by Carrie Quest
“So you were worried about me. Exactly like I’m worried about you.”
“Yeah, but that’s different. I’m your big brother.”
“I’m not allowed to worry because I’m younger?”
I groan and bang my head on my headrest. “That’s not what I’m saying.”
“Well, you’d better not be saying that it’s because I’m a girl and you’re a guy.”
I hold my hands up in mock surrender. “I would never say anything that sexist and stupid. At least not when I’m trapped in a car with you.”
She grins. “Ah, I see. You’re saying the wise and powerful Ben Easton has his shit so locked down that his life is perfect, and none of the rest of us mere mortals ever have to be concerned about him? Understood.”
“That’s exactly it.” I wink at her, hoping like hell we’re done with this topic. “Good talk, sis.”
I turn the key and start to put the Jeep in reverse, but she grabs my wrist.
“Yeah, we’re not quite done talking. What are you doing with Natalie?”
I don’t say a word, but I can feel my cheeks heating up and I can’t seem to stop the smile creeping over my face.
Piper eyes me closely. “Yeah, that’s about what she said when I asked her.”
I want to ask exactly what Nat said, and how she looked when she said it, but I’m not in junior high anymore, so I swallow my questions and back out of the driveway.
“I’ll tell you the same thing I told her,” Pipes says. “Just be careful.”
I nod. “I will.”
“Actually, I’ll tell you one more thing.”
I glance over at her. “What?”
“If you hurt her, I’ll pour Mom’s turkey gravy down your underpants and then lock you in a closet with Chuckles.” She laughs. “After not feeding him for a week.”
I wince. “Point taken. Also, you’re fucking evil. I told Mom and Dad you were a bad seed.”
She just laughs again. All the way to the store, where I somehow end up paying for two new tires before I take her out to lunch.
21
Natalie
Pipes and Ben call to ask if I want to meet for lunch, and I’m sorely tempted to dump my laptop in the library garbage can and go. Trying to wrestle these characters into a love scene is messing with my head (not to mention my poor, frustrated libido). I keep closing my eyes and trying to picture that moment before a first kiss; the way everything around you goes perfectly still from the second his glance drops to your lips, the warmth of your breath mingling with his, how your stomach swoops and then melts as his face gets closer and closer.
Result? I’m plagued by Ben Easton kissing flashbacks. It takes me four hours to eke out a page, and I keep sighing so loud that two different people ask me if I’m okay.
When I read back through what I’ve written, I realize the male character, who used to be pale with dark hair, has morphed into a tanned blonde. He’s also acquired a dog and some fuck-hot tongue skills for a guy who’s never even been kissed before.
I’m basically writing fan fiction based on my own life.
But I stick it out for the afternoon, until Piper texts again and saves me from myself.
Piper: Ran into Syd at lunch. Staying in town tonight. Hitting the Hill in an hour for food and too much beer. You are required.
Me: Have you forgotten what happened last time we went out with Sydney?
Me: She stole my bra WHILE I WAS WEARING IT and pushed you into the duck pond.
Me: The house smelled like duck shit for a week.
Piper: But I also got to pet a duckling. So…kind of a win?
Me: …
Piper: Ben said he’ll come if you come ;) ;) ;)
Piper: Ba dum ching!
Me: Ewww. Too soon. See you in an hour.
I guess she’s really okay with me and Ben if she’s breaking out the sex jokes before we’ve even managed to get all the way naked together. Shit. I know she’s trying to make things relaxed and easy, but there’s no way to avoid this situation being its own brand of awkward, especially after he lied to Piper about running right in front of me. Maybe I betrayed Piper by not calling him out. Then again, it would have been pretty shitty to tattle on my new…whatever Ben is…to his own sister.
I guess I should ask him about the knee and the running, but injuries are more Piper’s thing, and he’s clearly really sensitive about it. I don’t think we’re quite at the spill your guts about the death of your dreams phase of our relationship. That’s got to be a post-boning deal.
Yeah, fleeing up the stairs was for sure the right move.
