by Everly Lucas
“Did you think I wouldn’t want to see you right away?”
She takes another sip of her soda and focuses on a loose thread she’s trying to liberate from the blanket. “I wasn’t sure you’d want to see me, at all.”
“Of course I want to see you, Claire. Always. Nothing you say or do will ever change that.” She looks back up at me, and I wish I could hold her face to keep her eyes on mine. “What you wrote, how you feel about yourself—that’s not how I feel about you. It’s not what I see when I look at you.”
She shakes her head, yanking harder on the poor, innocent thread. “You can’t just pretend my past didn’t happen…that I didn’t do all those things and fuck all those—" A catch in her voice keeps her from finishing her sentence. Her eyes close, and she takes a breath so deep, I wonder if she’ll ever exhale. “You can’t ignore the bad and only see the good.”
“There’s nothing that isn’t good about you.” She throws me a skeptical look so adorable, I can’t help smiling. Her lips give a shy twitch in return. “Yes, you made choices you regret, but don’t you think you’ve punished yourself enough?”
She nods, but I wonder how much she means it.
“And those desires you have? They don’t make you a bad person, and they don’t make you dirty. As long as you’re doing what you want, you have no reason to feel ashamed.”
“I get all that. I do,” she says, her voice regaining strength. “There’s still this voice in the back of my head trying to sabotage me, telling me you either don’t mean what you say or you’re in denial about my past. But I’m calling bullshit on it, now.” Her features set in determination, and there’s a fire in her blue eyes I’ve never seen before. “I can be very stubborn when I want something.”
My heart loses control. My body won’t be far behind.
“What is it you want, Claire?” My voice trips over itself in a way it hasn’t since puberty, as I watch her light up from the inside.
She dips her chin, looking up at me through pale lashes. “I want to try something with you.”
“Anything.” Literally anything.
When she shifts closer, positioning herself between my bent legs, I decide that if she wants to fuck me right here in the park, I’d be fully on board with that. She sits back on her heels, and I instinctively lean into her, bringing my face so close to hers, I can see her pupils dilate and color flood her cheeks.
She takes a few deep breaths, though she already looks calm. Much more calm than I’ve ever seen her with so little distance between us.
“Touch me, Ben.”
Touch her. She wants me to touch her. She wants me to do something I haven’t been able to stop fantasizing about but knew was out of the question…until now.
But what if I mess this up? What if I touch her the wrong way…or too much…or not enough? She’s testing herself, but what if she fails because of me?
I’m certain to fail her, though, if I can’t do this for her—if she thinks I don’t want to touch her.
I kneel and sit back, my position mirroring hers but with her knees between mine. My eyes travel over her face and body, trying to decide where to start. I think back to the night she fell asleep on my couch and how badly I wanted to trace the patterns hidden in her light freckles.
I make contact, barely, and Claire focuses on my fingers as they travel over her shoulder, then down her arm. Despite the heat, goosebumps form on her flesh.
When I reach her hand, I wrap mine around it, using this as an anchor for her—for us—as my other hand continues to explore the brave, beautiful woman before me.
A breeze blows strands of hair across her face, and I push them back, my touch lingering. Her lips part as I stroke from her temple to her jaw.
“Is this okay?” I ask. I hate to risk breaking the moment, but I don’t want to push her too far. She closes her eyes and simply nods in answer, so I keep going.
My hand settles just below her jawline, my thumb brushing over her petal soft lips. She rests her free hand over mine and nuzzles her cheek into my palm. Twining our fingers together, she turns her head and presses her lips to my heated skin.
Tears I hadn’t realized were forming in her eyes spill over. My heart breaks for her, for what she’s been through to come to this moment.
“You’re sure this isn’t too much?”
For the love of all that’s holy, please say no. Please say it’s nowhere near enough.
