“One, Ariel Sinclair,” Ben says, laughing, “if you tried to kill me, I could take you.”
I laugh too, grinning at him.
“And two,” he continues, and my face falls along with his as real sorrow appears in his eyes, “if you’re asking me if I’m jealous of you having two of the most eligible men in the nation so upset that you’re not singularly in love with them that they’re ready to kill each other?” He leans forward, a bit intent, a bit sorrowful. “Yeah, babe. I’m jealous.”
“Oh, Ben,” I murmur, setting my plate of cake aside on the coffee table and leaning forward to him, reaching out. “It will be all right – it will all –“
“It won’t, though, will it?” Ben murmurs, taking my hand and looking down at his knees as he squeezes it, sweet and sorrowful and hopeless. “Not if I…if I want him…”
I
