Practical Magic - Alice Hoffman [62]
Gillian was so used to having someone get her down on her hands and knees first thing; she was so ready to be struck and then told she’d better suck hard, that she couldn’t believe Ben was spending this much time kissing her. All this kissing was making her crazy; it was reminding her of what she could feel, and how it could be when you wanted someone as much as he wanted you. Ben was about as different from Jimmy as anyone could be. He wasn’t interested in making anyone cry, then sweet-talking her afterward, the way Jimmy used to, and he didn’t need any help the way Jimmy always did. By the time Ben pulled her panties off, Gillian was completely weak in the knees. She didn’t give a damn about going into the bedroom, she wanted it there, she wanted it now. She no longer had to debate the possibility of being with Ben Frye; this relationship had already happened, she’d walked straight into it, and she wasn’t about to start walking away.
They made love for as long as they could, right there in the hallway, and then they went to Ben’s bed and slept for hours, as though they’d been drugged. As they were falling asleep, Gillian could have sworn she heard Ben say Fate—as if they were meant to be together from the start and every single thing they’d ever done in their lives had been leading to this moment. If you thought that way, you could fall asleep without regret. You could put your whole life in place, with all the sadness and the sorrow, and still feel that at last you had everything you’d ever wanted. In spite of the lousy odds and all the wrong turns, you might actually discover that you were the one who’d won.
When Gillian woke, it was evening and the room was dark, except for something that appeared to be a white cloud poised at the foot of the bed. Gillian wondered if she was dreaming, if perhaps she’d risen out of her body to float above herself and the bed she’d been sharing with Ben Frye. But when she pinched herself, it hurt. This was still her, all right. She ran her hand along Ben’s back, just to make certain he was real too. In fact, he was real enough to startle her; his muscles and his skin and the heat from his sleeping body made her want him all over again, and she felt foolish, like a schoolgirl who doesn’t stop to consider any consequences.
Gillian sat up, the white sheet pulled around her, and found that the cloud at the foot of the bed was nothing more than Ben’s pet rabbit, Buddy, who hopped into her lap. Only a few weeks ago, Gillian had been out in the Sonoran desert, her hands over her ears, as Jimmy and two of his friends shot prairie dogs. They killed thirteen of them, and Gillian had thought it was terrible luck. She’d gotten shaky and pale, too upset to hide it. Luckily, Jimmy was in a great mood, since he’d bagged more prairie dogs than his pals had, shooting eight, if you included the two babies. He came over and put his arms around Gillian. When he looked at her in this way, she understood why she’d been so drawn to him, and why she was still. He could make it seem as though you were the only person in the universe; a bomb could fall, lightning could strike, he simply would not take his eyes off you.
“The only good rodent is a dead rodent,” Jimmy had told her. He smelled of cigarettes and heat and was just about as alive as a human being could be. “Trust me on this. When you see one, shoot to kill.”
Jimmy would have gotten a good laugh catching her in bed with a rodent. Gillian pushed the rabbit away, then got up and found her way to the kitchen for a glass of water. She was disoriented and confused. She didn’t know what she was doing in Ben’s house, although it was surprisingly comfortable, with nice old pine furniture and shelves filled with books. Most of the men Gillian had been involved with had avoided the kitchen, some hadn’t even seemed to be aware that their own houses had such rooms, complete with stoves and sinks, but here the kitchen was well