All of You

by Christina Lee

  “I’m sorry—I thought I was in the mood.” I stood up and walked out of my room as he followed

  behind. “I just have too much on my mind . . . with classes and work and stuff.”

  I bit my lip, silently cursing myself for not going through with it. It was so unfair to Rob. But as I

  looked him over I knew I’d never get off tonight. Not when I wanted someone else.

  “Whatever, Avery,” he said, gripping the door handle. “Next time, don’t text me unless you’re sure.

  So I don’t waste my time.”

  “Whatever yourself,” I said, gritting my teeth. My frustration spilled over. “Don’t forget the couple

  of times you were too wasted to follow through and left me high and dry.” He waved his hand dismissively as he trudged through the door. I knew he felt as frustrated as I

  did. But I couldn’t help him out tonight.

  Damn it, what in the hell was wrong with me?

  I lay in bed and closed my eyes, picturing the other night with Bennett. His tongue in my mouth,

  his warm body on top of mine, his hard-on against my very wet underwear, and I became instantly

  aroused. My fingers worked their magic and I had the most powerful orgasm I’d had since meeting that

  beautiful boy upstairs.

  ***

  Two days later, I was in the university library checking out nursing pharmacology books when I saw a

  familiar red baseball cap across the room. My heart strained at the very sight of him. He had on a worn

  pair of jeans and a white concert T-shirt with a gray hoodie.

  As soon as I checked out, I jerked my head down and strode toward the exit to outpace my racing

  heart.

  Before I could make it through the sliding doors I heard his voice. “Avery, wait.”

  I slowed down and turned, afraid to make eye contact lest his voodoo magic work on me again.

  “How are you?” he asked.

  “Good,” I said, telling myself to breathe. I focused on the Van Gogh book tucked beneath his arm.

  “I . . . I just . . .” he sputtered. “Listen, isn’t there any way we could get past the awkward and just

  become friends?”

  I bit my bottom lip and shrugged. Finally, I got up the nerve to glance at him. I noticed how his

  long eyelashes brushed across his cheeks when he blinked and how his five o’clock shadow made him

  look decidedly more handsome. The guy still knocked my socks off.

  “I really like hanging out with you,” he said in a gruff voice.

  “Um . . .” I said finally getting my breathing under control. “Me, too.” His shoulders seemed to unwind as he stood up straighter. He’d been as uptight and uncertain as I

  was. Maybe this could work. Maybe if we put in the effort we could just be friends.

  “Where are you off to now?”

  “Just walking home,” I said.

  “Can I . . . walk with you?”

  “Sure.”

  We stepped out into the chilly fall temperature. I adjusted my sweater and kept pace with him. The

  wind had picked up and I heard the rustle of leaves in the trees.

  Bennett leaned down to pick up a red maple leaf that had fluttered to the ground in front of us. He

  twirled the stem in his fingers. “We used to collect leaves and make collages in grade school.”

  “Or iron them between wax paper.” I grinned. “I love fall. The crisp air, the colorful leaves, football

  season.”

  “Football?” Bennett raised his brow. “I guess that shouldn’t surprise me, but it does.”

  I shrugged. “I’m in the fantasy football league at work. Last year, I kicked an orderly’s butt. Won

  myself a couple hundred in cold hard cash.”

  He laughed and shook his head. “You are one tough cookie, you know that?”

  “I guess.” I got the impression he was talking about more than just football.

  “So, what are you up to this weekend?” I asked, trying to keep the conversation light. Hopefully he

  wasn’t going to tell me he had a date. Although I supposed I had to get used to that idea if we were

  going to be friends.

  I mentally kicked myself for staring at his lips again.

  “Actually, on Saturday I’m driving up to Lakeland for an art exhibit,” he said, picking up another

  leaf. “I’ll be back Sunday night.”

  “An exhibit that you’re a part of?” I asked, thrilled for him.

  “Yeah.” He stepped around a pile of brown leaves on the sidewalk. “I’ve done shows before, but this one is huge. They get a large turnout every year, and my pieces will be for sale.”

  “That is so awesome.” We turned the corner to our street. “People are going to snatch up your stuff,

  I just know it.”

  “That would be cool,” he said. “But I’m just psyched to be part of it.”