“No. Not too much,” she says, granting my wish. Opening her glistening eyes, she lowers our hands to my other knee, and a smile blossoms on her flushed face. “It’s…overwhelming, for sure. I didn’t think—" Her voice breaks, and she shakes her head like she’s trying to clear an unwanted thought from it. “I haven’t felt this way—felt this safe with someone, anyone—in so long. Do you have any idea what you’ve done for me, Ben?”
What I’ve done? Has the woman lost her mind?
“No way. This is all you,” I tell her. She rolls her eyes, clearly not believing me. “All I wanted was to spend time with you—any time you were willing to give me. But you…you put yourself out there, befriending a man who wanted more than you were able to give. Before last night, you never ran and never shut me out the few times we touched, no matter how badly you must have wanted to.
“And what you wrote last night… Even if you’d never sent it to me, I can't imagine it was easy taking yourself back there."
“I didn't want to. Ever.”
She brings one of my hands to her lips and kisses it. It might just be my imagination, but I swear I feel the tip of her tongue, too. She’s beaming when she pulls my hand away from her mouth and rests it on my leg again.
Such a sweet, innocent gesture, but holy fuck. Nothing in my life has made my dick as hard as that brief touch of Claire's tongue.
“What’s that old joke?” she asks, oblivious to what’s happening below my waist. “'Doctor, it hurts when I do this,' and the doctor says, 'Don't do it.' That's what thinking about my past was like. It hurt, so I just didn’t. I made sure I couldn’t.” She turns my hands over to stroke my palms with her fingertips. "And it worked…until it didn't. Last night, I knew that if I didn't make a change now, I might never be strong enough again.”
Moving a few inches closer, she leans into me, resting her forehead on mine. Anticipation has a vise grip on my heart. The damn thing’s not allowed to beat again until she takes the next step. If it beats, I might move, and if I move, this moment might vanish.
"And that's what you've done for me, Ben. You're my incentive. Wanting you changed everything.”
My grin could break my face in half, but it disappears when her lips close in on mine. They barely touch, but it’s enough to set fire to my blood. With a strength I didn’t know I possessed, I keep myself from moving, aside from the trembling I have no control over. I’ve gone at her pace from the start. This would be the worst time to get greedy.
She presses a quick, soft kiss to my lips.
One kiss. That’s all it takes to change my life forever.
Her hands reach up to cup the sides of my face, holding me perfectly still…and then she kisses me with a passion that shows me she’s wanted this as long and as much as I have. I can practically hear her walls crumbling and crashing to the ground. Finally, I feel free to kiss her back.
With one hand at the back of her neck and the other gripping her waist, I pull her to me. All the careful control I’ve practiced for the past month is gone. Her lips part, and I touch my tongue to hers. Electricity shoots through my body and straight to my cock. I’m running on pure lust, now, fueled by my need for Claire. She rises to her knees, and I do the same, wrapping her up in my arms.
Fuck, it feels good to hold her like this. To hold her, at all.
I never could’ve imagined it, but all the pain and heartache my ex caused, making me think I was close to having the family I always wanted—it was all worth it. Claire is my family, now. My future. My everything. No matter what happens nex
t, that will never not be true.
Forgetting everything but the feel of her soft curves, I explore her full breasts and narrow waist on my way to her ass, grabbing tight as I grind on her like a fucking animal, operating solely on instinct. The second she feels how hard I am for her, she gasps, then moans on the exhale. I can’t help smiling against her lips, knowing it was my body that elicited that reaction from her.
Her fingers dive into my hair, clawing at my scalp and making me shiver as our tongues lick and clash with each other. She breaks away to catch her breath, and I take the opportunity to kiss my way down the creamy column of her throat.
“Oh, God, Ben. This feels so…so good. Don’t stop… Don’t ever stop.” Heavy, erratic breaths punctuate her every other word.
She has to know how unnecessary her pleas are—nothing could make me stop kissing her. The world could catch fire around us, and I’d welcome the heat and happily burn, just to stay connected to her like this. My dick throbs, angry with the layers of clothing it’s trapped inside and aching for the woman in my arms.
