Chapter 11
I leave in the morning while Ben’s still asleep. I’m not sure what time he gets up for work, but it’s 6 a.m. and no alarm has gone off yet. I don’t sleep well in general, even more so at a place that isn’t home. Which is why I’m the self-proclaimed Queen of Naps, so last night wasn’t really different from any other when I can’t get my brain to turn off its never-ending commentary.
I don’t really think about it until after the fact, I just get up and go because it’s what I’m used to. I don’t exactly imagine Ben waking up and making me pancakes while I cuddle his cat on the couch. Of course, we didn’t talk about it prior, but I get the feeling that he prefers his alone time despite this arrangement. His words at our meeting ring in my ears, and I certainly don’t want to seem entitled to his time.
Except my dress is ruined from where he tore it open, so I leave that on his floor and I pick up the soft, navy pullover he was wearing yesterday and pull that on over my head. The hem of it hits mid-thigh and combined with my heels, this walk of shame is going to be a blast. I leave my panties because I kind of like the idea of him finding them later. But I borrow a pair of his boxers from the dresser, resisting the urge to root around in all the following drawers.
I sneak a peek around his bathroom after I pee. It’s clean and tidy, just like the rest of his apartment, with sparkling white tile and double sinks. The mirror doesn’t have even a dot of toothpaste splatter. He doesn’t have a medicine cabinet to open but rather drawers to snoop through, and I take advantage of that. I find a drawer with ten different kinds of dental floss and make a note to check out his teeth next time I’m up close and personal. But more exciting than that, I find his cologne.
Blue de Chanel. The dark blue bottle is large and heavy, with about a quarter of the liquid missing. I’m not ashamed to say I spritz it on my neck. It smells divine and even though my pussy is going to throb from now until I take a shower because all I can think about is Ben, well…maybe I’m just a slut after all.
When I pass Pebbles where he’s curled up on his tall cat condo in the living room, I contemplate catnapping him for all of two minutes. His sleepy purr and yawn as I pet down his sleek fur almost makes me break, but then I’d have to buy cat food and litter. How would I even get him to my apartment, carry him? I don’t even have pants on, so what if he scratches me and who knows if he likes to be held—so I just grab my jacket and purse, ordering a Lyft on the way down the elevator.
The doorman in the lobby stares a little harder than the one last night did, but I don’t exactly blame him.
When I get home thirty minutes later, I kick off my heels at the bottom of the stairs and scoop them up before making the climb. My thighs burn a little with each step, and I’m reminded of the fact that I never work out and sex is the most cardio I ever get. I should probably fix that. Or maybe I just need to have more sex.
I place my heels on the shoe rack in the small entryway of our apartment instead of leaving them laying on the floor like I normally would. I’d like to say it’s because they’re expensive and I don’t want to damage them, but maybe it’s more the fact that Ben gave them to me and I want to take care of them for him.
A shower washes away anything lingering on my skin; it was stupid of me to even use his cologne. When I put in the name online and see the price tag, it makes me wonder how many spritzes are in a bottle. What does that divide out to, and how much did I just waste? But I’m putting that bottle in my purse next time I’m at his place, because when I come out smelling like my cheap body wash that advertises an ocean breeze, I regret the shower more than I would sticky thighs later in the day when I’m chafing.
Dressing in jeans and a baggy t-shirt, I slip on the floral cardigan sitting on the end of my bed. I roll the sleeves up my wrists once, since they’re a little long, and finish getting ready to head to the flower shop. For once, I eat a bowl of cereal prior to leaving because my stomach growls angrily. I wonder when I gained a normal human attribute as I shovel frosted flakes in my mouth.
My phone vibrates from my back pocket as I’m slipping on my tennis shoes. I grab it up and sling my purse over my shoulder, slamming the door behind me and bumping it with my hip to make sure it’s locked.
It’s Ben.
| You left without waking me.
| What did you wear home? I would have driven you.
Uh-oh. Is he mad? I can’t tell over texts, man.
| Your sweater
| I was fine, not that cold today
| That’s beside the point. I would have driven you.
