8. Chapter 8
Chapter eight
Gina
I give Benji a tour of the lodge and a map of the property, pointing out all the places of interest and writing a few notes with a blue Bic pen—PINs for locks and that sort of thing.
“Keep this map in your pocket, at least for the first few weeks,” I say, handing it to him.
Diana will go over the safety briefing with him, but there’s one point I want to emphasize.
“Stick to the trails closer to the lodge if you go out for a walk. The ones with marker posts painted white will take you on a loop from the cabins to the campground to the lake, so you can’t get lost on those.
But some of the others delve quite deep into the wilderness and connect to ones on the neighboring national forest land, and it is possible to get lost there. ”
The only cabin needing cleaning is the one Benji, Clay, and Briar stayed in last night, so we start there, stripping beds, replacing towels, and preparing the cabin for the next guests. He streams music, dancing as he mops while I vacuum.
He doesn’t complain when we go to the amenities block to clean the toilets.
He smiles and greets guests when we swing through the cabins to take away trash and leave clean towels.
I show him how to work the ride-on lawnmower and leave him to cut the grass in the unoccupied tent sites.
When I come back, he’s managed to lose his shirt.
Seeing him glistening in sweat and still looking energetic is a sharp reminder of his age. What am I supposed to do with a twenty-five-year-old husband?
Okay, I have a lot of ideas but objectifying him is a shitty thing to do.
A couple of campers watch him from lawn chairs parked in the shade, and on the road behind me, I hear the unmistakable sound of a cyclist losing traction.
I turn as one of our regulars dusts herself off from a fall with a sheepish look. She waves that she’s okay, mounts her bike again, and speeds off.
Benji reaches the far end of the clearing, turns the lawnmower, and, seeing me, heads my way. He’s done a good job. The grass is even and lush.
He gives me a dimpled grin as he stops before me, pulls the hearing protection earmuffs off, and wipes sweat from his forehead with his forearm.
I stuff my hands into my pockets and rock back on my feet, pointedly keeping my eyes on his face, which is hard because he has about forty-seven abs. “What happened to your shirt?”
The abs I am definitely not looking at contract as he lifts his butt and pulls the shirt out from under him. “Right here.”
“You need to wear it.”
“I get it,” he says, pulling the shirt over his head and giving me a few seconds to sneak a look at his stomach. “You don’t want to share the view.”
“That’s really not it.” Sharing isn’t the problem. The problem is how much I want to touch him. “Are you at least wearing sunscreen?”
He plucks the sunscreen out of the cup holder, holding it up. “Yeah. Would’ve been better if you’d been here to help. Had a hard time reaching my back.”
I step closer, and Benji relaxes into the seat, grinning at my approach. The casual cockiness of it, his flirtatious tone—it’s dangerous out here where anyone could pass by. He’s not acting very second cousin-ly. “Diana might have hired you, but I haven’t said you could stay for the summer yet.”
His expression falls. Guilt kicks me in the stomach. I open my mouth to apologize, to take it back, but Benji glances over his shoulder. “Should I finish?”
He’s almost done. “Yeah,” I say weakly.
He puts the earmuffs back on and starts up the lawn mower. I busy myself looking for any litter that might have blown into the woods surrounding the tent sites.
When he’s finished, we collect Briar from the lodge and Trouble from Diana’s house, along with Benji and Briar’s belongings.
“You don’t have a lot of stuff,” I comment as we load their belongings into the back of the trailer hitched to the four-wheeler.
Benji only has a backpack. Briar has a couple of new-looking reusable shopping bags and a cat carrier.
If they planned on spending the summer here, they sure packed light.
“There wasn’t room in the car,” Briar says as Trouble, in a leashed harness, sniffs the trailer’s tire. “Not with Clay’s shoe collection.”
Benji laughs. “You think he brought five duffle bags full of shoes?”
She shrugs. “You don’t think he’s in a codependent relationship with Italian leather?”
“Good point.”
I climb onto the four-wheeler as Briar sweeps Trouble into her arms and heads off toward the trail that will take her and the cat to my cabin and Milo’s RV.
“Maybe I could sleep on your sofa?” Benji’s warm hand cups my shoulder as he swings his leg over the seat behind me.
I take a deep breath as he settles in. His inner thighs bracket my hips, and his hands are light on my waist even though the four-wheeler isn’t running.
I’m waiting until Trouble and Briar are further down the trail so I don’t spook the cat.
There’s no one around to see Benji’s hands on me, but we’re close to the lodge.
The tent sites are just through the trees.
My every nerve is on high alert, but it only makes me more aware of the gentle glide of Benji’s thumbs up and down my sides, the gentle press of his fingers against my stomach.
I like his touch way too much. He feels so lovely and solid behind me.
“Gina?” Benji prompts. His lips are so close to my ear that I can’t stop the shiver.
“We’ll see.” He saw the sofa last night, but maybe he’s forgotten how small it is.
Trouble and Briar disappear, so I start the four-wheeler before Benji can argue. Before I’m tempted to lean back against him.
