Chapter 10
Bennett
The drive home was quiet.
Too quiet.
Bella sat in the passenger seat, staring out the window, hands folded in her lap like she was barely holding herself together. The streetlights streaked across her face in flashes. She hadn’t said a word since we’d left the distillery.
Not one.
I kept my eyes on the road, but every part of me was tuned to the way her breathing was shallow and how her fingers twisted with the buttons on her coat.
I was still wrestling with whether to call her brother or, better yet, head back to the distillery and beat the shit out of her date.
Maybe there was a spare Mizunara oak barrel lying around where I could hide the body.
I’d seen it the moment it had happened, the precise second the lights had gotten too bright for Bella.
I’d felt it in the way her body had tensed beside me, the way her hand had gone limp in mine under the table. She’d started melting down. There was probably a clinical term for it, but I hadn’t needed to know it to recognize the signs.
I’d seen it on the field with the kids I coached and in one of my former teammates anytime he’d suffered a big loss. And even though it wasn’t the same, I knew firsthand what it felt like when the noise got too loud and the world pressed in.
Bella had been crashing, and it had taken everything in me not to gather her up in my arms and carry her out of there.
Now, in my truck, the silence stretched between us.
I didn’t push, didn’t turn on the radio or try to fill the space with small talk. That was the last thing she needed after her shit ass date with Mr. Whiskey Dick. I just drove, one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the console between us, close enough that she could take it if she wanted.
She didn’t.
When I pulled into the driveway between our houses, I killed the engine but didn’t move to get out. The porch lights were on—hers and mine—casting soft pools of gold on the wet pavement.
Still, I waited.
There wasn’t anywhere else I needed to be.
Another ten minutes passed. The rain started up again, tapping out a light drizzle against the windshield.
Finally, she exhaled—a long, shaky breath that sounded like it came all the way from her pink-painted toes. Fuck, they match her lips. Bella’s shoulders dropped and she turned to me, eyes glassy but clearer now.
“Hi,” she said, her voice small.
“Hey.”
“I’m sorry.”
I shook my head. “You have nothing to apologize for.”
She looked down at her hands. “I just . . . shut down back there when he called me too much. It’s kind of a trigger for me, one I thought I had finally gotten over, but I guess not.”
I reached over, taking her hand gently. She let me, fingers curling around mine like she needed the anchor.
“Our dad used to say it all the time. That I was too weird, too dramatic, too . . . everything.”
Her voice cracked on the last word.
“You’re not too anything,” I said, firm. “You’re you. And that’s more than enough. That guy was an insecure dick who couldn’t handle being upstaged by a woman smarter than him. Don’t let his bullshit live in your head.”
Her eyes searched my face. “You’re not freaked out?”
I shook my head. “Not at all.”
“Still, I hate that that happens. That sometimes, I can’t just . . . push through.”
“You don’t have to push through alone.” I squeezed her hand.
A small smile tugged at her lips. “You’re too good at this.”
“Practice,” I said, shrugging. “I’ve got my own shit.”
“Generalized anxiety disorder, I know. I may have read about it in that article you did with Sports Illustrated.”
“Ah, you’re a fan.” I absentmindedly brushed my thumb over the back of her hand. “Anxiety attacks are never predictable. They happen before games, and sometimes after them, too. The crowds, the expectations. It gets loud—even before I could hear.”
She didn’t interrupt or rush to minimize it. She just watched, her eyes steady, like she was giving me space to decide how much I wanted to share with her.
“Do you mind if I ask you something?”
I shrugged.
“Is it—” She hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “Is it constant? Or does it come and go?”
“Constant,” I answered without missing a beat. “But most days it’s just background noise, like music playing in another room. Other days, the volume gets turned all the way up for no reason at all.”
Her brows knit together. “What does that feel like?”
I leaned back against the headrest, eyes flicking to the rain-slicked windshield. “Like my chest is too tight for my lungs. Like my thoughts are sprinting and I can’t catch up.”
“I know that feeling well.”
I laughed dryly. “It’s fun having your brain convince you you’re about to die when you’re literally just standing in line for coffee, isn’t it?”
