Chapter 13
TORI
It’s worse than I thought.
The condo’s a mess. Sure, I expected a little clutter, maybe a dirty cup or two. But not this — beer bottles and crumpled wrappers in the living room, a tall stack of dishes in the kitchen sink. The TV is blaring, and there’s not a light on in the whole place.
But even worse is Bennett.
His shoulders slump forward, like all the air’s been deflated from his body. The cocky swagger’s gone, replaced with defeat. And his usually bright eyes are flat and bloodshot.
He’s lost his fight.
Which hits me harder than it should.
I can’t leave him now. If I give him space, he could disappear into it.
The shower hisses from the bathroom, so I get to work tidying up the place. I rinse the dirty plates and load them into the dishwasher. Wipe down the counters, then check the fridge.
The man has hardly any food.
There’s a half-empty carton of eggs, a splash of milk, a few slices of stale bread, and three rotting strawberries.
Hope he likes scrambled eggs because that’s about all I can salvage here. I root around for a pan, set it on the stove. Cracking five eggs into a bowl, I add the splash of milk and whisk. I dump the mix into the hot pan and a few minutes later, I have light and fluffy eggs.
Dinner prepared, I find the TV remote and turn the volume down to a more reasonable level. One that Mr. Monty won’t be able to hear without his hearing aids. I stack the mail and tackle the mountain of laundry, folding Bennett’s gym shorts into neat squares.
Ten minutes later, he comes out of his bedroom dressed in sweatpants and a fresh T-shirt. I try not to stare, but the black cotton stretches across his broad chest, the low-slung sweats hang off his hips like he dragged them on without much thought.
My brain stalls for a second.
I duck behind the island, suddenly very interested in the pan on the stove. Grabbing the eggs, I slide them onto a plate and busy myself with searching for a clean fork.
“Here.” I thrust the plate toward him, hoping he can’t see the blush burning across my cheeks. “Eggs. You didn’t have much to work with.”
He takes the plate from me, and our fingertips brush. A spark zips up my arm, quick and sharp, stealing my breath.
His gaze snaps to mine, dark and searching, the contact holding a beat longer than it should.
Static from the laundry.
Bennett’s grip tightens around the plate, knuckles going white. Like he felt it too.
I pretend not to notice and pull my hand back, turning to wipe down the counter that’s already perfectly clean.
“Thanks.” He carries the plate over to the sofa and flops down. “I’ve been busy training. Haven’t had much time to get to the store.”
“I get it. Priorities.”
“You gonna eat anything?” He lifts his eyes to mine, fork paused mid-air.
“I already ate.”
He shrugs, then picks up his fork and starts scooping food into his mouth. “Eggs are good, Sunshine.”
Despite myself, a tiny tug pulls at the corner of my mouth. “Thanks. I’m not much of a cook. I prefer baking.”
“Isn’t that, like, the same thing?”
I gape at him. “Definitely not.”
“What’s the difference?”
“Baking is a science. There’s no room for error.”
“So cooking’s easier?”
“Not really. But you don’t have to be so exact.”
“So you’re more of a playbook kind of girl.” His voice is low and gruff, a smirk dancing on his lips. I relax a touch, relieved at his teasing.
“Yeah, I am.” I shove a stray hair from my eye with my elbow, scrubbing the pan. “I’m sure that doesn’t surprise you any.”
“No. It tracks.”
Fair.
I’m not exactly known for my spontaneity. Besides, rules keep things from falling apart.
Usually.
Shutting the water off, I dry my hands on a dishtowel. Bennett polishes off the eggs and carries the plate to the dishwasher, sliding it in.
Good start.
Cleaning up after himself.
But he’s still moving slower than usual. I’m not sure I should leave him alone like this.
“Here, drink some water.” I fill a glass with water from the fridge dispenser and shove it in his direction. “You’ll feel better tomorrow. Trust me.”
He scowls but takes the glass without further argument and chugs the water.
That settles it.
A compliant Bennett?
Not a good sign.
“Pick a movie.” I point at the TV and he frowns.
