Outside the Lines (Rebel Hearts #1) (8 page)

“Considering the old wiring in this building, I’d get something stronger with a better range. I can write down some recs for you.”
 

His eyes fall onto my chest again. “Or we can go out to the store and get something together and then have dinner.”
 

“No,” I say right away, surprising myself. Hot Guy, aka, asshole-not-asshole Ben, just asked me out. Why is my gut telling me not to go? I’m not in high school anymore. This isn’t some setup to mock me. We’re adults. He wouldn’t ask me out if he didn’t actually want to go with me.

He looks taken aback, like he’s surprised at my insta-rejection. “Do you have a boyfriend?”

“Nope. I don’t have a husband either. I’m single.” Might as well get it all out there. “You?”

“No boyfriend or husband. And no official girlfriend or wife.”
 

“But you have something unofficial?”
 

“I date,” he tells me. “But it’s nothing serious.” I’m not sure what to think of that. “Look,” he says. “It’s not every day I spill coffee on a hot chick that thinks I’m an asshole.”
 

I smile. “That doesn’t happen to me every day either. Or ever. Really, it’s never happened.” I don’t remember the last time someone called me hot. Well, someone other than people at Comic Con admiring my accurate yet revealing costumes.
 

I put the router back in its package the best I can so Ben can return it. We start setting up the new computer.
 

“Do you have plans this weekend?” he asks me. I don’t, other than playing video games, working on my Comic Con costume, and binge watching
Firefly
on Netflix. “If not, I’d really like to take you out.”
 

“I think I can rearrange a few things,” I say. “Where are you going to take me?”

“What do you like?”

“When it comes to food? Uh, everything.”
 

He laughs, flashing perfect white teeth. “That’s easy. Friday night, eight o’clock?”
 

“Sure,” I say, a little breathless, and try my best to hide my smile. No harm can come of this, right? I push aside my initial fears to give this a go. I fire up the new computer and sit down. Ben goes into the studio and turns on music, streaming from his phone. It’s set to random, and goes through everything from Mozart to Pink Floyd. I keep stealing glances at him as I install the updates. Half his body is hidden behind an easel. His movements are frantic and jerky, unlike the smooth, graceful sweeps you see in a movie.
 

I catch a glimpse of his face and see he’s totally relaxed and in his element, even though I’m here. It doesn’t take long to get everything running. I use the old router to set up the internet, and even with the new computer, it’s slow as fuck. Or it is by my standards. But the website loads without a hitch. I love being right.
 

“It’s done,” I say and scoot the rolling chair back. I move my gaze to Ben. He’s enthralled in whatever he’s painting. Mindy said he doesn’t like to be bothered when he’s working. Did that still apply? He likes something about me, and I don’t want to mess it up before we have a chance to even go out. I pack up everything and wait.
 

“Ben?” I finally call, voice soft.
 

He doesn’t look up.
 

“Ben?” I say a little louder. He flicks his eyes to me, seeming annoyed. There’s something dark in the way he looks at me, but it quickly vanishes as my name rolls of his tongue.
 

“Felicity. Are you done already?”

“I am.” I say. “Told you I was fast.”
 

“You most certainly are.” He blinks a few times, like he has to bring himself back into the here and now. He takes a handful of brushes to a sink, the white porcelain stained with paint, and washes them with care, not bothering to wipe the paint from his skin. He comes over to me, standing close to see the computer screen.
 

The smell of paint mixing with his cologne is intoxicating. It’s been so long that I’ve dated, well, anyone really, let alone someone like Ben. Someone cool and confident and probably totally normal. I always hope new people are just as weird as I am. All I can go on with Ben is his outward appearance and the little bit of himself he’s put into this office space.
 

He’s muscular, so he works out. He likes art—duh—and works in a chaotic mess. There’s one thing we have in common, at least. There is a Samurai sword hanging on the wall above his desk, and while it’s still in amazing shape, it looks antique. Other than that, he’s a mystery, and it scares and excites me at the same time. I suddenly feel so transparent: what you see is what you get when it comes to me. One look at the graphic T-shirt I’m wearing or hearing the Game of Thrones theme song play when my phone rings clues you into a lot about me.
 

