On an Edge of Glass

out, or burst into flames, or something equally as dramatic.  I need air.  So I shake my head from side to side slowly, and mutter unintelligible words under my breath, and duck out of the room before anyone can stop me. 
    Stumbling into my bedroom, my hand splayed to the wall for support, I tear off the grey scarf and throw myself on top of my bed—shoes, dress, and all.  I try my best to push all of my thoughts aside.  I don’t want to picture the look on Ben’s face when I ran out of his bedroom, or wonder what the hell Payton must be thinking right now. 
    M y head is full of whispers.
                  The party is still raging out my bedroom window when I close my eyes and cover my head with a pillow. 
    Before I fall away, I have one last clear thought .  If Ben Hamilton can screw with my brain function this way then the plan has been a total disaster.

CHAPTER SEVEN
    Dressing on the Side
     
     
    I’m lying half-awake in my bed.  The blue-grey morning sky winks at me from between the slits of the window blinds.  I can hear muffled activity outside my door.  It’s probably my roommates—up and starting to clean the mess from the party. 
    I know that I should get out of bed and help, but I don’t feel like dealing with anyone this morning. 
    I roll over and my shoe catches on something.  It’s my tail.  The black dress from last night is bunched up around my hips.  I didn’t even bother to wash my face before I collapsed on the bed.  This morning I probably look like some kind of freakish back-from-the-grave nightmare.
    I’m in the middle of debating the advantages of a self-imposed exile to my bedroom when I hear a sound that can’t be real.  A familiar voice so out of place in this house that I wonder if I’m having a psychotic break.
    My dad.
    My fucking dad.
    Shit.
    Double shit.
    Now, I’m up like a shot, darting ou t of my room and across the hall to the bathroom before I can even take a breath.  I fling open the door and smack into something warm and wet. 
    A rrggghhhh!  It’s Ben. 
    He’s s tanding at the sink with a damp white towel wrapped low around his waist.  Beaded water clings to the smooth skin of his bare chest.  Freshly showered hair drips down his back.  I look down to the edge of the towel and back up quickly. 
    His brown eyes widen and he opens his mouth.  I slap my hand across it and stand on my toes.  Forget propriety.  Forget awkwardness.  Forget what happened last night with Drew or last week between us.  My dad is less than fifteen feet away.
    T he whispered words gush out of me. “My father is right outside this door.  I completely blanked that he was stopping by to take me to lunch on his way to a conference today, and now my life is crumbling.  My dad cannot see me like this.  You have to help me!”
    Ben pulls my hand away from his lips.  “What can I do?”
    My heart is pounding with distress.  I’m looking around the bathroom wildly, definitely on the verge of a panic attack. 
    “I’m not even sure what I need,” I say quickly.
    My eyes pause on Ben’s naked chest and my heartbeat kicks it up another notch.  This can’t be happening! 
    He’s peering down at me and we share this moment that seems to last a million seconds.  So much is scribbled across his face that I think I could fill up a novel trying to describe it.  His lips twitch into a shy smile and it’s like a door inside of me is opening.  Like it’s blowing off the freaking hinges. 
    Ben nods.  With his hand cupping the small of my back, he pulls me in and presses his mouth against my forehead.  The contact is electric.  I gasp, but before I can manage to say a single word, he’s out the door.  
     
     
    I take the fastest shower in the histo ry of the world.  I’m drying myself before the soapsuds are rinsed off my body. 
    After toweling off, I bunch my wet hair into a loose knot at my neck and clip it in place.  It’s going to dry into a nest of frizz, but I just don’t have time to worry about that.
                  I skip soundlessly to my room and slip into a pair of clean pants and an open-necked green top that cinches in at my waist.  In a last-ditch effort to distract my father from my puffy, post-party eyes, I smear on some pink lip gloss and slip simple gold posts into my ears. 
    There.  I survey myself in the mirror.  Not too shabby.
                  Dad stands up from the couch when he sees