#Score (20 page)

B
enji

J
iggling
the key in the lock, I turn the knob slowly, wanting to savor this moment. Dragging my smallest suitcase behind me, I enter the flat, feeling around for the light switch on the wall and flipping it on, nearly blinded by all the lights. It's bigger than my last place, a little older-looking, but in a good way.

It's the moment that I'm able to let go of the heartbreak I've been feeling for the past few days before flying out to London. Even though I know I shouldn't be as upset as Ramona is, it's hard not to feel crushed beneath her misery.

It was so damn hard, so incredibly hard to let go of her at the airport. I hated doing that to her, watching her fall apart, and not in a good way this time. There are so many things I wanted to say to her, but all of them had to wait.

She held on so tightly I thought I was going to have to get a crowbar out. In fact, I even made a joke about it, but it fell on deaf ears. Once Ramona finally did dislodge herself, wiping at her wet face, she gave me this weird sort of handshake. Sometimes I can't help but smile when I think about her social awkwardness.

"I'm going to the art gallery in San Francisco sometime this month," she had said to me right before I walked down the terminal. "I'll Skype with you so you can see my big painting."

"Oh yeah? It's about damn time," I joked with her. Whatever it was that she kept from me on that canvas was her prerogative, but I just like to tease her about being so mysterious.

I told her I loved her, and she said it back with the kind of sadness in her eyes that nearly made me tell her everything about my plans. But I knew I couldn't ruin it, I knew it had to play out the way I wrote it down on paper. It was the only way.

And now I'm here in London, standing in the middle of this place that's now mine, I'm finally able to let the euphoric feeling bubbling up inside of me out of my body. "That's right, motherfuckers. Benji Lundgren is here. Eat your heart out, London," I scream at the top of my lungs, not giving a damn if I irritate some old cranky neighbors or not.

I bring up the rest of my luggage, still waiting for the moving van to bring in my furniture, so I sit on the wood floors, calling absolutely everyone I know to tell them that I'm here safely.

* * *

B
edlam Moriarty
, my new teammate and possibly worst nightmare, slams down a pint on the bar top, shoving at my shoulder hard but only playing around. "Oi. This cunt here thinks he can play with the big dogs." he calls out, his eyes about to bulge out of his head. I forget how absolutely fucking crazy the British teams and fans are. "Drink up, Nancy boy. You got a big week ahead'a ya."

The pub cheers me on as I chug down the beer, slamming the glass down once I'm finished. It's loud, smells like stale beer and piss, but I fucking love it already.

* * *

L
ucky for me
, I only live four blocks down from about three different pubs, and when I stagger my way home, I'm quick to remember that I still don’t have my bed yet. In a drunken state of creativity, I roll up three of my shirts together to make a pillow, pulling my jacket over the rest of me. In my head before I go to sleep, I think about what I have to do starting tomorrow morning. All the plans I have to make, everything that I have to do in order to get everything just right. I've got to be prepared if I want this to work.

My phone dings and I check it, glad to see Eliza, Ramona's friend with the art gallery in San Francisco, has sent off the paintings. She has a whole bunch of connections here in London especially, and we've been working together over the past couple weeks trying to find the right buyers for Ramona's work. When she told me how much the one guy, this crazy billionaire that just came and bought like half of her artwork for sale, wanted to pay for just one of Ramona's paintings alone, I nearly shit bricks. Call me crazy, but I had no idea art was worth that much unless you were fucking Leonardo da Vinci or something.

B
ut it's
all working out just like I hoped, and it's a damn good thing the idiot wants to pay that much money because it only helps with the rest of the plan. Not to mention having another piece of Ramona's artwork here in one of the nearby art galleries only helps to get her foot in the door. After all, that's what she's always wanted.

I
've been putting
it off all day, and all night too, trying to stay in my happy mood for once. It's been a while. When I pull out my phone and see her beautiful face smiling at me, I slide over to call her, skipping the texting.

"Benji?" Even the sound of her voice is enough to make me smile.

"Hey beautiful."

She sighs into the phone, and I pretend not to hear her sniffling. "Hey. I didn't expect to hear back from you so fast. You only got there yesterday."