I stare at Ben’s contact in my phone, wondering why it feels too forward to text him when I have no problem sticking my hand down his pants. We’ve never really been messaging buddies, and I’ve never had a guy I check in with during the day just to say hello. All my previous texting with guys has been very clinical: times and places for hook-ups. No chitchat, no funny pictures, and definitely no emojis. Or actual emotions.
I’m weighing the nuances of starting with Hi versus Hey (writer’s block is real) when my phone lights up. It’s from Ben. No words at all, only a picture of Thor attacking a huge pile of cardboard. The piece of box in his teeth is bigger than he is, and he’s clearly in puppy heaven. There are letters on the box, and when I swipe to magnify the picture, my heart thumps.
Ben’s new bed has arrived, and it’s out of the box.
My face splits on a grin and all my texting nerves are suddenly gone. I send him a string of emojis, starting with an engorged eggplant and ending with a tongue and praise hands. There are no words, but my message is clear.
I get one word back.
Ben: Yes.
Anticipation is thrumming through me as I push open the door to the bar an hour later. This was one of the first places I ever came in Boulder, with my parents after orientation. It’s right across from campus, and it’s so funky that my mom almost decided not to leave me in Colorado at all. Luckily for me, their ugly-crust pizza and kick-ass burgers won her over. The ceilings are low and littered with graffiti, the music is loud, and every inch of wall space is covered with colorful and bizarre cartoon-style art.
I spot my group easily, mostly because of Sydney. She’s dyed her hair bright pink since the last time I’ve seen her, so she stands out. It also helps that she’s sitting cross-legged on the bar, helping herself to a little buffet of cherries and olives while entertaining the bartender with a story that involves a lot of hand waving. Ben, Piper, and Brody are in a booth nearby, watching Syd with looks of horror on their faces.
Must be the cockroach story. The one that involves a rock star’s actual cock, an exterminator, and a disturbing incident with an umbrella.
They haven’t seen me yet and I hide behind a little crowd of people, taking a minute to ogle Ben before I walk over. He’s lounging sideways in the booth with one leg partway up on the seat, a bottle of beer dangling from one hand. He’s shaved since this morning, the tanned skin stretching over his high cheekbones looks so smooth that my fingers twitch, itching to touch it. I think about him standing in front of the mirror in his bathroom, shirt off, making faces as he carefully scrapes the stubble off his face and flicks soap lather into the sink. Getting himself ready for me.
Damn. Now my fingers aren’t the only parts of me that are twitching.
His grin is open and easy as he laughs along with Piper and Brody, but he’s drumming his fingers along the table and he can’t keep his eyes on Sydney. His gaze keeps darting between the door and his phone, searching for something. My stomach dips when I realize it’s me.
I walk up, dodging a few olives that Syd sends flying, and slide into the booth next to Ben. He slides his leg down to make room and immediately reaches for my leg under the table, squeezing my knee and then letting his fingers wander a few inches up my inner thigh. I mentally high-five myself for wearing a skirt this morning, though I probably should’ve packed an extra pair of panties in my purse. May
be I’ll make up a Ben Easton emergency supply kit to carry with me everywhere: breath mints, condoms, and extra underwear in case of soaking.
Or melting.
“Hi,” he says.
“Hi,” I breathe out. We grin at each other, lost in our own private lust fog, and I hear Brody snickering somewhere in the background.
“I know,” Piper says in a stage whisper. “Get a room.”
I turn and give her a glare, but she winks and slides a frosty glass across the table.
“Drink up,” she says, toasting me with her own beer. “Syd’s almost to the part when the exterminator calls the ambulance and starts praying for her soul.”
I shudder and take a big gulp of cold beer. “I lost enough sleep—and most of my remaining innocence—the first five times I heard this story. I’m blocking her out. Distract me.”
I’m talking to Piper but Ben’s the one who answers my request, not with words but by sliding his hand so close to the juncture of my thighs that I gasp. He closes his eyes and lets out a deep breath when he hears the sound. When he looks at me again, his gaze is so hot I wonder if eye-fucking counts as public indecency, because if it does, we’re going to get arrested before the food even gets here.