“Is there anything else I can do to you—for you—before I go down … downstairs?” I swallow the lump in my throat. I’m not sure how to act around someone like this, and it unnerves me.
Just be yourself
. I nod at my own thought, earning a curious look from Ben.
 

His dark eyes meet mine again. “I can handle it. Really. But Mindy needs help.”
 

“Not the kind I can give,” I mumble. A few awkward seconds pass, and Ben’s brow furrows like he feels bad I have to do this. “It won’t take long,” I say and grab my bag. “So I’ll see you Friday?”

“Friday.”
 

I turn to head down the stairs, but Ben stops me. I whirl around.
 

“I need your number,” he says, hand still gently holding onto my wrist. I can feel my pulse pounding under his fingertips.
 

“Right. And I should probably get yours.” I take a few steps back and set the bag down on his desk, pulling out random items until I find my phone at the very bottom. We exchange numbers, and Ben says he’ll call me Friday when he leaves the studio in the afternoon with details.
 

I walk down the stairs smiling. Not even Mindy fucking Abraham can ruin this day.
 

CHAPTER SIX

I’m still smiling as I pull into the small garage and wedge myself between my crap and my car. I let my mind wander to an impossible future, most likely setting myself up for disappointment because that’s just how I roll.
 

I’m not thinking about what our babies will look like, where we’ll spend our retirement, or anything crazy like that. No, I have limits. They might be way fucking out there, but they exist. I let myself think about Friday’s date turning into something more and that Ben can be my Plus One to Jake and Danielle’s wedding. Everyone would be impressed with him of course, not just because he’s drop-dead gorgeous, but because he’s a rich and famous artist.
 

Okay, I might have made that part up. I did a bit of online investigating when I got into the parking lot. Ben does make a decent living—very decent, in fact—and while he’s well known in the area, he’s not really famous. Which is good, because I wouldn’t fair well with paparazzi. He used to live in New York and has pieces in the Museum of Modern Art. He moved to Grand Rapids a few years ago, which seems odd. But oh well. It is what it is.
 

Ben is a real man. A living breathing man with rippling muscles and a tight ass. And he asked me out. I can’t stop thinking about our date, and my excitement is turning to nerves. I have all tomorrow and most of Friday to obsess about it.
 

*

 
“Dammit,” I mutter when I remember I left the sprinkler on. I’m tired, it’s past my bedtime, and I just want to lay down. For a few seconds, I consider leaving it until morning, but I won’t be able to sleep knowing I’m wasting so much water. I pad into my bedroom to grab my phone to use as a flashlight, see it plugged in, and take a Lightsaber out of my closet instead. I flick it on, green light glowing around me, and head to the front door. I open the door only to quickly slam it shut. Bugs swarm around the porch light. I sigh, shut off the light, and grab my boots to go out the back where it’s a bit safer from killer mosquitos and moths.

Using the Lightsaber to illuminate the way, I go around the house and turn off the water. I start to coil up the hose when a dark figure catches my eye.
 

I freeze. Someone just walked up to my front porch. My heart skips a beat. It’s after 11:30. No one good comes knocking on your door after 10 PM.
 

I hold the Lightsaber in front of me like it’s a real weapon, the green glow reflecting off the cream siding of my house. I’ll just take a peek at who is on my porch before I run inside. If things go south, I’ll run and bang on my condo-neighbor’s door and beg Pearl to protect me.
 

She’s from the south and hasn’t lost a bit of her spunk at seventy-three. Plus she owns a shotgun.
 

A black Audi is parked in my driveway. It’s off, and I don’t see anyone else inside. I swallow and creep forward, heart hammering when the outline of a man in dark jeans and a dark T-shirt comes into view.
 

My mind goes a million miles an hour again, but instead of imagining drunken wedding reception sex with Ben, I’m thinking of this guy kidnapping me and running experiments.
 

