BENNETT #2
The inside is quiet and bigger than it looks from the outside.
As the front door slowly shuts behind me, I glance around the room at the shelves lining the wall filled with different-sized mugs and oddly shaped vases made of gray clay.
Some seem to be still wet, like they were just placed there from tonight’s class.
While some of the pieces are still out on tables, others are covered with pieces of plastic, and it makes me wonder why.
The air around me smells like… damp grass and something chalky. Not in a bad way, just different, and I find myself intrigued.
I don’t know the first thing about pottery, but walking in here, I’m curious now.
Especially since this is Merritt’s thing.
I wanna know all about Merritt’s “things.”
In the center of the room, there are two rows of pottery wheels with small wooden stools in front and a couple of short shelves filled with cups and vases that have paintbrushes sticking out of them alongside bowls of sponges, wire cutters, and other shit I can’t even begin to guess what they are.
The sound of a heavy door shutting echoes through the empty studio, and when my gaze travels toward the back of the building, I see Merritt walking out.
Fuck me. My heart kicks wildly in my chest, and I swallow as my eyes trace her.
How does she keep getting more beautiful every time I see her?
She’s got her hair up tonight, her long, dark locks gathered into an effortlessly messy bun at the top of her head, and a few wispy pieces have escaped and frame her face.
This is the first time I’ve ever seen her with her hair up, I realize.
Which probably means I’ve been paying far too much attention to her, but yeah, I don’t give a fuck.
The stained apron that’s tied around her neck is covered in streaks of dried clay. My mouth twitches when I see the patch sewn into the front that says “FUCK AI.”
Only when she’s halfway to me does she lift her dark, amber eyes and realize that I’m here. Surprise flits across her face.
“Bennett.”
The corner of my lip turns up. “Mer Bear.”
Her arms fold over her chest, and she rolls her eyes, much to my amusement. “You love to annoy me, don’t you?”
Of course, I know how much she hates the nickname, which is precisely why I keep doing it. Because I love getting a rise out of her. If all she gives me is her annoyance, then fine, I’m taking that shit.
“You’re just now realizing that?”
She narrows her eyes, glaring pointedly at me. “Come with me.”
I lift a brow as she spins on her heel and walks back toward the part of the studio she just appeared from. Obviously, I follow after her like the good boy that I am through the doorway that leads out of view.
She stops in front of a thick, black steel door and turns back to me, wearing a smile.
“Do you know what this is?”
“Not a fucking clue.”
That sassy little smirk widens into a grin that makes me want to haul her to me and kiss the fuck out of her. I refrain, but only barely.
“This is the kiln. Where we bake the finished pottery.” Merritt steps closer, and I swallow. Suddenly, she’s surrounding me, her scent of cherries and warm vanilla drowning out the smell of the clay, her five-foot-three-on-a-good-day attitude taking up all of the space left.
I toss her a smirk of my own.
“Cool. Is this part of the tour?”
She laughs, the raspy, low sound enough to make me shiver. Until she lifts onto the tips of her toes, the sound of her cute little combat boots squeaking noisily against the tile, her lips a few centimeters from mine, and then I actually do fucking shiver because I’m so fucked when it comes to her.
So. fucking. fucked.
“Fun fact. Did you know that they can get hotter than 2,000 degrees? It’s like a massive oven.”
I shake my head, swallowing roughly when she slowly slides her palm along the front of my shirt, inching toward my neck.
What the fuck is happening right now? She leaves me on read for two days, and now she’s touching me.
The first is very like her, and the second… well, I think I might be hallucinating.
Her warm breath caresses my ear as she lifts higher on her toes and whispers, “Keep annoying me, Goalie, and I’m going to shove you in there and lock the door.”
For fuck’s sake. If she steps any closer, she’s going to feel my dick pressing into her stomach because now I’m hard as shit.
This girl is fucking me in the head. Either that or I’m broken.
I chuckle when she pulls back and smirks sassily up at me.
“Every time you threaten to murder me, it turns me on, Mer Bear.” I shoot her a wink. “Which I think is the opposite effect you’re trying to accomplish here. Just so you know.”
Merritt groans, tossing her hands up. “You’re impossible.”
“Tenacious.”
I know she likely wants to throttle me, but she doesn’t.
Probably with the same level of restraint that I just had when I was tempted to kiss her.
Most definitely becoming a problem.
“We can work over there,” she finally mutters, gesturing to the small wooden table across the room. “I need to grab my stuff from the front, and I’ll be back.”
Then she’s stalking out of the room, and I definitely do not watch her ass shake in those tight, clay-stained jeans as she does.
Nope.
I walk over to the rickety table, pull out the chair, and sink down into it, then pull out my phone.
I’m so completely caught up watching a sports podcaster I love that I don’t even hear Merritt walk back into the room.
But then she’s there, slamming a thick stack of papers onto the desk in front of me, her eyes shining with something I can’t place. “I’ll be your fake girlfriend. But… only if you agree to the terms and conditions.”
“Let me guess… that’s the terms and conditions?” I nod toward the stack in front of me.
“Yup.” The p is popped, and she smirks, looking entirely too happy with herself. She turns the stack toward me, and I scan the first few lines.
Wait, this is a…
“Contract?”
“Congrats, you can read,” she mutters as I lift my gaze from the fucking contract sitting in front of me to meet hers. My eyes nearly come out my fucking skull when I start thumbing through the papers and see there are ten pages.
Ten. Pages.
“Read it, and then sign it if you want this to happen.”
A laugh spills out of me, earning me daggers from my future fake girlfriend.
This is fucking ridiculous.
And I love it.
“I’m sorry, but the fact that you drew up an actual contract for this is fucking hilarious, Mer Bear. You’re always giving me some required reading.”
She folds her arms over her chest and pins me with a look. “I’m a future lawyer, Goalie. What do you expect? This is a legal, binding document that protects us both. There’s a liability clause, as well as a breach of contract, and the boilerplate.”