I pull another strand of hair out of my ponytail and wrap it around my finger. My translation from Latin of the first marital night customs in 13th century France reads like an erotica short. My overactive hormones seem to be the only thing in charge of my brain. I don't think Professor Hopkins will appreciate my hormone-saturated speculations on how the event went for the bride and the groom. At least the didn't have to worry about their relationship status. That's what I can't get off my mind.

Not a conversation I want to have over text, or call. I text Ben minutes before midnight. If I sleep on it my sober and less horny morning self will get scared and backpedal.

Me: can you hang out after the store closes tomorrow night? need to talk.

Three dots on the screen indicate that Ben's typing back.

Ben: Sounds good. We can make plans for what we can do before going over to Tall's place for lunch. I have a steam room and a sauna in the building that we can use.

Should I wait to talk to him until Saturday? I probably should, but it isn't a viable option. Waiting that long would lead me to either collapse from too many sleepless nights, combust from sexual frustration, or go bald after having pulled all my hair out. All three of those at the same time is a good possibility as well.

***

"Look at your shoulders." Chris leaves his register and walks over to me. There's no one left to tell him to get back as we are the last employees on duty. "I'm not joking about getting you those free passes to my yoga classes at the YMCA. You're bunched up like you have the worry of the world on your shoulders. Let me stretch you out."

Chris's hands are magic. He fixed me up when I pulled my lower back the first day on the job, lifting a box of Icel Winery's red. Any stress relief is welcome. I move my hair out of the way and give Chris access to my neck. He starts by stretching and bending my head side to side and instructing me through deep breathing exercises. His fingers dig deep into my tight shoulders and my muscles scream, sore from swimming and other things.

I close my eyes and stifle a moan. Chris eases the pressure and moves his thumbs into my hairline, melting away some of the strain. I take a long breath in, and release an even longer one out. The pounding of the heartbeats against my ribs quiets down.

"Is he what you wanted to talk to me about?"

Ben's voice breaks the spell I'm under, forcing me to open my eyes and focus on his face. Angry. Ben is angry. Have I ever seen him in such condition?

"Why is he touching you?" Ben points his chin at Chris behind me.

"Hey, chill, man." Chris takes his hands off me and raises them up. "She's all yours. I was just trying to calm her down, dude. You two clearly have issues to work out. I'll go...check everything...and start closing the store." Chris backs away from us. "No wonder you're so wound up," he mumbles and heads to the front door,

I'm not wound up. I throw a scathing glare at Chris and move my shoulders around, because they are tight. I am tight, and it's not because I'm unaccustomed to exercise, but because I have to see how my conversation with Ben is going to go. Can I click my heels and be in my body an hour from now, with a clear resolution, kissing Ben and laughing at my doubts?

"Do you like him?" Ben looks at the door behind him.

"Who? Chris? No way, he's just my colleague, I—"

"Save your explanations. If you are not interest—"

"Ben, stop. Let me say what I wanna say. You're jumping to wrong conclusions—"

"No, I want to be clear that I'm not advanced enough to be in an open relationship." Frustration rolled off him in waves. "I'm still learning how to be in a relationship with one person." He stares into my eyes, hands opening and closing, trying to control his emotions. "The one time I wasn't direct with you was when I should have been, and it leads us here." He raises his voice, his usual quiet politeness abandoned. "Let me clear: I will not be able to share you." His eyes shift between me and Chris who's pretending not to have heard Ben while passersbys on the sidewalk heard Ben.

"Stop," I say in a hushed voice—a counter-reaction to his loudness. "This is not the place to talk about it. We can talk after my shift. In private. And stop looking at Chris that way. He's my colleague, and that's it. You better believe me."

Chris's ears turn red. He heard every sentence. A nice guy, he's also the heart of the store's rumor mill. Tomorrow the staff room will erupt with theories on why Ben and I are fighting. Yey, me. The boring bookworm status I enjoyed these months can't protect me anymore.

"I will wait for you in the car." Ben storms back to the door, like he can't be around me anymore.

"And your groceries?" I say to his back.

"I am in no mood for groceries." He sounds off.

"Ben—"

"I will wait for you in the car."

Classical music plays in Ben's car when I get in: furious and intense, it matches both of our moods.

"What music is this?" I ask.

"It's Rachmaninoff's Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini." The volume quiets a little, and a slow movement starts with beautiful rolling piano scales. Dad would've approved.

"Are you still upset?" Not how I'd imagined the start of our conversation. As if the stress over trying to define what Ben and I are doing isn't enough. Navigating through Ben's reaction to Chris isn't something I'm prepared for.