"I miss you. Come see me." Okay, so I'm a little drunk, but I know what I'm doing.

She laughs into the phone, already knowing what she's dealing with. "Let me guess, your new team wanted to try you out, test your drinking skills?"

"Are you already here and you're secretly watching me through a window or something? That was a scary good guess."

"Or I'm just smarter than the average bear. Did you have fun at least? You know, before they made you drink your weight in alcohol?"

"Yeah. It was good. But I really miss you. For real, for real."

"Not for play, play? I miss you too, Benji. So, so much. I was just sitting here, bored out of my ever-loving mind since no one is coming to the Laundromat so far yet today. My parents are just going to love that. But I was thinking about maybe trying to save up some money and come out there next spring. What do you think?"

The fact that Ramona is trying so hard here really grips at me, and I have to keep my drunk ass out of the emotional zone and as clearheaded as I can. "Why wait till then? How about I book you a plane ticket for London this month?"

I can practically see Ramona sitting there with her arms crossed, rolling her pretty brown eyes at me. "Right. Like my boss is going to suddenly let me take a week off to come visit. I wish I could, baby."

I know better but I say nothing, trying to pull the drunken pouty voice off as best as I can. "Oh, come on. You can do better than that. Just tell him you're sick or something. You know this whole time I've been with you I've never seen you get sick, not even once? Are you secretly a superhero you're just not telling anyone?"

Ramona gasps. "How did you find me out? Who sent you?" We both laugh at our own dumb joke.

"Seriously though. I want you to come out and see me this month. I'll pay for it, I'll pay for all of it. Just promise me you'll come."

Ramona lets out a soft sigh, and I can hear the scratching of her pencil against her sketchpad paper. "You're not going to let this go, are you?"

Grinning, I adjust my head on my makeshift pillow of shirts. "I think you already know the answer to that."

"Okay, okay. The best I can tell you is that I will talk to my boss and see what he says. Okay?"

It's easily a hell yes in my ears, and since everything's already been set up . . . I let out a loud whoop in her ear. She has no idea what's in store for her.

R
amona

D
on't look
out the window. Don't look out the window. Don't look out the—oh, shit.

I definitely shouldn't have looked out the window. We’re going up in the airplane at an angle so steep I can barely understand what's happening around me. How do people do this all the time? Suddenly I wish I had someone to hold my hand just so I can breathe better. I clench my teeth together tightly, telling myself this is only the first part of the trip and I need to relax. Thank God for Xanax, that's all I'm saying.

Even after all the panic and anxiety well up inside me, I still can't help but be incredibly excited. I mean I haven't seen Benji in almost 3 weeks, and I feel like an addict looking for her next fix. The things I plan on doing to that boy . . . he's going to be really in for it.

I've been so out of whack lately, losing my concentration in the middle of painting, or talking to my parents, or taking orders from a customer at the café. Everybody's been showing their concern, from Michael's playful little taunts all the way up to my parents texting me every hour or so to make sure I'm still alive. A little dramatic, sure, but I guess I can see their point.

I refuse to think about the fact that this is probably can be the last time I actually fly out anywhere, much less to see Benji. And that can only mean one thing. That this might actually be the last time I can really see him in person.

Nope, I'm not going down that path, not in the middle of the goddamn airplane with 100 other people stuffed in like sardines around me. The very last thing I want right now is to have another breakdown about my boyfriend while everyone is watching.

I pull out my sketchpad, drawing a deep breath before trying to distract myself by drawing a couple of my favorite cartoon characters to pass the time.

But all of my characters end up with features that don't belong on them, like the boy with lips that are too full, or the girl with the sharply angled jawline. Half of them have Benji's haircut, messy but in a good kind of way.

I blow a piece of my hair out of my face, completely frustrated that I can't even draw cartoons without seeing his face everywhere.

The lights in the plane start a flicker and my eyes start up, wondering what in the hell is happening. There's a large thumping noise and the plane starts to vibrate in this scary way that makes me think I should pull out that brown paper bag from the seat in front of me.

A voice crackles over the PA system. "Sorry for that, folks. It looks like we’ll be experiencing a little bit of turbulence as we go around the storm. Please make sure you stay seated and properly restrained in your seats until the flight attendants on deck let you know otherwise. Thank you."