She rolled her hand over in mine and squeezed.
“Do people ever tell you to just relax?” she asked.
“Oh yeah. Big fan favorite.”
Her mouth twisted. “Truly the worst.”
“But I get it,” I told her honestly. “For the people who have never felt it, it’s hard to understand how your own body could turn on you like that.
That’s why it’s so important to me to talk about it when I can, especially with the kids and families at the Junior Roasters clinics.
A lot of them deal with the same stuff—social pressure, nerves, feeling like they’re not enough.
If I can show them it’s okay to have bad days or teach them a couple tricks for breathing through the panic, maybe it’ll help them feel less alone. ”
Bella’s eyes softened, her fingers tightening around mine. “That’s really cool, Bennett.”
I shrugged, a little embarrassed. “It’s not a big deal. Just showing up, which sometimes is all somebody needs.”
She was quiet for a moment, absorbing my words. Then softly, “Does it ever scare you?”
“The anxiety?”
She nodded.
“Not as much as it used to. Ten years of therapy and medication have helped. I’m pretty good about knowing my limits now.” I swallowed my pride and added, “But when it sneaks up out of nowhere? Yeah, that does scare me a little.”
That was when she looked at me like she’d made up her mind about something. “Thank you for sharing that with me.”
The sincerity in her voice hit me somewhere deep—deeper than I expected. She said it like I was offering a gift, and in a way, I was.
I didn’t talk about this stuff often. Not with teammates or dates, not even with my family most of the time. But with Bella, it felt . . . safe.
“I don’t talk about it much,” I said.
Her lips curved up. “I’m glad you did. And for what it’s worth, I just got an espresso machine. You know, for the next time you feel like the coffee line is too much to handle.”
I let out a low, surprised laugh, the tension in my chest loosening another notch. “You trying to bribe me with caffeine, Arabella?”
“Whatever it takes to get you back to your usual Rottweiler self. I kind of like having you nearby.”
Her words landed soft but heavy.
I looked at her, really looked. The porch lights from next door caught the side of her face, highlighting the faint freckles across her nose, the way her lashes cast shadows on her cheeks.
She was still flushed from earlier, still a little raw, but there was something steady in her eyes now. Something that made me want to protect her from every useless fuck who had ever made her feel like she was “too much.”
I wanted to take her inside, lay her out on her bed, and show her exactly how much she wasn’t “too much.” How she was exactly what I wanted morning, afternoon, and night.
But tonight, she needed safety and stability. Someone who wouldn’t push her when she was at her most vulnerable.
“I like being around you too, Bella.”
We sat like that for a while longer, our hands resting atop her lap.
Eventually, she straightened and unbuckled her seatbelt. “I should probably go inside.”
I walked her to her door, hand at the small of her back, not wanting the night to end even if it had been a mess. When we reached her porch, she looked up at me.
Fuck, I know that look.
“Kiss me,” she said, confirming it. There was no hesitation in her voice, just quiet want. “Please.”
“Bella.”
Her face fell, doubt flickering. “You don’t want to?”
“Of course, I want to,” I said, voice rough. “More than you know. But—”
“I’m okay now. I just—” She stepped closer. “Please give me something good to dream about tonight.”
There was no holding back after that.
Not when she was standing in front of me. Biting her lip. All but begging for exactly what she needed.
Such a fucking good girl.
I cupped her face and leaned in, slow enough that she could still pull away if she changed her mind. Thankfully, she didn’t.
She met me halfway, lips pressing against mine softly at first, like she was testing the waters. Then, her hands slid up to fist my jacket, and the kiss turned hungry.
I backed her against the door, letting her feel every inch of how much I wanted her. She gasped against my lips. I took the opportunity to slide in deeper, tasting the faint trace of whiskey still clinging to her tongue.
Her little moans drove me insane. Soft, needy. I ground my hips into hers, aching for more.
“You feel that?” I rasped, thrusting slow so she felt every inch. “That’s what you do to me.”
“Bennett,” she breathed. “I want . . .”
“Tell me.” She whimpered when I trailed my mouth down her neck. “What do you want, baby?”
“More.” She panted, arching into me. “I want more.”
