Promposal (9 page)

I hadn't anticipated how afraid I'd be to do this. Not only were we challenging others, but we were challenging ourselves.

A hand landed on my shoulder, and I turned around. Benjamin stared down at me, green eyes tinged with a hint of concern. “It'll be fine,” he said. “Odds are, most people will laugh or back away. Just remember it's for a project—it's not personal.”

It was hard not to take this all personally when I was feeling so keyed up . . . and when his thumb was pressing into the dent above my collarbone. I swallowed, nodded. Tried not to savor the warmth of his skin flowing through my shirt to my own flesh.

He gave me a small smile, and the knot of tension in my belly unwound just a bit. His hand squeezed for just a moment; then he stepped back. “Okay, ready?”

I nodded again, this time with more confidence. “I'll go first.” We'd decided during our planning session that we'd take turns doing each assignment, and the observing person would take notes.

I walked up to a teen walking with his girlfriend. There was a gap between them, so I slipped into it and gripped both of their hands. “Hey,” I said with a big smile.

Their steps stalled for a moment, and their eyebrows were clear up to their hairlines. Then they both gave uncomfortable laughs. “Um, do I know you?” the girl asked me.

I shook my head and let go of their hands. “Have a great day!” Then I spun around and hustled toward Benjamin, who had a huge
grin on his face. “Oh my God, that was so weird,” I whispered to him. I was buzzing with adrenaline now. When I peeked over my shoulder at the couple, I saw them laughing hard as they walked hand in hand, and a warm feeling surged over me.

I'd done it.

The next hour flew by, and we finished our hand-holding experiment, followed by sitting or standing too close to others. I could see Benjamin had a different approach from mine as he tackled each project, and I tried to glean whatever info about him I could from my observations. Whereas I nervously giggled or found myself acting goofy, he was cool as a cucumber. Just slid up to people and began conversations as if they were lifelong friends.

Most of our targets blinked in surprise but started talking right back to us, though a few people shot us wary glances and stepped away as quickly as they could. One woman yelled at Benjamin, a scowl on her old face, but when he held up his hands with a friendly smile and spoke in a soothing tone under his breath, she lost her hostile edge and eventually smiled back.

The guy continued to surprise me.

We decided to take a break before beginning the public argument part of our experiment. I was craving Orange Julius like crazy, so we walked over to the kiosk and I ordered two.

When I got mine, I took a big draw and sighed with pleasure. “Perfection in a cup.”

“I've never had one,” he said, eyeing his cup.

“That's downright un-American,” I declared. “I insist you do so immediately.” Watching him hold hands with strangers and sit really close to them had broken some kind of wall between us. Or maybe my nervous filter was down, because I found myself
talking like he and I were lifelong friends too. Not worrying for the moment about how he was viewing me.

His eyebrow rose but he took a sip. Then another. “Okay, that is pretty good.”

I gave a satisfied nod. “Told ya.”

We strolled over to a bench in the middle of the mall and sat down to finish our drinks. I was so nervous, I chugged mine, then tossed the cup in a nearby garbage can. I could feel the heat pouring off his side, he was so close to me. Guess the whole personal boundaries experiment wasn't quite over after all. Or maybe he wasn't aware he was that close to me. Or—

“You're thinking hard,” he said.

“What?”

“I can tell when something's on your mind.”

I bit my lower lip. Crap, was I that obvious? “How?”

“You get this faraway look in your eye, like you're having these deep thoughts. And you play with your fingers.” He nodded at my hands.

I glanced down at my lap. Sure enough, my fingers were twisted together. I separated them, then sat on my hands, palms down. “I read ‘The Wife of Bath's Tale,' ” I said in a desperate attempt to divert the conversation.

He leaned back just a touch and eyed me. I could see surprise glinting in his eyes. “Really? What did you think?”

“It made me laugh. They were pretty naughty. I wouldn't have guessed it.” I chuckled. “I'm going to read some of the other tales tonight.”

I could see his throat working, his Adam's apple bobbing, as he kept staring at me. “You're an interesting person, Camilla.”

My chest tightened. “How so?” I managed to squeak out.

“I just . . . never know what to expect, I guess.”

Same here. It was so hard not to sway closer to him, to those tempting lips, and just press one tiny little minuscule kiss there. Just to see what would happen. I pressed my hands into my lap again, purposely planting my palms on my thighs to keep them in place.

My text ringtone went off. I ignored it—whoever it was could wait. “Do you have any brothers or sisters?” I asked him when the sound died down.

He shot a curious glance at my jeans pocket, where my phone was nestled, but didn't say anything. “An older brother. He's in college. You?”

I shook my head. “Just me and my parents. Where do you want to go to school after you graduate?”

A fraction of a pause; then he said, “I'm probably going to stay local.”

“I'm not sure where I'm going,” I confessed. “I have some options, but I don't know what the right choice is.” Part of me wanted to stay home and be near my family, but I felt like I should take advantage of college and go away somewhere.

“What do you want to do?”

“I want to teach history.”

He blinked. “Interesting. Why?”

“It fascinates me. I've always been intrigued by what came before us. What events and people led us to this very moment, and how different people spin various interpretations of our past. I really like American history in particular.” Crap, I was rambling.
Shut up, Camilla.

He shifted a bit toward me, and I could feel his warm breath caressing my heated cheeks. “You're not what you seem,” he finally said. I could hear a hint of admiration in his voice. “I don't know what I want to do in school. I can't narrow it down to something,” he admitted. “That's part of the reason why I'm having a hard time deciding where to go.”