  Our strides matched as we trudged toward our building. I felt lighter somehow, being with him.

  “So how about you?” he asked. “Weekend plans?”

  “I’m actually off for the first Saturday in forever. Originally, the girls and I were supposed to drive

  up to that new casino about an hour away, but then Ella remembered that Joel invited her to some family

  reunion thing this weekend.” I sighed. “I’ve got studying to do, anyway.”

  The girls from work had invited me to some in-home jewelry party Saturday night, where you got

  pressured to buy stuff. But the pieces were always pricey and I just wasn’t feeling it.

  A kind of melancholy settled over me, knowing Bennett would be gone this weekend. Even when

  we weren’t talking these past few days, I still tried to catch glimpses of him going in and out of the

  elevator. Now that we were back to friend status, I secretly hoped he’d want to hang out—get takeout,

  watch a movie. Sitting far away from each other on the couch, of course.

  “Bummer. But at least you still have the day off,” Bennett said, pulling open the door. “Hope you

  have a good weekend.”

  “You, too,” I said. “And good luck. I expect a full report about how much art you sold on Monday.”

  He waved on his way to the elevator. I slid my key into the lock, feeling that pull toward him again.

  Maybe it was best he’d be away this weekend.

  Just as I was stepping inside my door, I heard Bennett call my name.

  I spun around. “Yeah?” I heard the elevator doors grinding shut behind him.

  “Um . . .” He shut his eyes as if to gather himself. When he opened them again, they were a

  dazzling caramel brown. “Want to come . . . to my show this weekend?”

  My stomach squeezed into a ball. “You mean, drive up to see the exhibit?” “Yeah. I mean, drive up with Tme.”

  He looked down at his shoes and simultaneously rubbed his neck, waiting for my answer. After I

  picked my jaw up off the floor, I considered what he was asking. But I wasn’t doing a good enough job

  of putting any of the pieces together. All my brain could muster was: him, me, out of town, two days.

  “I . . . um . . . It’s just for one night, and my hotel room has two double beds. Or you can get your

  own room,” he spat out. “I just . . . It would nice to have a friend along. I mean, unless you think it

  would bore you to tears.”

  Damn. I so wanted to say yes. Was it the smart thing to do? Probably not. But I wasn’t known for

  my amazing intellect when it came to anything involving Bennett. Besides, if we were going to be

  friends, we should be able to hang together—even out of town. And who was I to dispute his attempt at

  making this friendship work?

  “Yeah, that would be fun. Thanks for asking.”

&nbs
p; His smile lit up the whole damn hallway, and I held onto my doorjamb for support. Man, he was

  gorgeous. “Cool. We’ll leave at eight o’clock on Saturday morning.”

  Chapter Nine

  Bennett met me in the parking lot at eight sharp Saturday morning. He held out a large cup of coffee,

  and I could’ve have hugged him for that. But I restrained myself. “You rock. Thanks.”

  “I went to fill up the tank, so I got the coffees while I was at it,” Bennett said, holding open the

  passenger door to his used silver Jeep.

  Lakeland was a couple of hours’ drive north.

  It felt good to be with him, despite having tossed and turned about my decision the previous night. I

  couldn’t help wanting to know more about him, especially if we were going to be friends.

  He let me control the radio station, and I bit my tongue about how he rode other car’s bumpers on

  the freeway. On the last leg of our drive, after belting out U2 at the top of our lungs and playing punch

  buggy a little too aggressively, things got quiet. Bennett was still nursing his shoulder, saying I had a

  mean right hook.

  “Want to play another game?” I asked, focusing on the orange barrels lining the road. I hoped we

  didn’t run into any construction. My legs were already cramped, and I couldn’t wait to stand up and

  stretch.

  “Sure.” He adjusted the rearview mirror. “What is it?”

  “It’s called Five Fingers. Ella and I used to play it with our high school friends.”

  “Should I be scared?” he asked inching his arm away from me.

  “Nope,” I assured him. “One person asks a question and the other person has to answer in five

  words or less.” His eyes brimmed with mischief. “What if you can’t?”

  “Well, normally you have to drink something. But we won’t be playing it that way.”

  “Okay, I’m game,” he said. “We can always sip our coffees.”

  “Not if you don’t want to stop at every rest area so I can use the bathroom.”

