Chapter 32 Ben
Ben
Cypress Creek, Texas
Sunday morning
My nose is throbbing and I’m choking on the cascade of smooth powder covering my face, when across the kitchen I catch Cybil
moving toward the island. I open my mouth to let her know it’s me, but I suck in another lungful of . . . What is this? The
tasteless powder turns into a paste on my tongue—flour. She hit me with a bag of flour?
Oof. I’m hit in the stomach by something hard and round. Through the moonlight I see Cybil clutching a bowl of fruit, her arm
ready to lob—
An apple. I dodge to the left and the fruit smacks the refrigerator with enough force I know she’s not playing around. She
means to harm me.
“Cyb—”
“What are you doing here?”
She doesn’t wait for an answer and throws more fruit at me, one after another, forcing me to dodge and weave like I’m fighting
a fruit ninja. When I think she’s run out, I rise to my full height. “Uncle Buddy’s birthday.”
“Liar!”
I don’t see the banana until she’s released it like a boomerang and it nails my arm hard enough it splits, splattering banana guts all over me.
“I’m not—”
Cybil darts around the island and I dart the other way. She opens a drawer and whips out a wooden spoon and chucks it at my
head with a painful thwack.
I rub the spot and glare at her. “Dang it, Cybil, would you stop attacking me?”
“Not until you tell me why you’re lying.”
She doesn’t give me a chance to answer before she lifts another bowl, and I shake my head at her.
“Don’t you dare!”
Her hand wraps around an egg. “Tell me why you’re lying.”
“I’m not.”
An egg flies at me, and I duck right. It cracks against the cabinet. The moonlight glints against the spark in her eyes and
her lips tug into a wicked smile. Oh, this is war.
I growl and her gaze widens, and she immediately throws another egg. I duck left and it cracks against the counter. She tries
again and I make a grab for it but miss. It breaks against my hand, sending a stream of slimy yolk through my fingers. She
throws three more in rapid succession, and I bob and weave around the island to avoid them.
I go left, she goes left—another egg flies at my head. I go right, she goes right, and she takes aim again. At some point,
she has to run out of eggs, right? Faking left, I go right and she’s within grasp. She arches her arm back, releases an egg,
but this time I catch it—unbroken.
It takes a second, but I’m close enough to see the realization flash in her eyes that I’m the armed one now. She backs away
and I toss the egg in my hand and catch it, smiling.
I stalk her with slow steps, enjoying the game. My heart is thrumming against my chest because there’s a current of attraction
I can no longer ignore. I close the space and Cybil backs into the counter with an abrupt stop, her eyes locked on mine.
But there’s no fear in them. “I dare you.”
“Aw, Billy, have you forgotten how much I love a good dare?”
A blast of cold water hits my face, and I throw my hand up to block it. Cybil has the sink’s sprayer aimed in front of her.
“Stop,” I sputter. The flour on my face is turning into something like a papier maché mixture. I lunge for her, and she screams,
dropping the hose. She darts around the island, but I’m quick and I round the other way and capture her in my arms. “Got y—”
The wind is knocked out of me as Cybil lands a blow into my gut, forcing me to release her. I do and she pivots, swinging
her leg around to kick the back of my knee, causing my leg to buckle. She takes advantage of my unsteady footing and locks
her arm in mine, and with impressive speed and strength, she uses my body weight to take me to the ground.
But I don’t go alone.
I manage to slip my arms around her waist and pull her with me. She face-plants against my chest, her scream muffled as we
both hit the ground. Something weighty and squishy is seeping into my shirt and my chest is heaving with every breath, but
I can’t ignore how good it feels to have her in my arms.
This should be my suave secret agent moment. Instead, I’m breathless, egg yolk dripping down the side of my face, and being
subdued by a woman half my size. Bond would be ashamed.
If I think the game is over, I’m wrong. Cybil shoves off me and attempts to lock my arms down to my side with her legs.
“I don’t think so,” I huff, lifting her off me with ease. She writhes against my grip and twists, trying to get free, but
I’m about to show off all my hours at the gy—
She does some kind of ninja move and breaks free of my grip, and I twist to my side, narrowly escaping an elbow to the liver.