I frown down at my phone, pushing open the front door of our apartment building and stepping outside, locking the handle with my key. I’m not sure what to say to him because I’m not sorry for leaving like I did.
Though this cashmere cardigan is warm, the morning chill still seeps through the fabric. Thankfully it’s only a five to six minute walk, tops.
When I get into the shop, Angela is bustling about the counter, setting out some premade flower arrangements into the front coolers. I slide around the counter into the back room after yawning out a good morning and pull an apron off the hook and exchange it for my purse. I tie the apron around my waist and stick my gloves and shears in the front pocket.
“What’s the plan today, boss lady?” I call out, tucking some hairs behind my ears where they’ve escaped the bun on top of my head.
“Valerie called off today, so I’ll need you till eight. Is that all right?”
“Yeah, no problem.”
“Great.” Angela leans around the door frame and eyes me with a curious gaze. She points to her neck and clears her throat. “You’ve got some, um—had a fun weekend did you? Oh, to be young. Enjoy it while it lasts, dear. How about you work on some of these bouquet orders while I go check the greenhouses down the way?”
I blink and put my hand up to my throat and wince. I barely glanced at myself after my shower, but I know there must be love bites up and down my neck. Oh well.
“Uh-huh. Will do.”
“I’ll be in the greenhouses for a bit then, if you need me. We’ll do some prep work for a Saturday wedding this week as well.”
Throwing her a thumbs up, I look through the order forms on the laptop and perch on the stool in front of the workbench to plot out what I need to grab. My ass is still so fucking sore today, I shift my hips forward till I find a comfortable position. Just thinking about why makes my whole body heat up, ready for a repeat performance.
Shaking my head, I crack my neck with a satisfying sound that shivers down my spine. I need something to do with my hands while I get back on track.
I pull and cut some ribbons, gather twine and straight pins, make sure the label maker is loaded, and get up to pull an assortment of flowers into my baskets to work with.
As soon as I sit back down, my phone nearly vibrates me off the chair again. I groan and nearly slam my head against the low hanging overhead light above the bench. I pull it out of my pocket along with my shears from my apron.
| Did you get to work safely?
I’m not sure why that makes my stomach flip-flop.
| Yes, the shop is only a few blocks from my apartment
| But thanks for checking on me, Dad
| Try again.
If I accidentally clipped a rose straight off the stem—well, it would only be the first of many for the day.
I don’t know what possesses me to do as he asks. It’s the fact that I must want to even though I love being a brat, because I love being a good girl, too.
| Thanks for checking on me, Daddy
| That’s it, baby.
| I miss that gorgeous little pussy already.
| You didn’t let me eat my breakfast this morning.
Oh, just fuck my razor thin thread of concentration for the day then.
| Breakfast isn’t always the most important meal of the day
I look away from my phone and grimace. I’m not sure this bouquet is the greatest anymore. It might be more baby’s breath than rose, so I stick another couple stems in the center and fluff out their petals. I wrap the whole thing in a sheer, black, crinkly plastic speckled with stars and tie it all off with a red ribbon. Filling out the card and sticking it with the bouquet, they go into the cooler to keep them fresh until pick up.
I keep going, starting on the next order because I can’t look back down at my phone when it buzzes again, can’t think of continuing with what he wanted with that exchange. While he might be at work, behind his desk in his big boy office overlooking a floor of employees or whatever it is he does day to day, I can’t just fall into this while I’m the only one who’s here to wait on customers and work on orders. Because this line of conversation will be my undoing. He’ll end me with dirty talk and no chance of reprieve. I swear I soaked in every word he said last night like a sponge, and it took me to a higher plane of existence. You could have wrung me out, I was so wet.
So instead of becoming distracted by him, I dive into these orders until I’m checking them all off the list as complete. If there’s one thing I can do well, it’s hyperfocus and hyper fixate, and when I put it to my job, that works out the best for everyone.
I slide my phone back into my pocket so it’s out of sight and out of mind, but I don’t miss the fact that it buzzes in my pocket several more times while I’m working.