The five miles per hour speed limit never felt so agonizingly slow and frustratingly fast. By the time I remember that we’re not wearing helmets, we’re already on the private road that leads to my cabin, but by then, Benji has fully encircled me in his arms, scooting forward enough to look over my shoulder.
“What’s that?” he asks as a bird swoops across the road in front of us.
“Pileated woodpecker.”
He echoes that back, looking for the bird in the trees as we slowly drive past, like he wants to remember, and that warm fuzzy feeling inside me grows.
The road ends at the meadow, and I’m confronted with how small Milo’s RV is. Did it shrink since this morning?
I’m also confronted with Milo sitting at the picnic table with a sketchbook and stubby pencil. When he sees us and everything in the trailer, his face falls.
I stop five feet away from him.
Benji is sitting too close for me to get off the four-wheeler first, so I motion for him to, and he does. I swing off the other side and follow Milo’s narrowed gaze.
“Oh.” I don’t mean to say that. Or to stare. But Benji’s wearing joggers, and I suspect nothing under them. His erection could be a perch—for a damn pileated woodpecker, if not a freaking hawk.
He’s huge.
Benji notices our attention, glances down, and shrugs. “The vibration,” he says, not even a little self-conscious.
“Gina,” Milo says in a deeply annoyed voice. “A word?”
That thing is massive. I could joke about him needing a permit for it, but would it really be a joke? Permits should be required.
It’s…unethical.
Milo clears his throat, and I tear my eyes off Benji’s situation.
Benji grins at me, and I remember how it felt to wake up with that pressed against my butt.
“You’re too big.” It slips out before I know it’s on the tip of my tongue.
My face goes hotter than Rita’s Five Alarm Chili.
It takes a few seconds to get control of my mouth, and then I backpedal, scrambling for anything else I could be talking about.
“For the couch, I mean. Too tall to sleep on my couch. You won’t fit. ”
Benji stuffs his hands in his pockets, and his grin turns diabolical. “I can fit in some pretty tight places. We can make it work.”
My jaw drops. I have no words—only a wild desire to know more.
Milo slams his sketchbook shut and gets up. “Gina?”
“Diana hired Benji and Briar for the summer,” I say, laying the blame squarely where this belongs, at his grandmother’s feet. “They’re going to stay in your RV.”
“I’m serious about the couch,” Benji says, unloading the trailer as Briar and Trouble stroll into the meadow.
Milo’s eyes flick her way. Trouble crouches low, wriggles his back end, then launches himself at a mourning cloak butterfly—and misses.
“Nice pounce,” Benji calls out encouragingly. “You’ll get him next time.”
Briar tugs on the leash and Trouble flops on his side, rolling in the grass. She sighs. “I give up. He’s yours now. Come get your feline son.” She hands him the leash and he bends to pick up the cat.
“So this is the RV?” Briar asks, walking right past us on her way to it.
“Yeah—is it okay?”
“You can’t go in there,” Milo calls to her, taking a few steps toward her, but it’s too late. Briar has already opened the door and stepped inside.
“Wow, it smells like jizz-crusted socks in here,” Briar calls from inside.
“Dibs on your couch,” Benji immediately says to me, then to the cat, “You can sleep with me, Trubs.”
I don’t know what to say. I want him in my cabin, but where am I supposed to sleep? With Milo, I guess?
The RV door opens, and Briar walks down the short steps, a box of tissues in one hand and a bottle of lotion in the other. She marches up to Milo, pushing both into his hands. “You’re going to have to find somewhere else to play the naked air guitar,” she smirks.
Milo’s face goes red. He looks like he doesn’t know what to do or say.
I feel sorry for him, but also naked air guitar?
That has me biting back a laugh until I notice Benji watching me.
Briar just called out my fiancé for regularly masturbating in the RV—I should react to that, shouldn’t I?
Is Briar implying that Milo and I aren’t having sex?
We aren’t, of course. But this sham engagement is Milo’s secret as well.
“Masturbation is perfectly healthy.” It just pops out, just like that, and suddenly, Milo and Briar are looking at me, too. “Even in committed relationships.” Probably? It’s not like I’ve had many, so what would I know?
Benji’s eyebrows quirk, his head tilting. Suspicion, or something else? Heat flicks up my neck when I imagine him whispering your orgasms are mine now in my ear. They will be his, even if he never knows it, because I don’t think I can fantasize about anyone else while he’s here.
Milo abruptly sets the lotion and the tissues on the table and stalks off.
I sigh as I watch him go. “I’ll clean the RV.”
“It’s not all that bad,” Briar admits with a guilty little smile.
“I’m still sleeping on your couch,” Benji tells me.
Maybe he did lose his job in Vegas, and maybe our drunken night meant something to him, but to sleep on my small couch all summer ? He hasn’t said it out loud, but he must think he can win me over from Milo and stop the wedding.
That can’t happen. We’re so close to getting Happy Lake—just a few more months and an “I do.” I don’t want Benji to leave, but I don’t know if we can pull this off if he stays.