I trip over the garden hose that I’d been coiling up, catching myself at the last minute. The man turns, having heard something rustle in the grass. Light from the street lamps hits his face.
 

It’s Ben.
 

What the fuck? Is he some sort of stalker?
 

“Felicity?” he calls.

Crap. I’ve been spotted.

I inhale and hold my arms down, trying to look casual. “Hi,” I squeak out and walk through the wet grass to the porch. Green light illuminates his face. “What are you doing?”

He holds up my wallet. “You left this. I figured you’d need it before Friday. I tried calling you, twice,” he adds quickly. “But you didn’t pick up.”
 

“Oh, shit,” I say. “I had my phone charging in another room.”
 

His eyes slide down my body and settle at the Lightsaber in my hand. “You’re a Jedi?” He gives me that infamous grin.
 

“I wish.” I hold up the Lightsaber. “It makes a great flashlight in a pinch.”
 

An eyebrow goes up and amusement sparkles in his eyes. He just nods. “And you needed it because?”

“I was turning off the sprinkler, and then I had no idea who was creeping around my house in the middle of the night.”
 

“It’s only eleven thirty.”
 

“Oh right,” I laugh. “That’s not late at all.” Normal people are still out of the house and socializing with friends at that hour. “Lost track of time. Feels later than it is. I stay up, I go out with friends.” Why can’t I stop talking? My lips are moving and words are coming out even though my brain is yelling at me to stop. Another thing I can’t stop is my gaze from sweeping down over his body. He’s got more paint on his clothes, and his hair is rumpled like he just had sex, which is incredibly attractive and off putting at the same time.
 

And I should clarify—it’s only off putting because that sex wasn’t with me.
 

“So you drove all the way out here to give me my wallet?” I open the front door and step in, mentally yelling and thanking myself for not locking the front door. I turn off the Lightsaber and toss it aside, and then flick on the porch light. Ser Pounce winds around my ankles, trying to make a sneaky escape. I push him back with my foot.
 

“It wasn’t a far drive.”
 

“Wait, how did you know where I lived?”

“Your license has your address,” he says and gives me my wallet. Our fingers touch as I grab it from him.
 

“Right, right. I just changed it too, like a month ago. I haven’t lived here that long and put off changing it because, well, who likes the DMV?”

He laughs and meets my eyes. “I don’t think anyone does.”
 

“Thanks,” I say. “Really. I’d be screwed in the morning without it. My car is on E.” I swallow. I should invite him in, right? Will that give the wrong implication? Do I care if it does, is probably the better question. I stare at him, suddenly terrified, as if he’s a vampire and by inviting him in, I’m giving him some sort of power over me.
 

Maybe I should wait for our date Friday. I’ll be prepared, dressed up, and maybe a little drunk.
 

Mosquitoes swarm around my door already, and when a moth swoops in, I know I have to close it or bust out the leftover tulle material from my fabric bin and make a net to sleep under.
 

“Want to come in?” I ask.
 

Ben is still looking at me. He hesitates, then smiles. “Sure.” He steps in and I close the door behind him. “You look like you’re ready for bed. Sorry if I woke you.”
 

“I was still up. Just playing games.” I step out of my little foyer and toss my wallet onto the recliner chair in the living room. Silence comes between us and I regret asking him to come inside. I have no idea what
should
happen next. What would happen in a book or movie?
 

We could hook up, have passionate semi-one-night-standish sex then go out Friday? Yeah, don’t think so. Sleeping with Ben tonight would make our first date not really a first, and then, shit. I don’t know.
 

I need to get better at this thing called being social.
 

“What game were you playing?” he asks, eyeing the PlayStation.
 

“The Witcher 3: Wild Hunt,” I say and try with every fiber of my being not to fear the Gamer Girl stereotypes. I fucking hate them. The whole Nerd Girl stereotype pisses me the fuck off, to be honest. I’d been quizzed more than once on my “knowledge” at a convention, and I only resisted punching the misogynistic asshat in the face to avoid being kicked out.