The Love Hack

Arty

Going for dinner was the last thing I needed right now when it felt like I was just about to vomit squarely on the floor of this nice restaurant.

I glanced down at the water glass in front of me, tracing the rim with my finger, trying to pretend I wasn't hyperaware of every little thing Ben did. Every shift of his body, every subtle glance he threw my way. It was like a game of chicken, and I was starting to fear that I would crack first.

When did everything get so confusing?

I swore he had dressed up for the occasion. Ben had on a collared cream shirt with small embroidered flowers, paired with brown carpenter pants. The shirt had one more button undone than would be deemed socially acceptable, but Ben pulled it off effortlessly.

I couldn't tell if Ben was purposefully messing with my head or if Talia was right.

Even Sarah had agreed. When I told Sarah what Talia had said, when I explained that things felt weird and I wasn't sure if I was making it up in my head, she had exclaimed "Fucking finally."

Apparently, according to Sarah, the last person on the planet to realize that Ben liked me, was me. But I didn't see it that way.

I think that he liked it, having me fawn over him, lovestruck and obsessed. I think that's why he hated Leo, because it drew attention away from him. But he didn't want me, not actually.

I couldn't figure it out. What did he want from me? Why did he do this, the little things—leaning in just a bit too close, the touches that lingered, the teasing that left me breathless?

When I glanced up at him, his eyes were already on me, like he'd been watching the whole time. A slight smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, but there was something in his gaze that made my pulse pick up.

"What's going on in that head of yours, Arty?" Ben asked, his voice low, in his typical teasing way.

But this was it. Tonight I was calling the bluff, and I was getting to the bottom of it.

"Just thinking about you," I tossed back.

And just for a split-second, I caught Ben's genuine reaction before he immediately covered it up. The way his eyes widened just a little and his lips parted in surprise. It was enough to make my heart skip a beat. For a moment, just a fleeting second, I saw something in his expression that wasn't guarded, wasn't playful, wasn't a mask. It was real.

Then, just as quickly, the smirk was back, and he leaned back in his chair, casually swirling his drink. "So, how all-out are we going tonight? Can we afford guac?" Ben joked, expertly evading my comment, which only grew the frustration inside me. His voice was light again, but I could feel something between us.

I clenched my jaw, forcing back the urge to call him out on it. But I knew we had a long night ahead of us, and this conversation was far from over. "You can get all the guac your heart desires."

"Dessert?" He followed up with.

"Dessert we go splitsies on," I said.

Ben chuckled, "Fair enough."

The menu was basically a prop, both of us always ordering the same things. We started with a plate of elote, and then I got a plate of carnita tacos while Ben ordered octopus tacos. Ben would try to convince me to try one, and laugh at the squeamish face I made.

We settled into the comfortable rhythm of our usual dinner routine. The food all came at the same time, but we started with the elote. It was warm and smoky, the corn covered in a generous coating of cotija cheese and chili powder. I grabbed a piece and took a bite, trying to focus on the flavors rather than the way Ben's knee kept slyly brushing mine under the table. Every time it happened, it was like an electric current running through my body.