CHAPTER 22 BOWER
BOWER
Okay, I can do this. It’s just Bennett. I’ve known him for a long time, a very long time. I shouldn’t be nervous or—
Knock. Knock.
Oh God, that’s him. I’m going to puke.
No, keep it together.
Oh fuck…oh fuck…what do I say to him?
Stop it. He’s your friend. Nothing has changed.
But we humped!
Deep breaths, you’re fine.
Like I said, you can do this.
Should I be concerned that I’m having a full-on mental breakdown conversation with myself?
Honestly, not enough time to even go there.
On a deep breath and shaky legs, I open the door to my apartment, Bennett’s addicting scent assaulting my senses right before he steps in, closing the space between us and pulling me into a hug.
And that’s all it takes for everything to feel normal.
I wrap my arms around him, press my cheek to his chest, and let him just hold me like he’s done so many times in the past.
The unknown of what today would bring made me feel nutty inside, like I was losing my mind, but right now, in his arms, it all feels normal. Like nothing happened at all and it’s just two friends hanging out together.
When he pulls away, he smirks down at me, his handsome face shadowed under the brim of his hat. “Where are the cupcakes?”
I gasp and push away. “Nowhere.”
“Liar.” The glint in his eyes is so playful that once again, he eases the tension that I was creating.
He goes into my kitchen, finding the box on the counter. He flips open the lid, only to gasp when he sees nothing is in there.
“What the hell? Why would you keep the box if the cupcakes are gone?”
“I don’t know, to be mean?” I say on a wince.
“That was fucking mean.” He sets his backpack on the counter—which is new for him—and pulls out his phone. He starts typing away and I lean over his shoulder to see what he’s doing, but he blocks me out.
“What are you doing? Calling the police to arrest me?”
“If anyone is going to put you in handcuffs, it’s me,” he says, shocking me just as he looks up and winks, and then goes back to typing on his phone.
I swallow the lump of desire forming in my throat from the very idea of being handcuffed by him.
“There,” he says, putting his phone in his pocket.
“Did you order more cupcakes?”
“I did. And if you’re a good girl, I’ll share.” The way he said “good girl” an octave lower, I swear I felt a chill race up my spine. He hops up on my counter and grips the edge, flexing his triceps, as well as the strength in his thick forearms.
Jesus, Bower, stop checking him out.
What is wrong with you?
“So.” He twists his hat around, facing it backward so I can see his beautiful eyes better, a brilliant shade of blue that’s so striking, you can get lost in them in seconds. You’re never ready for it, but when you do get lost, it’s temptation right in front of you.
But when you’re ready for the intensity of the color, it’s hard not to get lost in it, to want to explore the depths of it and make a road map to his very soul…
“Are you okay?” he asks, snapping me out of it.
“Huh, what? Yeah. Are you okay?”
He chuckles, the sound so freaking sexy that it actually makes my knees want to wobble, a—dare I say it—swoon, ready to sweep me right off my feet.
“I’m good. You just were staring there for a second.”
“Oh, uh, I was thinking.”
“Thinking about what?”
“Cockroaches,” I say, the first thing coming to mind.
His nose scrunches up. “Why were you thinking about cockroaches?”
“Why not?”
“Because they’re gross.”
“You know, cockroaches are always so hated on. It’s rude if you think about it. Why can’t they have a normal life like the rest of us?”
“Because they’re gross.”
“Ugh.” I roll my eyes and lean against the counter. “Cockroach hater.”
“Yeah, not sure you would find many cockroach lovers.”
“Oh yeah? I bet you’re wrong. There are many cockroach lovers out there in the world. Clubs actually devoted to the love of those brown insects and given your disgusting display of prejudice, I might just take you to one.”
“Yeah, you do that, Bower. Take me to a cockroach club, where they probably let cockroaches squirm all over your body.”
I full-on shiver, causing him to laugh.
“That’s what I thought.” He hops off the counter and takes my hand. “Come on, let’s get this video over and done with.”
“Gretchen approves,” Bennett says as he rests on my couch.
“Thank goodness for that, as we wouldn’t want to disappoint Gretchen.” I bring over two glasses of chocolate milk and set them on the coffee table, where the cupcakes are waiting for us. “Now listen,” I say, holding up my finger. “I think we need to have some ground rules before we consume.”
“Yeah?” he asks, draping his arm over the back of the couch, his shirt stretching out over his broad chest. “What kind of ground rules?”
“First of all, this cupcake is mine, and this one is yours.” I point to each cupcake. “And it is your responsibility to remember that. Second, there will be no stealing of the cupcakes. Once you consume your cupcake, that’s it, you’re done. Understood?”