“Shit!” Her voice makes an abrupt shift from sultry to panicked, and she smacks at my shoulder to get my attention. “Ben, stop. You have to stop.”
Thinking maybe things went too far, I tear my lips from her skin to see what’s wrong or if I fucked this up somehow. But she’s not looking at me—her eyes are on all the people gaping and pointing at us.
Looks like the park filled up while Claire and I were thoroughly wrapped up in each other. I send them all death glares, pissed at the fuckers for ruining this for us. Then again, I was ready to lay Claire down on this quilt, spread her legs, and sink deep inside her, so the interruption probably saved us both from charges of public indecency.
Still holding her close, I give her earlobe a quick nip. “I thought you enjoyed an audience.”
Fuck, I’m an ass. That was the worst possible thing I could have said today. Here she is, walls down and inhibitions to the wind, probably still feeling raw from her confession. She’ll think I’m mocking her.
But she surprises me with a low moan, and her nipples harden against my chest.
Screw all those people—I’m taking her, now.
“Not around kids and old people. Jeez, Ben.” She tsks at me for good measure. Her cheeks are crimson and her eyes are bright, and she’s never been more radiant. I need to get her alone. I need her beneath me.
I need to get my dick in check.
This thing with Claire isn’t a sprint. If I play this right, it could be a lifelong marathon. Her body’s giving me all the cues a man needs to take things further, but that doesn’t mean I should. There are too many ways it could blow up in my face.
Okay, maybe I’m being overly cautious, but I’m still floored by the direction this morning has taken. I’m so fucking turned on, I don’t think I can trust my judgment.
So instead of throwing her over my shoulder, carrying her to my house, and stripping her naked on my bed, I cradle her face in my hands, stare deep into her eyes, and ask, “How does a root beer float sound?”
A sequence of emotions flits across her face—surprise, disappointment, appreciation, excitement—and I know I made the right call. Claire folds the blanket while I grab the cooler, and as we cut across the park to Walnut Street, she reaches down and takes my hand.
Nineteen
Claire
I’m a different person. A completely welcome and familiar different person. Or maybe I’m just me again after sloughing off the skin of the Claire-imposter who’d taken over my life. Either way, something’s definitely changed. When I’m awake, my brain is on full power. When I eat, flavors are more complex. Colors have energy, and all sounds are music.
I think I’m in love. No, let me rephrase that—I know I’m in love. I love Ben Cohen, and I can’t even think of him without also thinking those words.
So, this is what it’s supposed to be like? Seems I was doing it all wrong before. To be honest, I wasn’t doing it, at all. I said the words to Cameron countless times, but they were never true. Not once. What I mistook for love was need and desperation.
He served as a reinforcement for all my self-hate because punishing myself wasn’t enough—I needed someone to pick up the slack if I ever started thinking I was a worthwhile human being. Cameron played that role flawlessly.
Those bad feelings won’t go away overnight—that’ll take some time—but it doesn’t matter because they’re meaningless now. Like when I was kissing Ben in the park. My brain did its best to convince me I was a disgusting slut who was going to lose control, but that message never reached my heart. Because there’s nothing wrong with kissing someone I care about, someone who’s gotten a good look at the ugliest skeletons in my closet and said, “So what?”
It wasn’t easy getting to this point. Just the opposite. It was, by far, the hardest thing I’ve done in my entire life. But the payoff has been life-altering, and I fucking earned it. Pride isn’t an emotion I’m used to experiencing, but I’m not just feeling it now, I’m embracing the shit out of it.
Ben made for some irresistible motivation, and his patience with me allowed me to do this at my own pace. There were those times I wished he would body-slam me against the closest wall or push me down on the couch, crawl over me, and shove his tongue in my mouth. But no matter how much physical pleasure I got from those fantasies alone, the resulting emotional mess of the reality would’ve been impossible to clean up.