"I overreacted."

You don't say! And for no reason at all. I place my cheek on the headrest and watch him.

"I didn't mean to cause a scene," he says. "I'm sorry."

Ben's back to the calm flat voice he uses with strangers. His hands on the steering wheel, he looks straight ahead. The lit-up console casts gloomy shadows on his face. I want to run my hand over his barely-there hair—all that's left after his self-administered buzz cut.

The music swells, urging me to follow through, but I shove my hands into my armpits, squeeze them tight, and focus on what I came there to do. No matter how much I want to touch Ben, I can't get derailed again. Talk first—touch later.

"Like I said, I need to talk." I take the plunge. "When you asked me to help you with dating, and I agreed, it was for you to try meeting different women and to gain experience with them, while I gave you advice."

The music continues in the background. My eyes don't move off Ben's profile in the dim unlit interior of the car. I take one of the deep breaths Chris showed me earlier.

"Saturday was very confusing. The kiss, finding out about Xavier, all that—I thought my head and heart would combust." I look for a change in his face or his body but see nothing. No squeezing or frowning. He's too still for the amount of angst I'm filling this car with. Maybe I'm wrong and staying friends is best. No. Not chickening out. Not changing my mind. "When I texted you to come over, I wanted to talk about what's happening with us. But we didn't. I have no idea where we stand."

Ben's grip on the steering wheel tightens. He heard me.

"I'm not going to deny my attraction to you," I say.

That gets a reaction from him. Ben's head turns toward me, his eyes land somewhere between my chest and shoulders, not looking up. Only his car's console separates our elbows. He's so close, yet so distant.

"I'm confident you are attracted to me as well," I say.

I wait for a confirmation from Ben, but it never comes. "Are you attracted to me?"

"I am," he says in a quiet monotone.

I take the deepest breath I've taken all day, allow my ribs to expand, hold it for a few seconds, and exhale until I'm empty of air and indecision. The truth.

"I think we should give it a try. But I'm not promising you anything."

No reaction.

"Graduating, working to save money and moving to France remain my focus. I need a fresh start, and I would hate myself and you if I get sucked back by the morass of my life in Chicago and lose the chance to change my life. I wanna make sure we both have the right expectations. All I'm offering is something light and fun, to satisfy our attraction." Each of my words was carefully scripted, agonized over for two nights and days. Determined, clear, but not giving him any ideas, that's the vibe I'm going for.

"You want to have sex with me," Ben says and his voice goes up at the end. Hope? Uncertainty? I can't quite tell. "Am I understanding you correctly?"

Bullseye. Why didn't I just say that? He distilled my roundabout sentences to the real point of this conversation. "Yes, Ben. I want to have sex with you. Very much so." I lick my lips and focus on the 'but'. The boundaries. The non-negotiables for this agreement. "But I can't give you much beyond that, and I'm not sure I can be what you need." Using the trick I picked up in middle school, I roll my lips between my teeth, physically preventing myself from blurting anything else.

"What do you think I need?"

"I don't know. Something more permanent, more secure? I wanna be honest with you. If everything goes according to plan, I'll be moving to France in January. In the meantime we can have a short-term mutually beneficial relationship between two consenting adults. I'm not looking for fluffy feelings that would end up in tears and heartbreak." I pause and will him to look at me, show me how he feels about my words. I'm tired of guessing.

"I'm sure lots of random guys on dating apps would love to do that for you."

"They would, but I'm attracted to you, and you are to me—we both feel the pull between us, so this is the solution I came up with. It made sense in my head." Did I make a mistake? Another mistake by trusting him with how important my plans are? Should I've lied, and promised the full girlfriend experience without revealing my real intentions? Or is he not interested in me as much as I am in him? Was I wrong? "I understand if you aren't interested. You know what you want, and I won't hold it against you. We can stay friends, and I'll help you with dating. But then we'll know where we stand. We'll be just that: friends. No benefits. No kissing." Not at all what I want but that's what will happen if I don't get his consent. Rewind to before the kiss and forget it ever happened. "I need us to redraw the boundaries. Whether they stay in the original place or we move them is up to you."

His silence is killing me. Say something, Ben. Anything to give me a hint. Seconds then minutes passed by. I fucked it up. I should've told him we can't be anything more than friends, apologized for the kiss and not offered this crazy friends-with-benefits option. Why do I even try? Honesty. Who needs that shit? I should've not kissed him in the first place. Why am I so stupid? And why do I want to know his answer?

"Ben. Do you want to try this with me or not?"