“Afraid I’ll snatch yours?”
“Yes, and even though I had six cupcakes in the last twenty-four hours, I refuse to let you take this away from me.”
He cutely chuckles. “Got it.”
“Oh, and there will be no…shenanigans.”
He lifts up his cupcake and pulls off the wrapper. “Please define ‘shenanigans.’”
I eye him. “You know what I’m talking about.”
“Ehh, not really. There could be a bunch of things you’re referring to—”
“The dry-humping, Bennett. There will be no dry-humping.”
He chuckles. “Ahh, that. Yeah, I wasn’t going to go there again.”
His comment should make me happy.
It should actually make me feel elated, but in fact, it’s quite the opposite.
My first instinct is to ask why the hell not?
My second instinct is to dry-hump his stupid face, just to show him what he’s missing out on.
But thankfully, I strapped on my brain today and I’m thinking quite clearly, because I nicely smile and say, “Great. Glad we cleared that up.”
“Same.” He takes a bite of his cupcake and smiles at me while he chews.
My lips are pursed, not entirely happy with his easygoing attitude. Then again, I’m just going to go with it, because it would be ludicrous to fight with him about his nonchalance with the dry-humping.
Maybe it didn’t mean as much to him as it meant to me?
Wait, did it mean something to me?
I don’t think so, I mean…it was the first time I’ve gotten off in a long time that didn’t require help from my hand.
And sure, it was erotic in a taboo kind of way. Dry-humping my best friend’s brother has a bit of a naughty allure to it, as if I was fulfilling some sort of fantasy I didn’t know I had.
But that’s it. Therefore, I should be perfectly fine with the way he’s acting.
“Should we read now?” he asks, breaking up my thoughts.
“Sure,” I say, shoving the rest of my cupcake in my mouth and reaching to the coffee table to grab our books.
Bennett is still working on the baseball series I told him to read. He’s on book five, my favorite because there’s a scene in there that lives rent free in my head, one that we already talked about and that he already read, the kitchen scene with the vibrator. Chef’s kiss.
As for me, I’m starting a new hockey book.
I hand him his book and he gets comfortable while I move to the other side of the couch.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
“Uh, I’m about to read, just like you.”
“No.” He shakes his head. “What are you doing all the way over there?”
“Trying to get comfortable. Do you want me to read next to you, shoulder to shoulder?”
He plops a pillow on his lap and says, “No, come lie down.”
I glance at the pillow and then back at him. “On your lap?”
“Yeah.”
“Is this your way of getting me to motorboat your crotch?”
“What?” He lets out a boisterous laugh. “No, I just thought it would be nice for you to stretch out your legs.”
That actually would be kind of nice.
Not thinking much of it, I move back to his side, turn on the couch so my head is resting over the pillow on his lap, and then get comfortable.
“You good?” he asks, once I part open my book.
“I am, and you?”
“Perfect,” he says as he holds his book with one hand and then rests his other hand on my stomach.
His palm spans from my waistband to the underside of my breasts, almost short-circuiting my brain from his warm touch. And here I thought the dry-humping filled a hole inside of me. Nope, he just busted it wide open, as I can feel my skin twitch with excitement.
It’s just a hand, Bower. A hand on your stomach. Get a grip.
Taking a deep breath, I focus my attention on the words in front of me, and start reading, allowing myself to get lost in the story.
My mind gets so lost in the story that I forget about everything around me.
The cupcakes.
The dry-humping.
The man whose fingers are slowly sliding across my waistband…
My eyes pause on a sentence, my breath hitching into my chest as his fingers slide across a small patch of exposed skin. Why the hell does that feel so damn good?
I glance up at him, as much as my eyes will allow, only to find that he’s not paying any attention to me but is enamored in his book. As if the slide of his fingers is just an absentminded gesture rather than one with purpose.
Therefore, I shouldn’t think much of it.
Right?
With that settled, I go back to my book, to a scene where the hero and heroine are in a sauna together. They’re fake dating and he’s ten years older than her. He’s trying to keep his hands off her, but she’s making that exceedingly difficult when she starts stripping in the sauna.
His eyes are focused on her tits.
His mouth’s watering from the thought of sucking on them.
His cock’s hardening as she approaches, closer and closer and…
Bennett’s finger glides just under the waistband of my shorts, making me still, my pulse skyrocketing from a comfortable rhythm to an all-out erratic throb.
The swipe…minuscule. The impact…enormous.
Others might not have even noticed, but not me. It was as if he burned me with one gentle stroke.