I’m on the last order out of thirteen when the shop bell chimes from the front.
Wiping my hands on my apron, I shove my shears in the front pocket and stand from the stool with a stretch of my arms over my head and a yawn. When I walk through the doorway to the front counter, I blink and wonder if I fell asleep at the workbench instead, because surely I’m dreaming.
Ben is standing in front of the counter, looking down at his phone. I want to dig a hole with my bare hands and curl up in it and weep because he looks so incredible in a suit, tie, and fucking glasses. He pushes the black frames up the bridge of his nose with his index finger as swipes through his phone.
I wipe a hand across my chin because I’m afraid of drooling like a dog over a bone, forcing my brows to relax and stomp toward the counter and rest my hands across it.
“Can I help you, sir?”
He looks up, seeming entirely unaffected by my presence, and tucks his phone into the pocket of his jacket as I long to drag him across the counter by his tie and press my lips to his.
“I’d like to order a bouquet.”
“Of course,” I say with a measured breath. “What would you like?”
“Surprise me.”
Normally I love those words, even when I get in my head that a customer will hate whatever I chose. But there’s something about this now that makes me uneasy.
“Okay. I think I have an idea of what to do. It’ll be seventy-five dollars.”
“Take your time.” Ben pulls out his wallet and slides his credit card across the counter.
I ring up the order and slide his credit card and receipt back to him before turning on my heel sharply to head to the backroom to pull the flowers.
“Emmeline,” he calls out. I freeze before I disappear from his eyesight. When he speaks again, his voice is low and it curls around me like tendrils of smoke off a fire. “I am not like the other men you’ve been with. I want to know that you make it home—to work—safely. This city is dangerous.”
“Boys,” I clarify, staring at the bucket of red roses in the backroom as my chest aches. “I’ve only been with boys. Selfish. Stupid. Boys.”
My legs almost refuse to move, but I slide around the frame of the doorway, striding toward the shelves with the flowers and pull on my gloves. I look over the selection of flowers, and the lilies catch my eyes. I grab a handful along with spray roses and carnations. Maybe a couple white roses. Ooh, and some bronze daisies. It’ll be a whirl of orange, autumnal goodness.
My shears snap the ends of the stems and I brush them into the trash bin, shucking my gloves. Grabbing a clear vase off the shelf, I put the flowers down into it and grab a length of white ribbon to tie around the middle of it.
I bring the vase out front and set it on the counter right in front of Ben. He looks over the tops of the flowers at me, not even acknowledging them.
I can’t place the look in his eyes, but there’s a furrow of his brow, a crease between them that combines sternly with the harsh set line of his mouth.
“Your order, sir.” I push the vase across the counter until the petals of the flowers brush his navy suit jacket.
He pushes the vase right back to me until the flowers are under my nose and the oil from the petals’ perfume invades my senses.
“Yours,” Ben says simply. “I bought them for you.”
Oh. The twisting in my gut that perhaps he was going to take this arrangement and go back to his office to set it on the desk of a wildly pretty personal assistant, or another of his employees, or the barista in his favorite coffee shop evaporates like hot steam in a sauna.
“How did you know I work here?”
The words thank you lay quietly in my throat, refusing to come out, and I hate myself for it.
“There are only so many flower shops within a couple blocks of your apartment. Good guess, I suppose.”
“How many?”
“One.” I glance up at him ruefully. “Also, background check, remember?”
I tug on a petal between my fingers until the silky softness of it separates from the rest of the flower, and I throw it at him. “Right. How could I forget? You’re heading right into stalker status now, though.”
“The background check wasn’t enough?” His lips tip up in a smirk, and he catches the loose petal between his fingers before he tucks it in the pocket of his jacket.
“Apparently I like red flags.”
His lip twitches. “And just how many red flags do I have?”
Squinting, I push the vase to the side so I have an unobstructed view and reach out to brush my fingers over the green of the silk tie he chose for the day. “I’m still tallying them up.”