My throat closed up as we stared at each other. I saw flecks of brown in his eyes, locked dead onto mine. My pulse pounded in my ears. It was almost hard to believe we were really here, talking like this. His eyes darted oh-so-briefly to my lips, and I drew in a shaky breath.

Kiss me,
I willed him.
Please.

Something flickered in his eyes, and he stood. Cleared his throat. “We should finish this last part.”

“Oh. Right. Yeah.” I gathered my notebook and straightened. Steadied myself, smoothed my sweater. “Time to get into a fight.”

“Holy crap,” I said with a gush of laughter. I leaned my back against the narrow hallway's smooth brick interior. “That was unreal.”

Even Benjamin was chuckling. He stood opposite me, one foot kicked up on the brick, arms crossed. “I'm just glad we didn't get the mall cops called on us.”

For the last half hour, we'd moved around the mall and staged fake fights, letting impulse and inspiration dictate the argument topic. So I picked a fight with him on how we never went to the burger places I loved. He argued with me that I was too clingy and never let him hang with his parents.

Over-the-top, ridiculous arguments. It was hard not to snort with laughter the whole time. But the people around us did as we
predicted, for the most part—avoided eye contact and walked away.

Now we had ducked into a hallway between the hair salon and the department store to pause and write notes. I slid down to sit on the floor and whipped out my pen. Scratched my hasty notes on a sheet of paper so I wouldn't forget.

“Nice job,” I told him when I finished. I capped my pen and put the notebook away in my large purse. “You had me convinced you hated tofu.”

He smirked. “And you truly made me believe you couldn't stand my mom. Though she'd be crushed if she ever learned that.”

My heart was still racing from the experiment. I stood right in front of him and peered up. “You can tell her I'll take her out to dinner in apology. If she'll even let me back in after I threw her homemade sweater in her face. That really was rude of me.”

Something dark flashed in his eyes, and then his head dropped down and his mouth touched mine.

I froze for a second and gave a small, shocked gasp. One of his hands reached across my lower back to tug me closer, and the other pressed against the back of my head.

Benjamin was kissing me.

I deepened the kiss, tasted him, breathed in his rich scent. Tangled my fingers in the thick hair at the nape of his neck. Blood coursed through my veins, lit up my senses, and set me on fire. I could almost hear my own heart pounding.

“Oooooh!” a light, feminine voice called out from the hallway entrance.

Benjamin and I jumped apart, panting, staring at each other in surprise.

The young woman, dressed all in black, strolled toward the
side door that led into the salon. “By all means, don't let me stop you,” she teased, then headed in.

When we were alone again, Benjamin scrubbed a hand across his face. “Shit,” he said. “I . . . Camilla . . .” His gaze danced everywhere but on me.

God, he must not have meant to do that. “Guess we can add PDA to our list after all,” I said with more bravado than I felt. I forced a laugh. “Mrs. Brandwright will be proud. We might even get extra credit.”

Some of the stress seeped from his spine, and he finally looked at me. His smile was small, but I could tell he was trying to ease the awkwardness that sat between us like a massive elephant.

I could still feel the heat of his mouth on mine, his hands searing my skin. Apparently, I was the only one who'd enjoyed that encounter. So why had he done it, then? Why had he kissed me? Was it because he'd gotten passionately riled up from our fake fights? And now he regretted it?

I shoved off and headed down the hall. Looked back at him over my shoulder with a casual air, though my heart was chipping into small, embarrassed pieces. “I don't know about you, but I need a pretzel.”

His face was impossible to read as he moved toward me, stepped in place by my side. We walked through the mall at a leisurely pace. He stayed quiet. I pretended he hadn't rocked my world with that amazing, intoxicating kiss. Then crushed it with his obvious regret.

The pretzel station had a line. I waited, fidgeted. Suddenly, I was anxious to get out of there. I needed to regroup, to gather my wits and stop thinking about this guy.

I could still taste him on my lips.

I got the damn pretzel and ate it as fast as I could. We continued our walk toward the food court, passing a tux store.

The question burned in my head. I wasn't going to ask. Nope. It didn't matter if he was or not.

But my stupid mouth opened, and before I realized it, I asked, “So, are you going to prom?”

He gave a casual shrug. “Probably not. I've never been much into dances.” He paused. “So how long have you and Zach been dating?”

I stopped in place and barked out a laugh. Was
that
why he was now acting so weird? “What? No, we're not dating.”

“But you're going to prom with him.” His face was a mask as he turned to me.

It was on the tip of my tongue to say, “Because he forced me into it by asking me in front of everyone!” but that wasn't entirely true. After all, I did say yes to him. I couldn't put it all on his shoulders. “We're . . . friends.” Kinda.

“Are you sure he understands that?”

Why wouldn't he? I hadn't given him any mixed signals. Unlike this guy, who blew hot and cold every five minutes. I walked up to Benjamin and eyed him hard. “I—”

My phone rang out with my text tone. Crap. I dug it out and saw I had a couple of texts from Zach—he must have been the one who'd texted me earlier. Speak of the devil. My lips thinned as I eyed the screen.

Busy? Whatcha doin?

Hey, we're having chicken for dinner. If you're not busy, come over.

I huffed a sigh, stuck my phone back in my pocket. When I glanced up, Benjamin was giving me a knowing look.

“Three guesses who's been blowing up your phone today,” he said with a low chuckle as he shook his head. But his eyes were a little flat. Or maybe I was just imagining it because I wanted to think he didn't like even the idea of me dating Zach. “You might not think you're dating, Camilla, but it looks like he does.”

I swallowed a groan. I was going to have to nip this in the bud with Zach before it got worse. The hard part was going to be figuring out how without making myself look like a total bitch.