Okay, okay. I breathe in deeply through my nose and out just like I've taught. I’m not going to die, nothing's gonna happen, turbulence is a common thing and it's going to be okay. I try not to look too frightened since there is a small family sitting directly next to me with kids that look like they're just as scared as I am. I give the one across from me a smile, trying to silently assure her that it's going to be fine.

What I can't help is my mind going back to the first night with Benji. The turbulence only makes me think of the bad timing, and I wonder to myself if this is one of those stupid signs from somewhere else. What could this mean, if anything?

I grip the sides of the seat tightly, hoping that the second part of the trip is easier.

* * *

J
ust from the
small space between the airplane and the terminal, I could feel the chill of the wind from outside. Thank God I brought warm clothes, although I'm not sure how my light coat is going to fare in English winter . . .

There's a small crowd of people waiting inside by the gate for us. I lug my bag over my shoulder and scan the crowd for him, frowning when I don't see him right away.

Taking a seat on one of the black plastic benches, I pull my phone out of my bag, checking to see if I have any missed messages from him. Nothing. Zip. Nada.

That's weird. Benji hates being late for anything, and the way he was talking, I thought we'd have to find a private bathroom stall just so we could say our 'hellos.'

I slide back into the hard seat, glad to at least be off the plane. I'll be thankful for the day when teleporting really is invented if it means I never have to do that again. Maybe there's a reason travelling around the world isn't in my cards.

After pretty much everyone has cleared out, I’m left sitting there, still waiting. I try to call Benji's phone but he doesn't pick up, so naturally I'm fucking paranoid and worried that he's dead in a ditch somewhere.

M
y eyes drift
shut and a second later, my phone buzzes.

Turn around.

I jump up and spin around so quickly that I knock my bag onto the floor. My eyes dart around, but I still don't see him. I frown, not liking this game at all.

But quiet footsteps fall along the tiled floor behind me, and I smile. His arms wrap around me tightly, his warm breath in my ear making me feel like I'm home again. "Hi, Cinnamon."

I turn my head at the sound of his voice and he places a soft, gentle kiss at the nape of my neck, clutching at my shoulders and spinning me all the way around to face him.

I
'm blown away
by how much I missed him and those steely blue eyes staring down at me. His lips are on mine in an instant, and I forget my name as he parts my mouth, filling it with his tongue as his hands slide down my sides to grab handfuls of my ass. I laugh, pulling back, only to get drawn back in.

I
know
I should care that we're making out in the middle of the airport, but I don't. Not when Benji Lundgren touches me.

I
beg
him to keep his hands to himself until we at least get back to his new place, a flat in the small neighborhood of Stepney inside London. As our cabbie drives us to Benji's place, I watch the rows of houses fly by, picking up on the vibe. It's nice and relaxed around here, with a few pubs and small shops dotting the streets. I figured Benji would pick a place closer to the action, especially since he's been so bummed out about having to leave his 'baby' in South Carolina with his aunt. And I don't mean me, either.

H
e pays
the driver and helps me with my luggage once we're outside his building. "Holy shit, Ramona, what do you have in here? A bowling ball?"

I smirk at him. "Just my clothes and my new pegging kit. I hope you're up for it."

This is Benji though, and he's so on my level sometimes that it makes me want to scream. "I'm all for a good adventure. Just be gentle. It's my first time," he calls out over his shoulder as we make our way up to his flat.

W
e both drop
the bags we're carrying once we're outside his door, and I'm in his arms without any hesitation.

He bends his forehead down against mine, cupping my face. "God, I've missed you."

I smile up at him, holding back the tears that I refuse to cry. I want him to see me happy, not broken.

B
enji slowly pulls away
, a funny look in his eyes. "I guess it's time to step inside."

"
O
kay
," I say, drawing out the word for emphasis. Why is he acting so weird?

H
e gives
me one last look before turning and unlocking the door, holding it open for me so I can drag my stuff inside. I drop everything by the couch right inside the flat, yawning and stretching my back out from being cooped up on the stupid plane. But when I open my eyes and look around for the first time, I freeze.

