Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Mazzy
Five Years Ago
“Would you rather, every time you meet a stranger, have to tap their lips and shush them or say, ‘I’ve heard you’re really dumb’?”
I blinked at Ben, who was hazy now from several rounds of shots and too many blue drinks. There was a neat stack of little paper umbrellas on the bar, and I was considering counting them eventually.
Maybe.
Actually, I wasn’t sure I wanted to know how many there were.
“What did you say?” I asked.
His laugh was bordering on a giggle. It was cute. So cute. As cute as a massive, ruggedly handsome, ginormous, stupidly attractive, giant of a man could be. Which was, surprisingly, a decent amount of cute.
Then he reached out and tapped my lips.
“Shush,” he said.
“We’re not strangers,” I argued.
He cocked his head. “I thought you didn’t hear me.”
I copied him, tapping my index finger on his bottom lip. “It took a moment to register.”
He caught my finger between his teeth, taking me by surprise. I squeaked, and he grinned around my finger, growling like a feral animal.
“What’s happening?” I cried, delighted by this turn of events. Though, to be honest, my settings had been stuck on delighted since two drinks ago. Ben seemed to have that effect on me. All my problems would be waiting, but his giant, sunshine presence had cast them in deep, deep shadow.
He gave my fingertip a little suck before letting it go, but I let it linger on his bottom lip, my reflexes, which had never been particularly fast, muffled by the thick ocean air and blue liquor swimming in my veins.
His portal of a hand wrapped around mine, lowering it to my leg. Twin lines formed between his brows as he pressed our palms together, comparing their size. Though there was no comparison. Mine looked like Delaware floating inside Alaska.
Or something like that.
“You’re delicious.”
“That was just my finger. I’m sure other parts of me taste even better.”
His jaw dropped enough to leave a space between his lips. “Was that—are you flirting with me?”
“Am I?” I thought about it, but since my synapses were coated with coconut and rum, things weren’t firing at top speed. “Maybe. You’re big and cute and I’ve had a lot to drink. Plus, I think you flirted first.”
“Did I?”
I leaned forward, and if he hadn’t been holding my hand would have taken another tumble. As it was, he had to grab my waist to steady me.
He didn’t remove his hand once I was upright again. And that was all right. I liked how much of me he covered with his Alaska. And the ocean air was warm, but Ben was even warmer. Strangely, his heat gave me goosebumps. I couldn’t explain it, and...well, I wasn’t in any condition to try.
“Did you already forget sucking my finger?”
“Hmmm…maybe. I should probably do it again.” He brought my hand up to his mouth, keeping his glazed eyes on mine as he took two fingers between his lips. This time, he didn’t just suck. His tongue rounded the sensitive pads, tracing along the edges and over the top.
I inhaled a sharp breath.
Ben kissed the tips of my fingers then engulfed my hand with his. “There. I think we can both agree that was flirting.”
“Yeah…” I breathed. “Definitely flirting. But why?”
“Why what?”
“Why are you flirting?”
“Because you’re hot and fun to flirt with. Why else?”
My blinks were slow motion, and I wondered if the alcohol was making him this blunt or this was how he always was. Somewhere in the last sober recesses of my mind, I knew I was acting out of character, so maybe Ben was too.
Either way, I didn’t care.
We were having fun, and I didn’t want it to stop.
“I don’t think you’re a mortician,” I blurted.
He snickered, grazing my knuckles with his smile. “No. I forgot you were guessing my job. Want to try again?”
“Hmmm…” I squinted as if that would help me see him better. Unfortunately, nothing outside sobriety would do that particular trick. “You’re so big.”
“Thank you.”
“It was an observation.”
“I took it as a compliment.”
“All right. I guess that’s okay.” I poked him with my free hand. “All these muscles have to have some use. Are you a mover?”
“I’m a mover and a shaker, but not professionally.”
“That’s too bad.” I rubbed my lips together. I doubted there was anything sexy about it, given my drunkenness, but Ben watched the movement like a hunter spying on his prey. Or maybe that was my imagination. “You could carry a lot of boxes at once. It would be really efficient.”
He bit down on my knuckle, watching me the whole time. “I’ll keep that in mind when I retire from my current career.”
“You’re still flirting,” I accused.
“Maybe.” He canted his head, lifting an eyebrow. “What do you think?”
“I think you’re some type of sportsball player.”
“I meant about the flirting.” He bit my knuckle again and followed with a smacking kiss. “But you might be onto something with your guess. Why don’t you try again, baby?”
“I might?” I perked up, a dog with a bone. “What kind of sportsball, Benny?”
“Guess.”
I tapped my cheek, thinking. “The obvious choice would be football.”
He scoffed. “Wimps, all of them.”
“Oooh, what’s less wimpy than football?” I wasn’t a sports person, so I had to pull my guess out of my Summer Olympics repertoire. “Shot put?”
He slowly shook his head. “No, Mazzy, I am not a professional shot-putter.”
“Don’t say it like that.” I glanced around the nearly empty bar. “You might offend someone.”