Ben’s hand circles my wrist in a tight grip, and my pulse flutters beneath the press of his fingers. He pulls my hand up to his mouth and brushes his lips against the back of my hand in a soft kiss.
“I have to get back to work,” he says, though he doesn’t release me.
I lean over the counter, turning my hand in his grip to brush my fingers over the smooth, short hairs of his beard, drifting down his neck till I can circle my fingers around the knot of the tie at the base. He lets me tug him forward by the fabric as I pull up to my tiptoes and press my mouth to his.
It’s a slow, sensual movement of our lips that grows like a crescendo, just like the rhythm of my pulse. I get lost in his touch, the scent of his cologne, the taste of cinnamon that’s always on his breath, and I want more. He licks at the seam of my lips, tongue hot and silky as I open for him. His hand tightens around my wrist and he gives a tug like he wants to pull me closer, haul me over the counter, lay me out, and devour me.
I have to resist the urge to climb up onto the counter all on my own and take it.
We push and pull, the press of his mouth insistent as he licks into my mouth and my tongue slides against his own. I gulp in a breath for my starving lungs when we separate for a moment before pulling him back to me, because his is the only air I want to breathe. Nipping on Ben’s bottom lip earns me a low sound from his throat. He drops my wrist like it’s a hot brand, breath blowing over my lips as he pulls back just a bit.
“Little bird, I have to go before I really show you all my colors and carry you out of here like a caveman.”
Crazy thing, but I wouldn’t mind nearly as much as I should.
My boss probably would, though.
I uncurl my fingers from his tie, smoothing my hand down the front to get rid of the wrinkles. I lean in and give him one last kiss before pulling away and dropping back onto my heels. “Kidnapping is another pretty shade of red, isn’t it?”
His gaze sharpens, a finger coming to tip my chin up to him. “Is it really kidnapping if you want me to do it?”
“Presumptuous of you.” I lick my lip, and his eyes dart down to watch my tongue run over the swollen curve where I can still taste him. The ache in my chest is back and I want to curl into myself, to carve it out of my blood and flesh until it’s gone. “We both need to get back to work.”
Ben lets his touch linger before he gives me a tight tip of his head, his hand falling from my chin. I feel like I can breathe again when he looks down to the watch on his wrist.
“Text me when you’re leaving work. And when you get home.”
“Yes, Daddy.”
He gives me a look that nearly brings me to my knees for him, a shudder rolling down my spine. But I can’t take it back, can’t change the words now.
There’s a look that flashes over his face, jaw tightening, before he turns and strides toward the door. “I’ll talk to you later.”
Angela comes through the back doorway just as the chime of the bell over the door rings and Ben lets the door close with a soft whoosh behind him.
“Oh,” she says, pausing as she looks at the vase on the counter with a frown and then up to the door. “Did he not want the flowers?”
“He bought them for me.”
She gives me a bewildered look, and I feel the heat of blush on my cheeks as I duck my head and pull the vase toward me between my hands.
“He’s the guy,” I hedge. “From this weekend.”
Angela’s eyes go wide, and her spine straightens as she looks toward the door again like she’s ready to walk outside to try and catch a glimpse of him. She pulls her glasses off the bridge of her nose and waves them around.
“Any man that buys their lady flowers is a good one, I just know it. He’s a keeper.” She points the ends of the wire frames at me, and I crack a smile.
“Are you obligated to say that, considering it’s probably your whole business model?”
She shrugs, and there’s a twinkle in her eye as she slides the glasses to hang on the front of her shirt. “Maybe, maybe not. Maybe I’ve just got a lot of wisdom in these old bones.”
I roll my eyes. “Wisdom maybe, but good intuition? Remains to be seen.”
“Kids these days,” Angela says under her breath with a shake of her head. “Anyway,” she drawls. “Let’s go over our inventory to see if we need to get anything specific at the market on Wednesday.”
I nod, picking up the vase to put in the back and out of the way. But I spend the rest of the day looking at the flowers anyway, even if it’s something I made for myself.