A
ll around the living room
, in the small dining room too, are prints of my paintings. Not just the three small ones I've let Benji see, either. There are more from inside my college portfolio, some that I haven't looked at in months, all of them hanging up in dark wooden frames, looking picture-perfect on the walls. It's a sweet sentiment to be sure. My heart races in my chest. "What's this?"

Then I realize something. If my paintings have been in San Francisco, then how did Benji find time to have prints made of them?

He shuts the door behind us and locks it, turning toward me. "I did a thing. And I think you're going to like it."

"A thing? Benji, what are you talking about?"

He hands me a slip of paper, a copy of my plane ticket. I look at it because obviously he wants me to, but I'm confused. "This isn’t my plane ticket, is it? But this is a one-way ticket . . ."

I quickly reach back in my pocket for my own ticket stub, yanking it out and scanning it. How did I not know this? "Why did you only pay for one-way ticket, Benji? I thought you had enough money to send me back, too . . ."

It's not like I have the money to do it myself or anything.

"Because you're not going back. You're moving in with me, here, in London. Like I said, I did a thing."

I can't stop looking at the way he's grinning at me like a crazy person. What in the world is he talking about? "I can't move in with you. I mean, what about my parents? My job? And I'm supposed to be helping Brie pay rent and all. I can't just leave . . . why are you looking at me like that?"

He takes my hand and we sit down on the couch. "Your parents weren’t thrilled at first, believe me. But they understood what I was asking, and in the end, they were okay with it. They even helped orchestrate this whole thing with me. Jasmine and Brie had a role in it too. I've already paid for your half of the rent for the next three months so Brie has time to find a new roommate. And your douchebag boss gave me a hard time about it but finally ended up understanding what I told him that if you said yes, you wouldn't be coming back to work for him. I think he'll get over it eventually. What else is there? Oh yeah, and your paintings . . . they're not in San Francisco. Me and your friend, Eliza? Yeah, we totally had them sent to her friend here in London, who works in the Wellington Gallery of Art. They're going to be shown this week for the first time. Eliza wants to keep your big painting there though. She says she loves it too much to part with it just yet."

T
he broken pieces
of my heart that I thought had turned to ash weeks ago start to melt back together, mending one by one. "I'm staying?"

His fingertips brush against my cheek. "No. You're living."

H
is words set me free
, my panic fades into the background, and all I can see is the love that bursts forth, ballooning inside me so fast that I know I'm going to explode with the kind of happiness I didn't know I could possess. I let out a squeal and tackle him on the couch, everything that's been locked up deep inside me finally gone now that I know he's not giving up on us. "You are such a sneaky sneak. Have you known this whole time that you were going to do this, or is this one of your last-minute whirls?"

B
enji shakes
his head at me, his eyes crinkling in the corners. "You really think I could pull all of this off without having it planned out weeks in advance? I'm good, but I'm not
that
good."

"
W
eeks
." I screech. "You've known for weeks. Benji, you are such a pain in the—"

H
e cuts me off
, pulling me down until his mouth devours mine none too gently. I moan against his lips and let him taste me, his hands roving all over, grabbing my hips, my ass, clutching at my shoulders. This is what I've been waiting for. This moment right here.

B
ut he pulls back
, surprisingly, given how hard he is against my belly. "Wait. I'm not done," he says, catching his breath.

I look at him, trying to gauge the expression on his face because if I had to guess, I'd say he's looking a little pale. And I'm not saying that because he's a white boy, but because he looks nervous.

"I planned on doing this a little differently. Smoother, somehow," he mumbles more to himself than to me.

"Doing what?"

He's got my ass in his capable hands, rubbing wide circles deep into my muscles. It feels nice, like I'm being pampered by an insanely hot Swedish masseuse.

"I love you. I missed you so much this whole time. But even having you move out here, surprising you with everything, didn't feel like it was enough for you. I needed to offer you more because let's face it, at the end of the day, you still have to put up with my ass."

I grin and nod. "Very true."

"I thought I'd try and sweeten the deal. An extra incentive, if you will," he says, his laugh shaky. "Marry me. Marry me and we can travel all over the place together. I can kick other guy’s shins in and you can paint topless on a mountain somewhere. That might be more for my benefit than yours, though."