The Hardest Cut by Jamie Bennett (book club recommendations .TXT) 📕

“We’re fine.  Did you leave something here?  Did you need something?”

“No, I didn’t forget anything.  I was driving someone home and she threw up in my car,” I announced.  “In my brother’s car.”

“That’s disgusting.”

“Yeah, it totally is.  It’s pretty horrible to be in here with it.”  I shivered, because even with the heat going all the way up, it was a little cold with the windows down, and especially in my going-out outfit.  My party clothes weren’t made for warmth or comfort.

“I’ve dealt with a lot of baby spit-up,” Ben mentioned.  “Tessa was a real puker in her day.  I got it out of my upholstery and I know a few tricks—”

“Oh, I could come over!” I said immediately.  “Sure, if you wouldn’t mind.  I’m actually not too far away from you right now.”

There was a pause, long enough for me to understand that he hadn’t meant for me to arrive on his doorstep tonight.

“Or, no, that’s not necessary,” I started again, but as I did, Ben said, “Sure.  Come on over.”  And I pulled out and was on my way, trying to straighten my hair and apply a little more lip gloss as I drove.

“That’s disgusting,” Ben repeated when he saw the interior of the car.  “Have a seat on the porch and get off your leg.  I’ll take the mat out.”  He pulled on gloves and did, and I sat on the step watching him.  After a moment, he picked up his head from his repulsive chore.  “Why are you smiling at me like that?”

“It’s just so nice that you’re doing this,” I explained.  “It’s so nice that you’re helping me.  I appreciate it so much!”  It was like a superhero movie or something, like Batman in his special suit saving the heroine from a villain with one of his cool gadgets.  Except that Ben was wearing gardening gloves and using a hose to save my car from puke.  It felt the same way to me.

He stopped and smiled back.  “I’m glad I can help.”  He peeled off the gloves.  “This can dry out here.  Come on inside.  It’s freezing.”

Not really, since it was springtime, but his house was a lot warmer, I noted.  “Working furnace and water heater!  Insulation, glass window panes!” I updated my mental real estate listing.  People did seem to expect those features.

Ben walked down the hall toward the bedrooms and came back holding a sweatshirt.  “You look kind of, uh, bare.  Cold,” he amended.

I looked down at the cleavage that my scoop neck displayed.  He really wasn’t interested in it?  No, if he wanted me to cover up, then he really wasn’t.  “Thank you,” I said, and pulled on his sweatshirt.  I looked down again, now at the red and white horsehead logo of the Alabama Rackers.  “I’ve never worn any other team but the Woodsmen,” I noted.

“Don’t tell them, but I didn’t throw away everything from my old team.  I love that sweatshirt.”  He reached and rolled up a sleeve and pulled me with it to sit on the couch.  “It’s way too large for you.  I always think of you as bigger.”  He disappeared into the kitchen.

“Like, fatter?” I called after him.  Great.

“No, I think of you as taller, I guess.  You’re pretty petite.”  He was frowning as he came back in and handed me my old icepack.  “You don’t really worry about that, do you?  About being fat?”

“No!  No, I’m not worried.”  Not every waking moment of my life.  “Well,” I hedged, “I have to keep it in mind, don’t I?  Just like your players should worry about their fitness, I have to, also.  But for me, it’s not how much I can bench press, it’s how I look in my dance shorts.  I have to look my best, always.”

“Hm.  I think you look fine.”

Great, first I was big, now I was only “fine.”  “Thank you.”  I tried not to sound glum.

He sat on the couch and picked up a beer bottle that was halfway to empty.  “How’d you end up with the puker?”

I filled him in on the night while trying to remove my boot, which was stuck on my swollen leg.  “It wasn’t Caitlyn’s fault, not really.  It sounds like she’s been pretty sheltered and she definitely wasn’t used to drinking so much.”  I sighed.  “But I’m really, really sorry about Anthony’s car.”

Ben was watching me as I worked to free my foot from the tight case of leather.  “Put your let up here,” he told me, and I laid it next to him on the couch.  He put it on his lap instead and started to tug at the boot, carefully, but I gasped anyway.  “It hurts that much?” he asked.

I nodded, trying not to cry.  “Maybe you were right and it was a bad idea to go out tonight.”

“But you’re still not going to tell your coaches?”

I didn’t answer, which told him what he needed to know.

He nodded back and gave another pull.  The boot slid from my foot, revealing one hot pink sock with red hearts on it.  “Very fancy,” he noted, and arranged the ice on my ankle.  When I started to move my leg off his lap, he put his other hand on my knee so I wouldn’t.  “Keep it elevated.”

“Ok.”  I leaned back against the couch, moving carefully so I wouldn’t dislodge his hand from where it cupped around my leg.

“You’re not the only one who’s injured, now.  I tried one of your cookies,” Ben told me.  “My teeth may not recover.”

“They’re not that bad!  They just didn’t soften for some reason.”  I wasn’t quite clear on the reasons behind my baking failures but tended to blame the oven.  Or maybe, it was that I usually halved the sugar and butter.  Who needed all those carbs and fats?

He laughed.  “Tessa liked them.  They would have been good for her when she was teething, too.  She was such a grouchy little bear whenever she cut a new tooth.”  He got the