He eyed the three other patrons, who were seventy if they were a day. And spindly too. I would’ve bet none of them could lift a shot to save their lives, let alone hurl it across a field.
“If there’s a shot-putter here, I will personally apologize to them.”
“As you should,” I huffed. “I’m sorry, but I don’t know any other sports.”
That got him laughing again, earning another nibble on my knuckles. “The only sports you know are football and shot put?”
I tilted toward him, confident he would catch me before I teetered off my stool. He clutched my waist like it was a slip of a thing—it wasn’t. I wasn’t. But Ben made me feel dainty, and that was pretty fun.
“I’m not a sporty girl,” I whispered in confession, as if it wasn’t obvious. “Won’t you be nice and just tell me?”
He hummed as he looked me over, and the corner of his mouth hitched, making him look nearly devious. With his dimples and curls, he didn’t quite make it there, but it was close.
“Ever heard of rugby?”
I groaned. “Of course. How could I forget rugby? With the shorts and the scrums and the lifting…yes. I’ve heard of rugby.”
“There you go. That’s what I do.”
“Professionally?” I clarified.
“Yes, Mazzy Belle. I get paid to play rugby.”
“Wow.” I tilted toward him even more, almost splaying onto his lap. “Are you famous?”
“In some circles.” He laughed dryly. “Clearly not that famous. You’ve never heard of my sport, let alone my name.”
I tried to shove his shoulder, only to end up clutching his shirt. “It was a momentary lapse. I’ve seen lots of rugby.”
“Actual games, or those montages heavily emphasizing the length of our shorts?”
I tried to give him a dirty look. “Don’t act like you know me.”
His teasing grin was a bright burst of light. “I’m right, aren’t I?”
I shoved and clutched him again. “Shut it. You definitely don’t know everything.”
He shook his head. “You’re so hot.” Then he bit down on his lip. “That just slipped out.”
“I’m not complaining.” I was blushing, though. “You’re hot too.”
He slid off his stool, keeping my hand in his. “I think we’d better end this night on a high note. We still have to get on a plane tomorrow, and if I have another drink, I’m not going to want to leave my bed.”
“That’s a good idea.” I hated it, but he was right.
We took our time walking toward my room, stumbling over each other and giggling along the way. I shushed Ben for being too loud, and he bit each of my fingertips.
When we finally reached my room, I should have let go, but I didn’t. Neither did he.
“This is me,” I said after a minute of us standing in front of my door.
“Yeah.”
But he didn’t step back. He stayed there, too close, the smell of salt and his skin making my head swim in a whole new way.
“Well.” My hand was still in his, and I wasn’t pulling it free. “Thanks for walking me. And the whole night, really. It was great.”
“Thanks for letting me give it to you, Mazzy-mazz.” His dimples carved deep. He started to lean in, then stopped, like he’d changed his mind.
This was where I was supposed to say good night. Close the door. Go to bed so I would be well-rested for my travel day tomorrow.
Except—
We moved at once. He caught my waist, I fisted his shirt, and then his mouth was on mine. Or mine was on his. I couldn’t say who started it. All I knew was we were kissing. Hard and messy. He groaned, and I parted my lips, welcoming his sweeping tongue inside.
Ben pushed back, bumping my shoulder into the doorframe. I fumbled for the key card, laughing against his mouth as he bent to keep kissing me. The door finally gave way, and we tumbled into my room, the heavy air and hum of the ceiling fan closing around us.
The door clicked shut just before my back hit it.
His mouth crashed into mine, hands tangling in my hair. I grappled with his shirt, bunching it, shoving my hands under it, getting to all the smooth skin and hard planes of muscle beneath. I’d never felt anything like him. Broad and taut, he went on forever and ever.
I yanked at his shirt, and his laugh rumbled against my mouth before he broke the kiss long enough to rip it over his head. I had approximately half a second to appreciate the view before he was on me again, his big hands sliding under my dress, hauling me closer.
We stumbled left then right—apparently walking in a straight line was beyond both of us—and my hip hit the desk, rattling the glasses and ice bucket.
“Ouch,” I squealed out of instinct, not because it actually hurt.
“Sorry—” The word came out muffled as he kissed my neck, his curls tickling my chin.
“Bed,” I gasped, trying to tug him in the direction I wanted him to go.
“Brilliant idea.” We started that way, but immediately tripped over his discarded shirt.
We staggered, half kissing, half wrestling, until the bed finally met the backs of my knees. I toppled onto the mattress, bouncing so hard, I nearly rolled off the other side.
“Stay put, baby,” Ben ordered as he crawled over me, looking even more like an eclipse from this angle.
“No chance,” I shot back, reaching for his waistband. I got it halfway undone before he yanked my dress over my head and tossed it somewhere behind him.
“Where’d it go?” I asked, breathless.
“Don’t care,” he said, his mouth finding mine again.
Buttons popped. Shoes thudded to the floor. We were a mess of limbs and laughter, so tangled we nearly knocked over the bedside lamp. Ben caught it at the last second and grinned down at me, curls falling in his eyes.
“We’re a disaster,” I said, grinning back at him.
“The best kind,” he growled.
Then we weren’t talking anymore.