I have no choice but to fight back, not enough to hurt her or anything, because I’m having more fun than I’ve had in a long time, but a man’s gotta keep his dignity here.
I get ahold of her hand and she’s pulling back trying to get me to release it and I’m shocked at how strong she is.
Suddenly, she releases the tension so that my own hand flies back in my face and I end up punching myself in the lip. So much for self-dignity.
“Will . . . you . . .” I talk between gasps and my stinging lip. “Please . . . stop . . .” I’m about to go for her wrists
again but think better of it, and instead scoop up a handful of flour off the floor and drop it over her head.
She rears back, wiping at the white powder raining over her face. This time I take advantage, wrapping my legs around her
waist and bringing her back to the floor next to me. She tries to pull away, but I have her arms pinned to her chest and I
ignore the teasing floral scent and the problematically attractive position we’re currently in to distract me from getting
answers.
“Why were you listening to my conversation with Rook and Ramirez at the restaurant tonight?”
“Let me go,” she says, sending a puff of flour into the air with each fiery word.
I stare at her ghostly face and—dang it—even looking like an angry baker, she’s beautiful. “I think you gave me a concussion
with that bag of flour.”
Releasing her, I lay my head back on the floor and regret it when I land in something sticky and wet.
“Good.” She shoves away from me. “Next time you won’t break into houses and sneak up on people.”
I run a finger gently over my nose. Then my lip. Both are tender and throbbing. “I think you gave me a fat lip.”
“Refer back to my previous statement.”
“You don’t feel a little bit sorry you might’ve broken my nose with a bag of flour?”
“No.”
But the softness in her voice tells me she does. A little.
Rolling to my side, Cybil immediately scoots backward away from me, her body rigid like she’s ready for round two. I hold
up one hand and use the other to push myself up to a seated position. “Stand down, Billy.”
“Stop calling me—” she snaps, but her words are cut off as she shifts and slips on the mess beneath us.
I reach out instinctively, trying to steady her, but it’s no use—my knee slips and we both slide, tangled in the chaos.
She ends up flat on her back, and I end up above her—one hand cradling the back of her head, the other braced against the floor to keep from crushing her. Her eyes lock on mine.
“Billy,” she finishes on a whisper.
Our flour-covered faces are inches away from each other. I search her face, my eyes dropping to her lips for a second before
I find her eyes again, our breathing rough and unsteady. It would be one of those romantic movie moments, except with each
breath we exhale a plume of flour into the other’s face like we’re trying to seduce each other and suffocate each other at
the same time.
Cybil’s eyes narrow. “You’re breathing flour into my eyeballs.”
“You’re returning the favor.”
She blinks, eyes crossing slightly as another flour puff hits her nose.
“Don’t,” I whisper.
“I’m—”
“Don’t do it.”
“I’m gonna—Achoo!”
The sneeze blasts straight into my face.
We both freeze, staring at each other through a new, even thicker haze.
I blink. “That might’ve been the most intimate thing I’ve ever experienced.”
She blinks at me and then bursts into laughter, her body shaking beneath me. The sound is glorious. This is the Cybil I remember. The one I—
The rest of my thought is interrupted by a bright light that temporarily blinds me and cuts Cybil’s laughter off instantly.
I blink a few times, trying to focus—and then I see them. A pair of boots I know all too well. There stands Cybil’s uncle
Buddy. Plaid pajama pants. White T-shirt. Rifle in hand. And that look on his face that says, One wrong move and I’ll bury you behind the barn.
I shove myself off the floor, Cybil and I untangling ourselves as fast as humanly possible.
“What in the— Oh my.”
Cybil’s aunt Renee’s voice cuts through the tension, and I glance up just in time to see her cover her mouth with her hand.
But it’s the smile peeking through her fingers that throws me.
Wait . . . is she horrified? Or amused?
I flick my eyes back to Buddy, still standing there with his rifle—but not pointing it at me, which feels like a small miracle.