He keeps his hand on me as we order, sink another beer, and wait for our meals. His fingers draw little circles on the smooth skin of my inner thighs, then move to trace the bones of my wrist and tap out a little message on my knee. If I knew Morse Code, I’d probably be blushing.
Syd joins us after the food comes. The bartender turns pale and downs two vodka shots when she gets to the end of her story, but he still sends over a round of free drinks to the table. Syd shoots him a wink and a wave before she plops down next to Brody.
“Cute bartender,” Piper says. “You should go for it.”
“There is no way in hell I’m hooking up tonight.” Syd runs her fingers through her short pink hair, spiking it up until she’s rocking a demented Tinker Bell look.
“Why not?”
“I haven’t showered in five days and my vaj has that weird dry turkey smell happening,” Syd says. “It’s disgusting. Unless you’re a fan of Thanksgiving in summer, I guess.”
Ben spits out his beer and Brody gives Syd a long look, then scoots along the bench away from her, squishing Piper into the wall. Syd appears not to notice.
Piper doesn’t even blink. She’s known Syd since high school and is used to her no-topics-off-limits conversational style. “Maybe Thanksgiving is his favorite holiday.”
Syd shakes her head. “He’s Irish. Maybe if it smelled like whiskey, I’d go for it.”
She gives the bartender an appraising look, then shrugs. “He said he always works Thursdays, I’ll come back next week. Oh, by the way, I’ve got that bra I took off you last time, Nat. It’s in my bag. Remind me to give it to you before you head out.”
Ben’s eyebrows shoot up. “This sounds like a much more pleasant story,” he says. “Start at the beginning, Sydney, and don’t skimp on the sound effects.”
I elbow him in the ribs and Brody cracks up.
“I agree with Ben,” he rumbles in that deep slow voice of his. “Let’s hear it.”
I shake my head, but there’s no stopping Sydney once she’s on a storytelling roll. She just smiles and blows me a kiss.
“We were hitting the bars on Pearl,” she says, “and there was an impromptu Star Wars costume contest, so naturally I decided to enter.”
“Naturally,” Ben says. He glances over at me, his eyes full of the laughter he’s barely holding back. I narrow my eyes at him and steal the pickle off his plate.
“So, I scammed a few white aprons out of the bartender for the gown, but my hair is waaay too short to do the bun thing.”
Ben nods. “That’s a problem.”
“It really was,” Syd agrees. “The prize was a bottle of tequila, and I wanted to win. Bad. I figured I’d wrap a bra around my head, and Nat had the biggest boobs in our group—”
Everybody’s eyes immediately drop to my chest.
“Eyes up, you perverts.” I cross my arms defensively. Brody and Piper snap their gazes back to Syd, who starts describing how she tackled me in the bathroom and put her hand up my shirt.
Ben’s gaze lingers, his eyes hooded and dark. When he finally looks up, heat rushes through me, fast and furious enough to give me a mini-orgasm right there at the table.
Definitely public indecency.
I tear my eyes away before I push him back onto the table and jump him. Our first time really shouldn’t be in a bar, especially not in front of his sister, though Syd could probably use the story to get free drinks for life.
When I rejoin the conversation, Brody is staring at me, his head tilted in confusion. “I still don’t get the logistics of the bra exit strategy,” he says. “Maybe you should do a reenactment.”
Ben shakes his head. “No time. Nat and I have to go.”
He throws some money on the table and pushes me toward the edge of the bench with his hip. “Ready?”
Brody checks the time on his phone and sighs. “Less than an hour,” he says. “You win, Pipes.”
My best friend snatches the twenty-dollar bill he holds up and shoots him a look of triumph. “I’ll let you finish their fries as a consolation prize,” she tells him.
“You bet on us?” I try for a tone of dignified outrage, but I’m too busy scrambling out of the booth to pull it off.
Brody shoves a fistful of my fries in his mouth to avoid answering. Piper just ignores the question.
