While We Were Dating (The Wedding Date, #6)

by Jasmine Guillory

She appreciated the way he told her everything he was about to do and warned her every time he was going to touch her.

“Didn’t I tell you that you could count on me?”

Oh God, he had therapy tomorrow. He really didn’t want to tell his therapist about this—she would want to know if it brought up stuff about his dad, blah blah, and they’d had enough of those conversations. At least, he knew he had.

Good alcohol was one of the ways his brother showed love. Also bossy advice, detailed spreadsheets, and alphabetizing things. Very occasionally, blowing off work, but that was only for a true crisis.

And I just don’t know if I can relax with another person like that yet. Or, I guess, trust another person.” She sighed. “I never used to worry about that.” “I know,” Penny said. “But also maybe you’re building it up in your mind as something that you have to stress about, since it’s been so long, and finding excuses not to do it?”

“He does that thing where he listens to me really intently, and then asks me questions about what I’ve told him,

The men probably came easy to her because of her newfound happiness with herself, not the other way around. She realized, as she used her whole body to act, to exercise, to express herself, how much she loved her body, and how glad she was for every inch of it.

“Annie. This is me you’re talking to. I know that tone in your voice.

She should stay; she should get her work done. But no, wait, she needed to take care of herself, remember? She was supposed to stop forcing herself to stay and get work done when she knew she needed breaks.

“What else am I going to do, go drop you off at your hotel and wave good-bye with you feeling like this? Please.

“Can I trust you with the music? We need good music for a road trip, but I don’t know what kind of nonsense actors listen to, and I can’t have any of that highbrow intellectual crap. And”—he held up a hand to stop her from interrupting—“do not—do not—even say the word ‘podcast’ to me right now, do you hear me? This car is a podcast-free zone!”

My therapist says we all have blind spots;

“You okay?” he asked. She nodded at him, and then shook her head. “I’m not okay.” She’d tried to practice saying that over the last year, but it was still hard.

“If you need a minute, it’s fine,” he said. “It’s been a long day.”

“Anna, what the hell are you apologizing for? Are you really telling me that you just found out that your dad is okay, and now you feel bad because you inconvenienced me?

“Anna, my God, I want this, I’m sure you can tell exactly how much I want this. I’ve wanted this since the first moment I saw you, but you’ve had such a long, emotional day, and I don’t want you to do something you’ll regret.”

“Is everything okay?” he asked. And then he wanted to slap himself. What a stupid fucking question. Everything was obviously not okay. He tucked the covers tighter around them and pulled her close. “I’m okay,” she said. “I’m sorry. I should . . . explain.” He kissed her hair. “Shhh,” he said. “You don’t have to explain anything.” Wait. He released his hold on her. “But . . . if you want to be alone, I can go get a snack, or find another room, or something. Just say the word and I’m gone. I promise, it’s fine.”

“Everything really is okay. That’s why I’m crying. It’s been so long since everything felt okay. Since I felt like I was okay. And it’s been a long time for me. For this, I mean. Last year I—” She let out another sob. “I wasn’t doing well. I wasn’t okay at all. I was so . . . and now I’m not. I really am okay now. I’m sorry, you must think I’m—” He stroked her hair. He had no idea what she was telling him, but he knew one thing. “I think you’re incredible, that’s what I think.”

Not the sex—that part had been great. Really great. But why did she have to start crying afterward? And if she had to cry, why couldn’t she have waited until she was sure he was asleep? And also, why did she spill her guts to Ben about why she’d started crying? Granted, she couldn’t remember exactly what she’d said to him, and she was pretty sure she hadn’t told him the whole story, but she’d still told him more than she’d told almost anyone. Ben had mentioned therapy in passing on the drive down here yesterday, so she knew at least he wouldn’t be a jerk about that part, but still. Was he going to bring up what she’d said last night and ask questions she didn’t necessarily want to answer?

They didn’t talk much, and they didn’t touch at all, but she somehow felt as close to him as she had in bed the night before. When she’d cried, and he’d pulled her close. And—in one of the sweetest things a man had ever said to her—had offered to leave the room if she’d wanted him to. That had only made her want to burrow herself even tighter into his chest.

“So I didn’t think . . . once the anxiety attacks started, I didn’t want to tell anyone. I didn’t even . . .” She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “I didn’t even tell my family, or my best friend. I felt like I had to be strong, and if I told them, if I acknowledged that it was happening, it would mean I was weak.” Ben lifted her hand and kissed it softly. “Oh, sweetheart. That’s not how it works,” he said.

I thought if I just pushed through, I could handle it. That it would all stop.”

But he was the first person she’d even been slightly inclined to trust in a year and a half. Her therapist had kept telling her to trust her instincts about people. So here she was. Trying to trust them. She hoped to hell it didn’t blow up in her face.

“It was silly. I should have just . . .” Ben touched his finger to her lips. “No more of that, remember?”

“Anyway. Sorry for all of this. I’m a little embarrassed now. Once I started talking, it was hard to stop. That’s probably way too much information.” “No,” he said. She looked over at him, but his eyes were on the road. “No, what?” “No, it’s not too much information. No, you have nothing to be embarrassed about.” “Oh.” She took a deep breath. Tears came to her eyes again, but they were good ones this time. “Okay.” “I just wanted you to know that,” he said.

