Page 19 of How We Began

“Your band is playing?” I gasped. “Actually? Tonight? I’m going to hear you sing?”

Ben laughed and shook his head. “You’ve heard me sing, Lilah, remember?”

I scrunched my face, mind totally blank, mainly because his body still pressed against mine and erased all sensible thoughts. “Oh, the Fresher’s Ball? That doesn’t count, I was drunk.” #fact

Ben clutched his hands to his chest, which annoyingly meant he dropped his grasp on my fingers. “You wound me with your callousness.”

“Kiss me and I’ll make it better.”

Grinning he slowly lowered his face to mine, lips skimming my mouth. I inhaled the scent of him, the warmth of his touch.

“Yo! Get a room.” Someone shouted, and he broke away, his gaze intent and burning bright.

“This is crazy,” I said, more to myself than him or anyone else as he pulled me into the pub.

This whole thing is crazy, every single part of it. Him, the way he is, the way he makes me warm liquid and all squishy on the inside. The way I can’t stop the insane fascination with every part of him.

Nothing about this is what it was supposed to be.

My diary has basically been turned into an ode to Ben instead of a log of how amazing I’m doing in my new life of learning and discovery.

I should have been in the library, studying hard, getting amazing grades, forging a future I could rely on for myself, instead of one my dad served up to me… but no… I allowed myself to be maneuvered to the centre of the room and placed on a stool by Ben, who kissed the top of my head, fingers skimming my cheek, before he walked over to the rest of the band who all greeted him with bro-hugs, you know the kind that proclaim, “Yeah, we are guys, but we hug. So what?”

Ben slid out of his jacket and headed towards the microphone. My knees jack-hammered up and down with anticipation. His blue check shirt caught against the lights, and his hair shone an inky jet black in contrast.

“So anyway, this is a date of sorts,” he rumbled into the microphone.

Sweet man alive.

Ping. Yep, ovaries were a gonner.

He gave me a nod, which I returned, beaming like a bloody idiot. Not an idiot, a downright certified lunatic—fit me for a straitjacket.

“This is for Delilah,” he announced, and laughed into the microphone as he started to pick out the notes to ‘Hey There, Delilah.’

No, he really was going to play it.

“Noooo,” I hollered, my grin about to split my cheeks. “Sooo cheesy.” I didn’t care though, I would have rolled in melted cheese at that moment.

Meredith and Tristan pulled up chairs alongside mine, but I didn’t take my eyes off Ben. If he’s beautiful just sitting in class and tapping a biro against his teeth, then watching him with a guitar, long fingers and dark tousled hair was something close to tear inducing pain to behold.

Forty-five minutes later, after playing a completely off-the-cuff acoustic set, Ben told the crowd at the pub that he needed to have a break to snog the sexy brunette sitting in the middle. I ducked my face to avoid the stares as the whole place broke out into cheers and clapping. He strode towards me and I jumped out of my seat like a thirteen-year-old at her first concert, melding myself to him like I’d smothered us in super-glue and never planned to find a solvent.

“You really think I’m sexy?” I whispered, not because I’m given to bouts of vanity, but because it just didn’t make any sense to me. I’m a total munter when standing next to him.

His hands smoothed down my hair, cradling my jaw. “Start believing it, Lilah.” I looked in his eyes, searching for secrets, finding nothing there.

“I don’t get it.”

His mouth answered mine in a blistering kiss while the rest of the pub all started to cheer or maybe jeer, but I just kept my eyes closed.

In years to come, I know I’ll remember how my heart pounded in my chest and the whole room applauded, as Ben kissed my lips like were both drowning, and the only way to stay afloat was to cling hopelessly on to one another and take a deep breath.

What a date! Right?!

Seriously, if that was a first date, then what would a second date be like, or a third? Or, I don’t know, what would forever be like, if I got to wake up with him every day?

I’m exhausted today in all the best ways. We didn’t get home until, well actually I don’t know. Early hours of this morning, and my lips are chapped (I think I need to order a tank of Vaseline) from kissing, and my heart is racing in my chest.