“We’ll be out late,” she says. “Part of the bet was that Brody has to escort us to karaoke and sing at least three Nickelback songs. I’ll probably crash on Syd’s couch. See you tomorrow.”
Brody groans. “Your sister is evil, Easton.”
Ben doesn’t hear him. He’s already brushed past me, headed for the door.
I start to follow, but Sydney stops me.
“Wait!” she yells. “Bra!”
Every guy within hearing whips his head around to stare at me. I feel like a mouse in a roomful of starving owls.
“Thirsty crowd tonight,” Syd mutters. “They’re just boobs, for fuck’s sake. Half the world has them.” She digs around in her messenger bag and whips out a black lace bra, waving it around in triumph. “Got it!”
I blush and snatch it away from her, rolling it up to shove in my bag.
“Have fun tonight,” she says.
I wave goodbye and slink out past the disappointed boob-spotters. Ben’s waiting outside, leaning against the door. He holds out his hand without saying a word and leads me toward home.
We don’t sprint this time, just wander down the Hill, along the Mall, and down the quiet streets of our neighborhood. Last night was an explosion: the spark lit the moment we touched, and we couldn’t stop racing toward the end. Tonight is more of a slow burn, which is even hotter somehow, because I have time to think about all the things I want to do to him. My eyes run over the smooth skin of his neck, taking in his strong shoulders and the way his shorts fall low on his hips. He’s beautiful, and he’s about to be mine. My tongue on his skin. My hand stroking his cock. My mouth swallowing his groans as he thrusts into me.
He keeps a tight grip on my hand, and I stay close enough that our shoulders and thighs keep brushing up against each other, a promise with every step of what’s to come. The sun’s going down, bathing the houses in a rosy light. I swing my free arm a little, just to feel the warm air caress my skin, and smile up at Ben when he looks at me.
He stops in front of our house, pulling me to the edge of the sidewalk, and stares into my eyes. His face is serious, his expression searching, and when he brings one finger up to trace the line of my cheekbone, I have to force myself not to look away. Because I feel like I’m being seen for the first time.
It’s terrifying, but then I notice the softness in his eyes and the lazy curve of his lips as he smiles. He’s not judging, not secretly wishing I had a smaller a
ss or a stronger work ethic or friends who don’t drive bartenders to drink with disgusting stories. He’s just standing there, appreciating me. Liking me.
Maybe even starting to love me.
“You’re gorgeous,” he whispers. “Inside and out. Everywhere.” His hand moves to cradle the back of my head, guiding my lips to meet his for a tender kiss.
He sighs when we break apart. His hands drop to my waist, pulling me tight against him, and I reach up to put my arms around his neck.
“I want you,” he says. His voice is low and raspy, and I can feel his hardness against my belly. “So much. But we don’t have to do this tonight.”
“What? Why not?” Is he kidding?
He waves his hand back toward the Hill. “I should take you out, just the two of us, not drag you away from your friends like I’m a fucking caveman who can’t keep his dick in his pants.”
“Tunic,” I say idly. I run my thumbs along the soft hair at the back of his neck and he shivers.
“What?”
“I’m pretty sure cavemen wore tunics.” I plant a kiss on his neck, right above the collar of his t-shirt. He smells like soap and cedar and clean male skin.
“Tunics, huh?” I feel the rumble of his voice on my lips. “Easy access. Convenient.”
“Or maybe fur muumuus? I don’t know.” I feel him shake with laughter and step back so I can look into his eyes. “I don’t need a special dinner or a night of romance, Ben. I’m not that girl.”
The smile he flashes is so quick that it’s gone by the time I reach up to kiss his dimple. “Maybe I’m that guy,” he says. “At least when I’m with you.”
Good. God. Damn.
I’m melting like the frickin’ Wicked Witch of the West after Dorothy gave her a forced ice bucket challenge. If he doesn’t stop talking, like, now, I’m going to be a puddle of goo on the Boulder sidewalk.
“I love that,” I say. And I think I kind of love you. “But do you think you can be that guy tomorrow? Because tonight I’d really like you to be the caveman who drags me to his new bed and has his wicked way with me.”