“Thank you for telling me,” he said. “But can I ask—why did you tell me? Don’t get me wrong, I’m really glad you did. But . . .” “But I don’t know you that well, so why did I trust you?” Anna finished. He nodded, and she thought for a while. “It’s because of how you responded. Last night, I mean. You could have pretended not to hear anything and just gone back to sleep, you could have just hugged me and not said anything. But not only did you soothe me and listen to me, but you said you’d leave if I wanted you to. I don’t even know why you asked that, but it made me feel so comfortable with you—like you’d do whatever it took to put me at ease.”

“Yeah, some dudes get so scared of therapy. Like, do you think they’re witches who are going to steal your power, or something? It’s just talking to people.

“Also, um. Can I ask you a favor?” she asked. “Anything,” he said. “Can we talk about something else? I haven’t . . .” Her voice wavered. “That was a lot, is all.”

“It’s a long story, I told him sort of accidentally. And he was lovely about it, he said all the right stuff. But I don’t want to see him make that face. You know that face. The patient, gentle, condescending face people make when they think they have to tiptoe around you. I want to remember everything with him as this good, happy thing and not have it be ruined.”

She already sort of regretted telling Ben everything, letting him know too much about her, letting him see past the Anna Gardiner public persona. She worried that if she kept this going, even for the next week, she’d reveal far too much of herself to this man who had looked at her in bed like she was the sun and the moon and the stars all together. She didn’t want to have to see that look change.

She was glad she’d come here today. Just talking about the stuff she was most stressed about with Ben made her feel calmer. Why was that? She still barely knew him, even though it no longer felt like that after that trip to Palm Springs.

But last night, she’d fallen asleep so fast, and slept so well. Maybe it was that she’d been yearning for human touch for so long, and Ben was so good at that. She’d noticed that about him early on—he was always touching shoulders, or clapping people on the back—but only people he had a relationship with, people who appreciated it. He hadn’t touched her once, though, until she’d made it very clear she’d wanted him to. And that made that heavy, warm hand on her hip feel all the more earned.

“Oh good. I was worried about you in there—I remembered you’d said some of your worst anxiety was because of all of the photographers outside the set that other time, so I didn’t know if all of this stuff was hard for you for that reason.”

She liked the way he asked that—he brought up her anxiety like he was talking about a sprained ankle or something—no hushed voice or expression like he was discussing something bad or like she was some fragile being who might fall apart. But also, she was glad he’d thought about it and had checked in on her.

You don’t have to tell me what’s wrong if you don’t want to, but don’t lie to me.”

About how you might need to work on your ability to have permanent relationships, just in general? Because this seems like a venture in the opposite direction.”

“I know you think there’s something wrong with me, because I like dating around and don’t want to settle down, and that’s all about my dad or whatever. But I just haven’t found anyone I care enough about, that’s all. And how could I turn down this offer from Anna? Not everything is about my fear of being abandoned or abandoning other people or whatever you want to call it.”

“The accomplishment there would have been yours. It can be valuable to share your emotions, good and bad, with people. Not to change their behavior, but for you to tell them how you feel. And to acknowledge your feelings to yourself.”

“My therapist thinks I shouldn’t feel the need to control everything quite so much. I’m . . . working on that.”

“Have you ever noticed that when you get upset about something or there’s something you don’t want to talk about, you try to distract me with sex? It works, don’t get me wrong. But you could just tell me you’re upset, or that I shouldn’t have pushed at you, or whatever. You don’t have to pretend everything is fine and just fuck me.”

What was even the point of being mad at you about it? It wasn’t going to get me anywhere or do anything good.

“I’m not . . . great about conflict,” he finally said. “It’s something I’m . . . supposed to be working on. You know. In therapy. But it’s hard. And I don’t like it. And it always feels easier to smile or joke or fuck it away, I guess.”

“It’s a lot easier,” she said. “But sometimes it’s also a lot more rewarding to share your feelings and your hurt with someone else.

Ben, I wasn’t saying that I want any of this part to change. I just want us—both of us—to be able to be honest with each other. Okay?”

I don’t want anything having to do with my dad. I don’t want his second family to try to intrude on mine. He left, he’s done, I’m done with him! I went to fucking therapy, I talked about my fucking feelings, I moved past everything, I figured it all out, I was done!

“It feels like . . . after all the work we did, that she did with me, that she’ll be disappointed in me. For not, like, thinking this was no big deal, for not being ready to embrace this woman with open arms, the way she seems ready to embrace me. For not being fixed.”

She won’t be disappointed in you. Life is a constant work in progress, you know that. There’s no being ‘done’ with any of this stuff.”

“I guess I wanted to be done. For her to be proud of me. It feels like something is wrong with me that I’m not ready for this.”

I want this role in the Varon film so bad I can taste it, and I’m just so worried that all of this won’t work. I’ll feel like such a failure, and everyone will see that I’ve failed, and laugh at me, and I won’t know where to go or what to do.”

“Perfect. Then how about we stay right here, on this more-comfortable-than-it-has-a right-to-be couch, until your heart stops beating like you just ran a marathon?