Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
PAIGE
Isaac has the kids’ bags packed and lined up in the entryway when we get back to Benji’s.
I’ve never seen it before. Unlike the shop, which was easy for him to re-rent, he had to find a new apartment, and maybe he is being honest about staying long-term because it’s a lot bigger than his old studio.
A guest room, a rug under the lounge suite, a sideboard in the hallway.
This isn’t the furniture of a man ready to run at a moment’s notice.
It’s neat and clean, like his shop, as organized as his tools, and his walls are a showcase of his talent, right down to the framed crayon drawings hanging over the dining table.
The kids jump into Isaac’s waiting arms, and he lifts them the before the front door closes. There’s a moment before he puts them down, where he closes his eyes, holds them tight, and breathes, like it’s been far longer than a few hours since he saw them. Like he’s counting his blessings.
It fills my heart close to bursting.
“How’d it go?” he asks them once they’re back on solid ground. “Did you have fun?”
“Yep.” Daphne nods.
Dominic sticks his hands into his pockets. “Look at these.” He all but throws the shells into his dad’s hands, who oohs and aahs in the same way Benji and I did an hour ago. Dom, who is free of his bounty, takes the chance to ditch the adults and go after Daphne to the living room.
“How about you?” Benji asks his brother. “Did you find what you were looking for?”
“I did.” Isaac pushes up off his knees and smiles at me. “Sorry, I’m”—he juggles the shells into one hand, holding the other out—“Isaac. You must be Paige. My brother has shit manners.”
“Language,” Benji teases.
“That’s okay. I’m used to it,” I tease back.
Isaac pockets the shells and wipes his hands on Benji’s shirt, who slaps his hands away. “Don’t you have a plane to catch?”
“Yeah, we’re all packed up. The cab should be here in twenty minutes.”
There’s a tiny tug on my hand and a very hopeful look on Daphne’s face when I turn to her. “Will you play café with us?”
“You’ve only got time for one game,” Isaac says softly. “We need to leave soon.”
“Please?” She pouts.
Christ, no wonder Benji is putty in their hands.
“Of course. Will you show me how to play?”
I follow her to the playhouse that takes up a majority of the lounge room. Dominic sits cross-legged at the window, stacking the tiny cups and saucers into a leaning tower. He turns. Now there are two sets of pleading eyes.
“Uncle Benji can show you.”
He must play this regularly. I’m about to call out to him, but he’s already at my side. He must have followed us over.
We lock eyes.
“After you,” I say.
Benji climbs inside, and it’s a tight fit. His shoulders and knees press up against the sides of the plastic house, and he has to duck his head to see out of the makeshift “delivery window.”
I don’t have words to describe how adorable it is to watch them. Dom and Daphne challenge Benji with increasingly wild requests, giggling every time he plays along. All I know is that I never want today to end.
Eventually, it’s my turn.
“Okay, now you,” Daphne says, tugging on my hand.
“I’ll let Uncle Benji get out first.”
“No, together.”
Benji chuckles. “I don’t think both of us are going to fit in here, kiddo.”
My heart thumps. With Benji inside, there’s barely any room. The only way I’d fit is on top of him.
“Please?”
Oh, these kids are dangerous.
“Um … okay.”
Benji folds his knees toward his chin, but that doesn’t work, and even if I could squeeze myself into the sliver of space left, neither of us would be able to access the window.
“You’ll have to …” he says and crosses his legs, letting his knees fall open, and …
Oh. He wants me to …
“Get in my lap.”
It works. Just.
My elbow hits the side of the house as I crawl in, my knee barely misses his crotch, and my neck is hunched over at a forty-five-degree angle while I sit facing him in his lap, but we make it work.
I have no idea how we’re going to get out of here though.
“Is this all right?” I ask.
“You know it is.”
He shifts, and now I’m fully straddling him. The cool metal of his belt quickly warming against my thigh. If I wanted to, it would be sitting directly between my thighs. Pressing. Rubbing.
Isaac’s voice yells down the hall, “Kids? The car is here. Say goodbye to your uncle and his friend now.”
They jump up in an instant, calling out as they run off, “Bye, Uncle Benji and friend.”
“Don’t have too much fun in there,” Isaac calls, and then there’s nothing but silence as the front door clicks shut.
Benji looks up at me, his neck still awkwardly bent against the plastic wall. If he’s uncomfortable, I can’t tell because he’s staring at me with nothing but fondness.
“Hey,” he says softly.
“Hi.” My eyes flutter closed as he cups my cheek.
“I’m glad you came out with us today. I’d wanted you to meet them for a while, and it means a lot to me.”
I blink down at where my hands rest on his chest. He’s warm and solid beneath me, and I want to trust this, want to forget the past and throw myself into the future, but what if we’re doomed to fail again?
Benji brushes his thumb along my jaw. “Don’t let me off the hook, Paige. Talk to me.”
“How do we know this can even work? How many tries do we give it until we accept it won’t work?”
“Good relationships don’t work without effort. As long as we’re both trying and there’s more happiness than anything else, isn’t that worth it?”
I don’t know. I want it to be.
“I …” What would Skye say? No? Yes? Is it even right to ask? It’s my relationship in the end, not anyone else’s. I should know what to do. “I want to try,” I admit.
He lets out a breath, heavy with relief, but I’m not finished. We promised honesty, and that’s not always going to be positive.
“I want you—have since we first met—and the more I know you, the more I want you … but that’s just my heart talking. I need to listen to my head, too, and that’s telling me that we can’t rush into this.”
