Heads or Tails

Chapter 7

Between Ben's goofy questions and my surprising answers, we can't seem to keep our hands off each other. Thank God we're trapped on a bus with our friends because watching the dimple on Ben's left cheek appear every time he smiles is starting to make my legs weak.

Ben and I are in our little world the entire bus ride, creating enough sexual tension to keep my cheeks rosy for the past hour and thirty minutes. That's right. I've been blushing for a whole hour and thirty minutes of this bus ride. Every time I glance at his lips, I want to kiss him. And every time he asks me another Would You Rather question, I find myself giddier than a schoolgirl with a crush. I don't even recognize my giggles.

I even absentmindedly bite my lower lip. When Ben sees this, he playfully tugs on it. He touches my cheek and my thigh and twirls bits of my hair. I know this playful, flirtatious banter is abnormal between us. It most certainly isn't helping put our friendship back on track.

I decided to ask Ben a Would You Rather question. "Okay, would you rather have sex with Jennifer Aniston or Angelina Jolie?"

"Neither," he responds.

I make the mistake of looking up at him. His blue eyes blaze in my direction, and I am sure I know exactly what he's thinking. Primarily because of the way he continues to study my lips, my breasts, and my waist.

"You have to pick one," I say.

He runs his palms down his thighs, laughing nervously. "Can I pick someone else I'd rather sleep with?"

When he asks this, I snap back to reality. What the hell are we doing? My best friend is slowly slipping through my fingers, and I am letting it happen.

I miss Megan and Ben, who'd scroll through Facebook and poke fun at people who have inspirational quotes as a status update. I miss Megan and Ben, who'd sit and eat an entire tub of ice cream while playing a game of Battleship. I especially miss Megan and Ben, who'd jog around Millennium Park on a Sunday morning.

So when Ben says he's disappointed he missed out on skinny-dipping, I regain my senses and switch gears.

"Okay, Ben," I say, reaching for my water bottle. "What the hell are we doing?" I take a sip and swallow.

He looks me over, and his face tenses when he sees I'm not kidding. "Seriously?" he mumbles.

I glance over my shoulder to ensure no one is hearing our conversation. "We're best friends. Some meaningless drunk sex shouldn't change us," I say, discreetly gauging his reaction. He's poker-facing it like a champ. "I mean, we're flirting with each other. Like touching and giggling and flirting. What the hell, Ben?"

"You make it sound like a bad thing," he says in a whisper, and I wince inwardly at how disgusted I sounded. "Sex hasn't changed us. You've changed us. You've been acting like a complete nut since it happened."

"Because we had sex, Ben."

His eyes scan my face, neck, and breasts as if he were seeing me for the first time now. "Megs," he says softly.

"Don't Megs me," I warn him. "I'm not the only one acting like a nut. Explain why you stormed off last night and didn't come to the beach then."

The air between us seems to hum quietly. He reaches forward and slides his hand over mine, gently squeezing it.

"I wasn't that drunk," he says.

"What?" I look up to catch his eyes as they flicker at my mouth. I swallow, watching this, trying not to be distracted. "What do you mean you weren't that drunk? That's not a reason as to why you decided to leave dinner and refused to come to the beach."