, Ben.”
“I am, though.” He presses his cheek against me and closes his eyes, savoring my touch the same way I’m savoring the feel of his five o’clock shadow tickling my palm. “I’m so broken that most of my pieces are buried underground with my wife’s body.”
“It’s okay to let her keep a few of those pieces, Ben. The trick is to accept that some parts will always be missing and to make the most of what you have left.”
“And how would you recommend I do that?” His eyes open before his gaze drops down to my mouth that’s only a few inches away from