made our way back to Ben’s swanky condo, overlooking the magnificent Grant Park and he started pulling out the groceries from their brown paper bags, and sprawled everything out all over his granite countertops. I began to help him sort through them, until he pushed me away and insisted he was going to do the cooking. He ordered me to pour us each a glass of wine, and to plop myself down on one of the stools surrounding his massive island. I watched Ben work his magic in the kitchen and whisk around from the fridge to the stove, back to the island for a sip of his wine, then back to the stove. He insisted on playing twenty questions, another one of Ben’s little idiosyncrasies when it came to passing the time.
Once he was done, he had made and assembled the most beautifully prepared pasta. He mixed chicken, zucchini, spinach, tomatoes and eggplant and topped it off with shaved Parmesan cheese. He also made a mixed green salad with homemade balsamic vinaigrette. I even saw him whisking it together in the bottom of a large salad bowl, moments before his big reveal. I clapped at his masterpiece and said I never knew he had it in him to cook. Ben proudly smiled and said he was full of surprises.
Over dinner, he complained about how a new client of his demanded that Ben list their property way over its market value. Ben refused, which ruffled his client’s feathers a bit. But I wasn’t at all surprised by Ben’s blunt approach. It was his confidence and expertise that had led him to be the youngest top seller with Reitman Realty LLC for the past two consecutive years in a row. That was something I could only dream of, and as of last year I was thankful I even made a decent sale ranking.
Then Ben told me about how his sister recently lost a ton of weight (like went from Wynonna Judd size down to an Ashley Judd zero). I was impressed over this recent weight loss, because as long as I had known his sister, she had struggled with her weight. Then I brought up my obsession with Bachelor’s final three candidates, to which Ben rolled his eyes and told me I needed to get a real love life.
A bottle of wine later, and we had chatted about everything and anything. When I noticed it was getting late, I changed into a pair of Ben’s sweats and yelled out from the bathroom door for him to go and make us some popcorn before we started our “Seinfeld” marathon. But by the second episode on the third DVD of season nine, I couldn’t stop yawning. I asked Ben if I could stay over, and he smiled and said, “Of course” while I cozied up on the opposite side of the sofa. Although I can vaguely remember him slipping a blanket over me before he wandered off into his bedroom, I know I can clearly remember thinking how lucky I was to have him as my friend when I slipped into a slumber on his leather sofa.
But right now, all I can think about is how great that night was, how great our friendship was, and how much fun we had together doing absolutely nothing. While I debate whether or not to sit with Ben, or take my own lone seat on the bus, I yearn for that Saturday. I wish more than anything I had a pause button to freeze that night in time before things suddenly became weird and complicated between us. I think of Jerry and Elaine from “Seinfeld” who were best friends that once slept together. Heck! They even continued to sleep together in later seasons and they got along. I purse my lips together and wonder why we can’t be like Jerry and Elaine? So with “Seinfeld” as my influence, I make my final decision and plop myself beside Ben. I playfully nudge him and say, “Would you rather have a rewind button, or a pause button?”
Ben locks his eyes with mine and says, “Definitely rewind.”
Chapter 7
It was atrocious. For approximately two hours and fifteen minutes, Ben and I created enough sexual tension to drive me insane. The whole bus ride, every time I looked at him I wanted to kiss him, but of course I didn’t. Every time Ben would ask me another would you rather question, I found myself losing focus from his voice, and daydreaming