Why didn’t I invite him upstairs when he picked me up tonight?

Oh, yeah, because my vagina won’t stop insisting that I show Ben my bedroom, too.

As I watch him shut the door with his knee, a set of slim arms wraps around his waist from behind. Oddly, Ben’s face appears as shocked as mine feels as we meet eyes across the room.

Not knowing what else to do, I shrug and mouth, I don’t know who that is.

Expression still confused, he mouths back, Me either.

His lost look is so stark that I find myself giggling, hand covering my mouth, as if I can somehow hide my laughter from him. No deal. He narrows his eyes as he fights his own smile. That drops from his lips the second the girl circles around in front of him.

On her route, I catch a glimpse of a pretty face. Tan skin and angelic features with cascading waves of golden hair. She’s using a jeweled butterfly clip to hold some of it out of her eyes. I’m sure, if I stood next to her, she’d be a few inches taller than me, even with the heeled boots I have on tonight. And her statuesque, willowy figure is draped with an equally free-flowing white dress that seems like it’s constantly shifting in a subtle breeze. The whole look suggests a bohemian innocence, and I have no trouble imagining this girl painting with watercolors or displaying a piece of handcrafted pottery.

“Ben!” Even her voice is sweet and high, like the glittering chime of bells. “I didn’t think you’d make it!”

By her level of excitement at finding him here, I guess that this girl either is as infatuated with him as I’m trying not to be or she is the ex and wishes that weren’t the case.

“How’s it going, Annabelle?”

The ex it is.

This is one of those rare times when I have no idea what I should do. I tend to avoid these situations at all costs.

If I stay here, will Ben forget he brought me? If I walk over to them, will Ben be glad for the interruption or annoyed that I’m butting into their conversation?

If we’d been friends longer, I’d have a better read on him, like I do with Marcus and Terra.

I’m considering looking up the bus schedule on my phone, so I can leave and get to work early, but before I can take a step toward the door, someone calls out, “Holly!”

In a strange reflection of Ben’s experience, a strong set of arms wraps around my own waist. Luckily, I recognize the voice, so instead of stomping on his instep and turning for a swift knee to the groin, I reach behind me and give Jasper an awkward hug around the shoulders.

“Ben told me you might be here.”

When he lets me go, I turn to face him. It’s not even eight p.m., but Jasper has clearly had a few.