An unbidden thought sneaks in…. What would’ve happened if Andy had asked for the truth? If he’d done the body-slamming, tongue-shoving thing, and I reacted with my predictable freakout, I know in my bones he would’ve asked me why.
No, that’s not Andy enough. He would’ve caged me in, pinned me to the wall to prevent my escape, and demanded I tell him the truth. Knowing his effect on me, I have no doubt I would’ve told him everything.
And I would’ve ended up hating him for it.
So, yeah, it’s good that didn’t happen. For lots of reasons. Not the least of which is the whole me-being-in-love-with-his-best-friend thing.
After our makeout session in the park, Ben and I spent the rest of Sunday together, wandering the city, holding hands, and exchanging life stories. Now that he knew the worst of me, there was no reason to hold back the rest.
I told him how it felt as a kid when I realized all my friends had dads and I didn’t. I told him that when I lost my virginity at sixteen, my very Catholic then-boyfriend pulled out, put on his clothes, and ran—literally ran—to church to confess his sin. I told him that I’d gone to school for nursing but discovered during clinicals that other people’s bodily fluids are seriously icky, and that’s how I ended up a nurse case manager…who writes as-of-yet unpublished romance novels on the side. He got a kick out of that.
In return, I learned about his life growing up in the most affluent area of the Main Line and being raised by a woman who taught her children to earn and appreciate everything they had. He talked about the day Karine brought Leah home from the hospital and introduced twelve-year-old Ben to his sister—only he took the his part seriously. He assumed the role of Leah’s protector, and he still has trouble relinquishing that position in her life.
And he finally confessed how incredibly successful he is. The man not only owns and runs his own architectural firm, but he’s designed some of the most talked-about new buildings in Philadelphia—including the one I work in. That was humbling, to say the least. But he said he was in awe of how I spend my days helping to better people’s lives, and I blushed for a straight hour.
Winning the award for Worst Timing Ever, Ben left on Monday for a week-long conference in Chicago. But we’ve FaceTimed for hours every night he’s been gone, and we text throughout the day.
Before he left, we came to an agreement about Andy. We decided not to tell him about us for at least a week, since we’re still getting used to us being an us…or whatever it is we are. Plus, I’ve only just removed one hell of a comp
lication from my life—I’m not ready to invite a new one in. No matter how Andy reacts to the news, things are bound to get complicated.
As I’m packing to leave work for the day, more than ready to start the weekend and see Ben when his flight gets in later tonight, my phone buzzes on my desk. Thinking it’s him, I’m quick to answer the call.
“Hey, I’m just leaving—"
“You. Me. Happy hour. Now,” says someone who’s definitely not Ben. Or a man.
“Leah?”
“Who else would it be?” she asks, and I mentally run through the very short list of three—well, four, now—people who call me. She has a point. “Hurry up. You’re late.”
Slinging my crossbody bag over my shoulder, I wave at the receptionist as I head for the elevators. “How can I be late for something I didn’t even know about?”
Leah heaves a dramatic sigh. “I’ve been here fifteen minutes already. You need to come stop me from eating all the wings.” Before I can ask my next question, she laughs in my ear. “Just kidding! Nothing could stop me from eating every one of these tasty little fuckers. Seriously though, when are you getting here?”
“Where is ‘here,’ exactly?”
“Mad Mex, on Walnut, between—"
“I know where it is.” It’s on the route I take when I walk home from work, and I always suck in a deep breath of spicy air as I pass by. I’m salivating, already. “I’ll see you in five,” I say and end the call.
Looks like I have plans, after all—plans I’m apparently late for. The upside is that it kills some of the time I was going to spend staring at the clock until I see Ben again.
As soon as I step inside, I spot Leah at one of the massive horseshoe-shaped booths by the windows. The thing can comfortably fit eight people, so she looks minuscule sitting there by herself, especially with the piled-high plate of wings in front of her. Hanging my bag on the hook at the end of the booth, I slide in opposite her.