dumb rathers, just so he could be better prepared than I was.
Part of me really wants to go back to those moments, and play a simple game of would you rather, but the other part of me wants to rip off his clothes again. Everything about our demeanor to one another has so quickly changed over such a short period of time. I can’t even look Ben in the eyes anymore! This is the same guy I used to have intense staring contests with so I could win the last handful of chips (corner crumbs are hands down the best part of the bag. Who wouldn’t want to win that stare down?). So I can’t help but feel a pang of sadness mixed with sheer fondness, when I think of the last Saturday before we slept together.
It was around four o’clock, and I had just finished showing a cute two-bedroom condo in Old Town. I had to run a few errands, and by errands I mean I stopped into Nicole Miller. I was browsing around, enjoying my moments of solitude and contemplating a purchase of a new little black dress when my phone rang.
“What’s up?” Ben’s chipper voice beamed through the phone.
“Just running some errands” I lied, looked at the dress’s price tag and immediately shoved it back on the rack.
“Where are you?”
“In Old Town. I just finished showing that great two-bedroom condo about an hour ago.”
“Yeah, that thing will sell itself in a day or two.” Ben said, but quickly added, “I am about twenty minutes away. What store are you in?”
“Nicole Miller.” I winced, embarrassed of my priorities. I still had yet to re-stock my toilet paper and toothpaste, but I was shopping for dresses I didn’t need.
“Okay, I will be right there. Don’t leave.” Ben said and hung up the phone. I paced around the store and eventually bought a less expensive version of the first dress I had found.
Twenty minutes later, Ben whisked through the doors just like he had said. I remember all the women who worked there checked him out when he waltzed in. It wasn’t unusual for women to become immediately smitten by Ben. I attributed it to a combination of his rugged good looks, paired with his noble confidence, and his ability to rock a smart and sexy grey pin-stripped suit (like the one he was wearing that day). He scanned the perimeters of the store with his soft dark eyes. When he spotted me, and a smile spread across his face showing off his bright white grin.
“What did you buy?” He asked and tried to snatch my bag to peek inside.
“None of your business” I said and shoved my bag under my armpit. Ben rolled his eyes and followed me out of the store.
When we made it out to the street, he immediately divulged into a plan. He suggested we go out for dinner then go back to his place to finish off our “Seinfeld” marathon for the ninth weekend in a row. I playfully moaned, but was secretly excited that the final season would come to an end. That way, we could pick a new series (my pick, “Buffy the Vampire Slayer”, Ben’s pick, “Dexter”) to continue our weekend tradition.
“So do you want to go somewhere around here to eat? Or somewhere close to my place?” Ben asked.
“Do we have to go out for dinner? Can’t we just get take out? I have been out all day and I really want to get out of these awful work clothes.” I said.
That’s when a flickering gleam lit up in Ben’s eyes, and with much enthusiasm, he suggested we go back to his place and cook a delicious dinner instead.
As a light rain sprinkled in the air, Ben and I ran to the Super Market and Wine Cellar on North Clark Street. Ben took over, whizzing around the store, selecting different vegetables, whole-wheat noodles, spices, and our favorite choice of meat (chicken). He would occasionally look at me and smile from ear to ear, delighted with his idea of becoming Chef Benjamin Romano for the night. While Ben checked out at the till, he asked me to go select a bottle of wine. I flashed him a few choices, but he ended up deciding on a forty-dollar Italian red wine called Bava Barolo. He insisted it was fantastic, and I laughed because he was always so serious about his wine. Unlike him, I would choose the cheapest bottle and go with that.