He’s helping Cybil to her feet and someone behind him is belly laughing.
Rex steps around his dad, grinning. “Bro.” He stretches down his hand to help me. “You both look ridiculous.”
“No thanks to you!” Cybil shoves her cousin in the shoulder. “You didn’t tell me”—her eyes land on me—“he was going to be
in the house.”
“You didn’t ask.” Rex chuckles unapologetically. “I thought it would be a nice way for you to reunite after all these years.”
If he only knew.
I catch Cybil’s sideways glance, and I know she’s thinking the same thing. It feels like we have a shared secret, and if it
weren’t so freaking dangerous, I might’ve enjoyed the moment more. She quickly throws her arms around her aunt and uncle.
She exchanged her cocktail dress from earlier tonight for a tank top and a pair of joggers, and my eyes—traitors that they
are—lock on the lean muscles across her back and sculpting her arms. No wonder she managed to drop me. She’s solid.
“Ahem.”
My gaze jerks up. Buddy’s watching me like a man who knows exactly what I’m thinking—and is daring me to keep thinking it. The man practically raised me, but the warning in his blue-gray eyes
tells me he won’t think twice about putting a boot where the sun doesn’t shine.
I open my mouth to explain, to say it’s not what it looks like . . . but yeah. It’s exactly what it looks like. My lip throbs. I touch it and wince—it’s already swelling. I’ve taken hits from fists before. But never
from a bag of flour.
“I’m sorry about the mess,” Cybil says, already gathering the groceries that spilled from her bag.
She picks up a can of something dented, and I silently thank the Lord that wasn’t the first thing she grabbed when she came at me like a ninja.
“I didn’t know anyone else was going to be in the house,” she
adds, glancing at me, “and he startled me.” She gestures at the battlefield of bruised fruit, leaking eggs, and flour-dusted
everything. “I’ll clean it all up. And I’ll replace the food before the party tomorrow.”
“Don’t you worry about it,” Renee says, taking the can from Cybil’s hand and setting it on the counter with a soft smile.
“Rex can help Ben clean up in here.”
“But I didn’t make the mess,” Rex grumbles.
We’re nearly thirty, full-grown adults, but one look from Buddy is all it takes to remind us respect isn’t optional.
“Don’t argue with your mom, son,” Buddy grunts, then pivots on his heel, following Renee and Cybil back to the main house.
“G’night.”
With Cybil gone, the space feels oddly empty. I turn on Rex. “What were you thinking?”
“What?” Rex is all fake innocence. “Cyb always stays in the guesthouse when she visits.”
I find a broom, toss it to Rex, and grab a rag to start wiping the counters. “How often does she come back to visit?”
Rex begins sweeping, but I catch the sideways look he sends me. “Why?”
Because ever since I saw her again, I’ve been starving for pieces of her life—who she became, what she’s been through, and
what led her down a path that ends with Edmond, Ramirez, and her life in danger.
But I just shrug and keep wiping. “Just wondering.”
“Give me a break.” He stops sweeping. “I saw the way Dad caught you ogling my cousin. He’s probably sleeping with his rifle
tucked in his arms.”
“I wasn’t ogling.” I hope the flour caked on my face is thick enough to hide the heat growing in my cheeks. “I had flour in
my eyes. I could barely see.”
“Sure.” Rex’s eyes flick to the main house before locking back on me. “Remember, my dad likes you, but he definitely likes Cybil more.”
I keep cleaning, wasting time I don’t have.
Rex isn’t wrong—Buddy’s always had a soft spot for his niece. Once my feelings for her started to shift into something real,
I was careful. Cautious. Never crossed a line.
But now? With Rook and Ramirez closing in, I can’t afford caution. I need to know what she knows—where she stands in all this—so
I can figure out how to keep her safe.
I glance toward the main house. The kitchen light flicks off.
The probability Buddy has his rifle within arm’s reach is high. And he’ll do whatever it takes to keep Cybil safe—even from
me. I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t shoot me . . .
Still, if I’m going to talk to Cybil, for my safety, it’ll have to wait until tomorrow.