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“Whatever. Come on. The guys will send a search party for us if we don’t get back to the table, and I think you need to finish your fajitas before you start talking about babies.”
The guys. My guy.Ali’s fuzzy head swooned at the thought. Her Cornell—sweet, tall, dark, and unbelievably handsome Cornell.
“I like Benton,” Ali blurted out. “I think he’s really good for you.”
Her best friend was a serial dater through and through. But this one, Ali could tell, was different, and it wasn’t just that Benton didn’t tick Tara’s usual boxes. He was a lawyer, a prosecutor in the District Attorney’s office. He was tall and thin, wore glasses, and was quiet and reserved, far different from the slew of loud, obnoxious guys her friend normally dated after meeting them in her networking group.
“I know.” She winked at Ali. “I think he’s a keeper. But maybe Cornell should give him pointers in the jewelry game.” She tapped the gold bar of Ali’s necklace before they got back to their table.
“These kinds of cases, they’re almost always impossible to prosecute,” Benton remarked. “Even with physical evidence, most of the time it comes down to he said, she said.”
Cornell shook his head. “Feels like the victim’s testimony should be more than the guy just saying he’s not guilty.”
Benton shrugged. “That’s if they testify. Many don’t. Or they can’t follow through. I hate saying it because it’s my job, but how would you feel having to get up there and prove the worst day of your life? The system isn’t designed to protect victims. It’s set up to annihilate them. It’s not fair because it takes a lot to be a victim and even more to prove you’re one too. Best case is usually getting them to plea down, even when that’s not enough.”
Ali reached for a tortilla chip from the basket sandwiched between their near-empty plates.
“What kinds of cases?” Tara asked.
Benton looked in Tara’s direction, giving a small, apologetic shrug. “Rape, sexual assault.”
Tara scoffed. “Woah. Buzzkill. It’s Friday night, for god’s sake.”
“I thought we weren’t talking about that anymore,” Ali whispered to Cornell, raising her glass to her mouth.
He squeezed her thigh under the table. “Talking about what? I was asking about this episode of SVU that I watched the other night.” Cornell wrapped his arm around her, pulling her closer, and hummed against her temple, “I love you.”
She sighed. When I asked you to think about talking to Graham, I didn’t mean to get the legal opinion of a prosecutor first. But Tara was right—the whole subject was a buzzkill, and Ali didn’t want to get into it.
“What do you guys have going on this weekend?” Tara asked.
Ali grabbed her drink, finishing her margarita. “I’ll need to sweat this out at hot yoga tomorrow morning. Other than that, a whole lot of nothing.” She motioned at Cornell. “I lose this guy a lot when the season kicks off.”
“Golfing tomorrow morning with John,” Cornell added. “And we need to buy a lawn mower.”
“Boring, married people stuff,” Tara told Benton. “The day you tell me the highlight of our weekend is going to buy a lawn mower is the day I break up with you.”
“We’re not married. And we’re not boring.” Are we?
“I get it,” Benton said. “Landscaping services are a fortune. Better investment is a John Deer.”
“You live in a high rise. What do you know about lawn mowers?” Tara asked.
Benton waved her off. “Guy stuff. You guys want to close out here and go for a nightcap?”
Ali yawned and Cornell laughed. “I think it’s time for this boring pair to bounce. The old ball and chain is tired. And we’ve got a dog that probably could use a walk.”
“I don’t know who told you he’s a dog,” Tara said. “He’s Godzilla.”