“You don’t have to babysit me. It’s probably past your bedtime.”
“It’s not.”
He shoves one of his enormous hands in his pocket, scowling. But he shuffles to the sofa and folds his lithe body down onto the cushion, grabbing the remote. Flipping to Netflix, he scrolls through options.
Click. Click. Click.
His knee bounces up and down with each tap. My heart pounds double-time in my chest.
What the hell am I doing?
I shouldn’t stay. It’s too much, I’m too close.
This is against all my rules.
But I can’t leave him like this.
The guy can’t even decide on a movie.
With a quiet sigh, I shut the kitchen light off and join him in the living room. I eye the sofa, the only place to sit in the entire place. He stops flicking through options and scoots over.
“Sit.”
Not a question. More like a demand.
Nerves humming, I perch on the edge of the cushion at the far end of the sofa. There’s a mile of space between us.
Safe.
“I don’t do horror.” I clasp my hands in my lap, acutely aware of his presence beside me. His clean, freshly showered scent floats in the air. Soap and cedar and man. My stomach flip-flops and I stare straight ahead at the TV screen.
“Fine. I don’t do rom-com.”
“Not a surprise.”
“How about action?” Bennett pauses on one of the Mission Impossible movies and I nod.
“That works.”
He hits start and kicks back, propping his bare feet on the coffee table. I stay locked in place right where I am. The light from the screen flickers in the dark room and I’m relieved he turned the volume back up. Drowns out the hammering of my heart, my shallow breathing.
This is so unprofessional.
It’s fine. I’m here because he missed check-in. I’m making sure he’s okay before I leave him for the night.
It’s the responsible thing to do.
Bennett shifts to the left, resting his elbow on the arm of the sofa. His torso’s angled toward mine, his muscular quads now sprawling across the middle cushion. Heat radiates from his body and I don’t dare move a muscle.
“You can sit back, Sunshine.” His voice is gruff.
Risky.
“I’m fine.” I squeak out the words and stay locked in position.
“Have it your way.”
He kicks his legs out further and now we’re inches apart, despite me not having moved. A chase scene flashes on the TV and I catch his gaze flick to my face before he looks away.
The movie rolls on, but I’ve completely lost the plot. I’m hyper-focused on Bennett’s body hovering close to mine. I don’t dare glance over, keeping my eyes locked on the screen. My posture’s ramrod straight and every muscle’s tight.
A car explodes, bursting into flames, and I jump. My legs flare out, bumping against Bennett’s calf. His knee stops bouncing and heat rushes up my thigh.
“Sorry,” I murmur, inching back into my own space.
He doesn’t move closer and after a few seconds, I remember how to breathe.
Fists fly across the screen, and I grip the cushion.
Bennett chuckles, stretching his arm along the back of the sofa. “Always so edgy.”
His fingers are now inches from my shoulder. Not helping the situation.
I try to subtly shift as far to the right as possible, but there’s nowhere to go. I’m already at the edge. Bennett’s so tall and broad, he takes up a massive amount of space.
At least he’s settled down.
Good.
For the first time since I got here, I exhale and lean back. Tension eases from my body as I sink into the sofa, letting my guard down.
Bennett’s fingertips brush my shoulder and a shiver races down my spine, all the way to my toes. He doesn’t move his hand, just lets it rest there.
I don’t say anything, don’t move. I keep my eyes locked on the movie, my mind racing as fast as the hero in the sports car.
This feels dangerous—and right at the same time.
I barely breathe, not wanting to shatter the moment. The music drops with an emotional flashback in the movie, and the room’s quiet.
“Breathe, Sunshine.” Bennett’s deep voice rumbles in the dark and warmth floods my chest, creeping up my neck.
I’m out of my element here.
“I should go.” The words come out breathier than I mean them to and inwardly I cringe.
“Stay.”
One word, fully loaded.
I hesitate.
“Please.” His thumb smooths across my shoulder and I know I should absolutely leave.
Being here like this is reckless.
“Fine. But I’m leaving as soon as the credits roll.”