Every breath he takes washes over my skin in a soft gush. He blinks gentle and slow, hearing me, weighing the arguments, the options, while my body is racing ahead, preparing for the inevitable.
This is it; chance’s over; three strikes, and I’m out.
Maybe I should have closed my eyes and gone along with it. The ice we’re standing on is so precariously thin, and here I am, waving a sledgehammer around.
“Wouldn’t it already have worked out if it was meant to?” I say. “Isn’t that enough of a sign that we shouldn’t try again?”
“I don’t think so.”
I sigh. “And? Don’t just disagree with me. Tell me what you’re thinking here. If you really want to give it a go, I can’t be the only one putting in the work.”
“You’re right. Maybe if our last attempt was more than a beginning, if we’d reached the middle and it all fell apart, I’d agree with you, but we haven’t gotten the chance to see if it will or won’t work out yet, and I don’t think I want to live another day without knowing.”
He reaches up and brushes hair out of my eyes. His fingertips graze my cheek, and I want him so badly that I’m almost vibrating with it.
“I’m consumed with wanting to know you and to see if the reality of us is as incredible as I imagine it could be. To me, that’s worth the effort. You’re worth it.”
What the hell am I meant to say to that?
I’m tempted to kiss him, eliminate the need to actually come up with an answer, but we promised to talk, and kissing him is what got me in trouble the last two times.
This time will be different.
My curiosity hasn’t subsided in the year since we last tried. Would it really be so hard to open that door again?
No, and that’s what scares me.
“What if we lost it?”
His eyes are pleading. “We didn’t. I didn’t. It never left, Paige. Everything I feel is still here.”
It’s a match to the kindling my heart has been holding on to, and I’m ready now, to let him engulf me completely.
“And what is that, exactly?”
Under my hands, Benji’s heart beats fast and strong.
I know he feels what I feel—his voice is thick with it when he says, “You’re where my eyes land.
Even when I’m not thinking about you, you’re what I think about when I’m trying not to think about anything at all.
I keep coming back to you, like home base, like a safe place to land, a comfort zone. ”
Giving this a chance is going to take more than a few dates. I’m going to have to—ugh—be vulnerable. What a crock. Can he just know what I need, when I need it? All those rugged heroes in love stories do. Psychics, the lot of them.
Real life sucks sometimes.
Snapshots of romance are picture-perfect—rose petals, gift boxes with pretty ribbon bows, guys who pick you up one-handed. It’s an easy recipe—how to melt a heart in fifteen seconds or less.
But what if that’s not romance at all? What if the real stuff looks different? A hand in yours when you’re anxious; the baring of souls; sliding back into bed after a disagreement, toes touching because both of you need to touch.
Maybe it’s as simple as showing up again and again.
Telling you you’re worth it.
Putting in the effort.
Shit.
“Benji, I don’t want to do this anymore.”
I see the pain pierce his expression.
“Do what?”
“Miss you. I’m so sick of missing you.”
He’s so beautiful; I can’t take it anymore. I let gravity take me where I want to go and fall against his lips. He reacts instantly, eagerly meeting me, over and over again, licking into my mouth and catching every soft sound I make. God, how did I survive without his lips on mine?
“I couldn’t stop thinking about you while you were gone. I just assumed you knew.”
“I hoped. I never stopped thinking about you.”
My breath catches in my chest, but I need him more than I need air, so I break away long enough to gasp before slamming back into him again.
It helps that Benji is as affected as I am, finding the hem of my shirt and slipping his hands underneath, mapping out the soft corners of my skin with undisguised want.
“I hate any day I don’t see you,” I say between kisses. “I’ve stopped myself from walking into your shop a hundred times since you came back.”
“You should have come. I wanted you to.”
I whine into his mouth, “I don’t want to be needy.”
“Fuck, Paige. All I want is for you to need me. Is that bad?”
No, my heart roars. Not to me.
“Maybe?” I whisper in the space between us, but as I start to rock my hips against his, it’s obvious what I really mean. “I hope not. I like hearing it.”
Benji raises his broad hands to grip my hips, pulling me against him. There’s barely any room to move, but we manage what we can, and a tight whimper is punched out of me when I feel him getting hard in his shorts.
“Fuck, I need you,” he breathes as he presses closer and closer, until every hard edge of him meets every soft one of mine.
“Yes.” It’s all I can think. Yes, yes, yes. I punctuate every word with another kiss, grind down into him, my senses lighting up every time he thrusts into me.
His lips meet mine, eager. We’re both starving.
“Take me on a date,” I gasp.
“The best café in town isn’t good enough for you?” he asks, but his voice is raw.
I laugh against his lips. “The service is very”—I roll against his cock, kissing the moan from his lips—“attentive. I foresee a generous tip coming.”
He groans, dropping his forehead to my shoulder. “Fuck, Paige, you’re killing me.” He grips my hips tight enough that I’ll be feeling them tomorrow. “Tell me to stop.”
“Don’t.” I slide my hand into his hair, rocking faster. “I want you to come.”
“Fuck,” he growls, and it doesn’t take much after that.
His grip is bruising, our lips crashing into each other, again and again. Each breath is a grunt or gasp or moan, and then he thrusts up, hard, until his hips stutter and still, and I watch as he tumbles over the edge.
I’m still staring as he collapses back against the wall with a groan. He’s absolutely gorgeous.
“I forgive you,” I whisper against his lips. “And I want us to work.”
He gives his gratitude in a series of gentle, chaste kisses. “Thank you,” he says. “Can we start by getting out of this damn house?”