I kissed her again, harder this time. My hands slid down to her ass, gripping the soft, generous curves and lifting her clean off the ground.
Bella wrapped her legs around my waist without hesitation, like she’d been waiting for this as long as I had. I smiled against her lips when she locked her ankles at the small of my back.
Fuck, she was climbing me like a goddamn tree.
I should’ve known Bella would give it back just as good as she got it. One second she was on her feet, and the next she was clinging to me, grinding down against the ridge of my cock like she needed the friction to breathe.
Every moan she fed me made my cock throb. The pleasure bordered on pain.
“You’re so fucking responsive,” I growled against her skin, sucking lightly at a spot just beneath her ear. “Keep going, baby. Be a good girl and move on me.”
She did, rocking harder. Her broken cries shot straight to my groin.
I was so fucking lost in her, in the way she gave herself over completely. No holding back, no fear. Just pure, desperate need.
And god, I wanted to give her everything.
“Oh god,” she moaned between kisses. “Bennett, wait, I need to tell you something.”
“You can tell me anything.” I forced myself to slow, to think, even though every instinct in my body was screaming to keep going.
We were already seconds away from me fucking her right through her front door. That would’ve been a hell of a thing for Pink to see.
Bella pulled back just enough to meet my eyes. Her cheeks were flushed, lips swollen from my mouth. Her body was still pressed tight to mine, like she hadn’t quite decided whether to retreat or dive deeper.
The heat was still there, but underneath it, something wavered.
Nerves.
“I want to keep going, but I . . .”
Her voice caught, the words tangling like they were heavier than she expected. She swallowed hard, fingers tightening briefly in my jacket like she needed something to hold onto.
That was when it hit me.
Not just the hesitation, but the way she hesitated. The carefulness. The vulnerability she wasn’t trying to play off or hide behind bravado. The way her breath wasn’t just shaky with want, but with fear of being misunderstood.
Holy shit.
My chest tightened.
“You haven’t done this before,” I said quietly.
She nodded once. “I didn’t want you to assume anything,” she whispered. “Or think I was leading you on, but yes, I’m . . . a virgin.”
Everything slammed to a halt.
I saw it all at once. The bravery it took for her to say it, the risk she’d taken just by trusting me with the truth. Not na?veté. Not innocence in some fragile, breakable sense. Just honesty. The scary kind that left you exposed.
Virgin.
The word landed heavy in my chest. Not as a turnoff, not even fucking close, but as a line I hadn’t known we were racing toward.
“Is, um, that okay?”
I eased back, lowering her to her feet and forcing space between us before my hands betrayed me. “Of course it is,” I murmured, pressing a soft kiss on her forehead. “But I think it’s time we call it a night.”
She looked at me like she was bracing for some mixture of judgment or rejection. And Christ, that alone told me I had to leave.
Not because I didn’t want her, but because I wanted her the right way.
Her fingers curled into my shirt again. “Wait, you don’t have to go,” she protested softly. “I still want—”
“I know, and that’s exactly why we’re going to bed.” Her eyes lit up again. “Separately,” I quickly added.
She huffed out a small, frustrated breath. “But—”
I kissed her once more, but pulled back before it could turn into anything else. “Goodnight, Arabella.”
I turned before I could change my mind and crossed the walkway to my own front door. The second I was inside, my back hit the wood hard, chest heaving like I’d just finished the annual Rose City Rosé Run.
Fucking Christ.
My cock was still throbbing, straining against my jeans like it had a mind of its own.
I dragged a hand through my hair, exhaling hard.
Virgin. She was a virgin.
I wanted her so fucking badly it scared me. Bent over her couch, spread open on my tongue, riding my cock until she was screaming my name.
But what if I hurt her? I didn’t know how to be somebody’s first. What if I pushed her too far, too fast?
I dragged a hand through my hair, exhaling hard. I’d waited this long for her, so I could wait a little longer.
Bella was worth it.
In the meantime, I knew exactly how I’d survive the night.
Upstairs, fucking my fist raw until I came with her name on my lips, until the ache eased just enough for me to sleep.
But even then, it wouldn’t be enough. Nothing would be until it was her.