“I really don’t know why she didn’t like me then, or why she still cares now. She moved to our town our sophomore year and just needed someone to pick on, I guess.” I take a bite of food and sigh, feeling my give-a-damns go out the window. “She became the Regina George of our school in just weeks, and everyone flocked all over her. You know those types.” I shrug. “But that was years ago, and she’s never grown up, never moved on.” The realization crashed down on me as I speak. “Being the queen bee of high school was her peak. It’s kinda sad when you think about it.”

“Peaking in high school is sad,” Ben agrees, looking into my eyes.

I smile and nod. I don’t want to tell him that I’m still insecure about it, that Mindy brought me to tears and bullied me to the point of faking sick so I wouldn’t have to go to school and face her. I shouldn’t be ashamed of that.

Shouldn’t.

But I’m still scared he’ll think less of me, that hearing it out loud will somehow slap sense into him and he’ll see me as the nerdy looser Mindy and everyone else saw in high school. I’m so logical it kills me, I know.

“Well,” Ben says. “She’s still jealous of you if she’s talking shit.”

Still jealous implies that she was once jealous of me, and that’s not the case. I just nod again. I came into this conversation with a dozen fucks. I wanted to leave with all twelve of them. I want to get to the point where I don’t give a single fuck about Mindy. She’s not worth it.

“Have you been to the Gardens and Sculpture Park yet?” Ben asks.

I shake my head since my mouth is full. Once I swallow I say, “No, but I keep hearing about it. I want to go.”

“How about this weekend?”

“Yeah, I’d love to.”

“And tonight,” he says carefully, and for half a second I think he’s apprehensive about asking me out again, like I might for some crazy reason turn him down. “Dinner and a movie?”

“Oh yes, that’s perfect. A movie I want to see just came out.”

“Great,” he says with a smile.

*

“It’s so big!” I exclaim.

“That’s what she said,” Ben says with a grin.

I laugh and roll my eyes. He swings my hand as we walk down a path that leads through a peaceful section of tall grass, wild flowers, and statues and sculptures in the park. “Really,” I say. “I can’t believe I’ve held out on coming here. It’s beautiful.”

“I’m glad you think so,” he tells me and slows when we cross a wooden bridge. People mill about, enjoying the nature and the artwork spread throughout, soaking up the warm June day. We stop walking and Ben wraps his arms around me. I’m not wearing heels this time, just my Hufflepuff Toms, and Ben is several inches taller than me. I go up on my toes and kiss him. “Want to finish the tour or do you want to go back to my place for dinner now?”  He raises his eyebrows and I know he’s thinking about dessert.

And by dessert, I mean sticking his P in my V.

That’s a pretty good dessert.

“It’s up to you,” I say. “I like it here. It’s very calming. And pretty. I like calm and pretty.”

He slides his hands along my side and takes both my hands. “We can keep going. I come here from time to time when I want to think. And this place is really inspirational. Then again, so are you.”

We cross the bridge and walk in silence, taking in the sights for a few moments. I’m completely comfortable with Ben, which is kind of weird when I think about it too much. Not counting meeting for lunch during the week, this is our third date. We spoke on the phone Thursday night for several hours, and he called me Friday before the art event thing-a-ma-bob that he had to go to just to say hi and see how my day was going.

I’m starting to like him a lot.

We both slept in this morning. The event Ben went to was a few hours away, and by the way he spoke, he didn’t get in until late. I stayed up doing important things like arguing on an online forum about the sexism in Cosplay. And playing League of Legends. That’s important too, of course.

I called Ben when I got up, like he wanted me to, and we made plans to visit the gardens then go back to his house. He’s cooking me dinner. I assume I’ll be spending the night, like he had with me, but, again, I’m not sure the protocol on this kind of thing. Since he picked me up from my house, the ball is in his court. To an extent. Maybe? Hell if I know.

Instead of looking presumptuous and backing a separate bag, I used my biggest purse and loaded it with a few overnight things, like face wash, my toothbrush, and my travel makeup bag. I folded a new dress and a fresh pair of undies for tomorrow and put it inside, and for tonight, I’m wearing a matching bra and panty set. I like to be prepared.

Speaking of preparedness, I debated on bringing condoms. I didn’t, assuming since Ben puts them on his dick, he probably has more. I’m currently not on any sort of birth control. I stopped taking it six months into my dry spell because I was too lazy to take it every morning, and really, what’s the point when I’m not getting any? I have no problem getting back on it, but I don’t want to jump the gun and assume what Ben and I have will turn into anything … uh, lasting?

I’m afraid of jinxing this.

Because this—whatever the hell it is—is pretty fucking awesome.

“What do you think about that one?” Ben asks me a while later. I follow his gaze to a glass sculpture rising from the ground. It’s twisted yet graceful and is every color you’d see if you looked up at a starry sky.

“I like it,” I say as I inspect it. “It’s pretty, and reminds me of … I really don’t know. I’m bad at interpreting art, don’t be mad.”

Ben chuckles. “I wouldn’t be mad, and I think the interpretation is so open. What one person feels and sees is so different from another, and even more different from what the artist was thinking and feeling at the time.”

I nod. “Like maybe this artist only had midnight colors to work with, but everyone else says blue means depression or some psychological stuff like that. I happen to think blue is calming, by the way. And open at the same time. That makes no sense, I know.”

“I think I’m following,” he says.

“It’s probably because the TARDIS is blue,” I try to joke, then remember Ben isn’t a Whovian. That’ll have to change if this thing develops further. “And it reminds me of magic and the sky. And the sky is magic, really. The sky is the literal sky, but it’s so much more than that too. It’s like a symbol of not putting limits on things, and a dark sky reminds me that there is so much out there left to be discovered.”

He nods, eyeing the glass shapes. “You did a good job interpreting that one. Don’t say you’re not good.”

I shrug. “But who knows if that’s what I’m supposed to feel.”

“You’re not supposed to feel one thing or another. Just feel.” His arm goes around me and my heart does a skip-a-beat thing. I rest my head on his shoulder and close my eyes for a long blink. “And the artist would agree with you about blues and limits, well lack thereof.”

“How do you know?” I ask, then realize Ben is the artist who made this. Duh, Felicity. “Oh, right. Do you have anything else here?”

“Yes, but we don’t have to search it out,” he says and I get the feeling he’s too humble to take me on a tour to show off his work. “And we’ve already been by one other one.”

My eyes widen. “I didn’t insult your work, did I?”

He laughs again, and fuck, I love when he does. “No, you didn’t insult anything. And I take criticism really well. I know not everyone is going to like something I make. You can’t please everyone anyway, so why try?”

“Very true,” I reply and his statement resonates deep inside. I take the words personally, thinking of how it’s taken me years to figure that out.

You can’t please everyone.