  “True. There’s something about chicks and bathrooms.” He grinned. “And I should know; I grew

  up in a house full of girls.”

  “Secret discussions take place when girls congregate in restrooms—like how to rule the world.”

  “Ah, to be a fly on the wall.”

  “Okay, me first.” I was eager to start our game, especially since it meant getting to know him

  better. “Your most embarrassing moment?”

  “Um, let’s see . . .” He smoothed his fingers over his jaw.

  “You just used up three words. “

  “Shoot—no, wait.” His eyes grew wider. “I didn’t realize I couldn’t deliberate out loud. Can I get a

  second chance?”

  I smirked. He was cute when he was flustered. “Sure.”

  He took his time thinking of his answer and finally said, “Zipper stuck . . . in hair.” He punctuated

  each word with one of his fingers.

  “Good job,” I said. “And . . . really?”

  “Ugh, use your imagination,” he said.

  “I guess I’ll have to if you’re not going to share.”

  “Nope,” he said, smugly.

  His answer could have gone a couple different ways, making Bennett way more mysterious now.

  His hair stuck in a zipper, or someone else’s?

  “Okay, me next.” He grinned like a little kid. “Um . . . your favorite childhood book?”

  I held up my fingers to count. This one was easy for me. “To Kill A Mockingbird.” “Impressive. One of my favorites, too.”

  “My turn. What were you like in high school?”

  He scratched his chin in deep thought. “Well-rounded, responsible, studious . . .”

  “I knew it,” I blurted out.

  He held up his last finger to finish his answer. “Sneaky.”

  My mouth hung open. No way would I have guessed he’d had a sly side. “You’re becoming a

  bigger mystery, Mr. Reynolds.”

  “Am I? I mean, most teenagers have their devious and resourceful ways, right?”

  “True.” I thought of how many times I had snuck out of my house to be with Gavin. But Bennett

  had said he worked jobs to support his family. That had to be tough. Hopefully that meant he had a little

  fun on the side, too. “Did you play any sports, or were you always into art?”

  “I believe it’s my turn, Ms. Michaels.”

  “Oops. Right you are.”

  “What do you like about your job at the nursing home?”

  I’d asked myself this question a few times lately. Especially after a hard day of work. But the pay

  was good and I needed to have a plan B if Adam ever needed to live with me.

  Nursing homes were filled with throwaways. People whose families had essentially given up on

  them. Not all families, but more than a few. You could always spot those residents a mile away. Zero

  visitors, vacant eyes, low energy.

  I knew what it felt like to not have someone on your side—someone who didn’t fight for you.

  Support you. Believe in you.

  To curl in a ball and feel hopeless. Frustrated. Despondent.

  I tuned back in to Bennett’s question about my job. He was waiting on my answer.

  “Helping . . . learning . . . experience . . . Mrs. Jackson.”

  “Mrs. Jackson?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow at me. “My turn,” I said, hoping to get away from the topic. Her name had slipped out before I could stop

  myself.

  I was too flustered to remember my other question, so I came up with a different one. “What’s the

  strangest tattoo you’ve ever inked?”

  He thought about it forever, like there was a catalogue in his brain of all his past customers. I could

  tell he was struggling for a good enough answer.

  “If that’s too hard to answer, then at least the strangest one this month.”

  His answer came immediately. “Tree stump, kid’s book, dude.”

  My heart pumped out one large thump. “From The Giving Tree?”

  His eyes widened as he nodded.

  “The most depressing kid’s book ever,” I mumbled, never admitting that I cried like a baby first

  time I’d read it. I’d pulled it from Ella’s bookshelf back in high school. It had left an indelible

  impression on my brain. She told me it was her favorite book, that her mother had dedicated it to her,

  and then I broke down in front of her.

  I knew inherently back then that no one had ever—would ever—sacrifice themselves for me like

  that tree character had in the book—most of all, my own mother.

  But I’d do it for Adam, in a heartbeat. He was my brother, my responsibility, my heart. Even

  though he was pretty good at taking care of himself. Just like I had to.

  Bennett reached out his hand. He could tell I’d drifted off on him. His warm fingers squeezed mine

  briefly before pulling away, bringing me back to the present.

  “My turn,” he said. “Mrs. Jackson?”

  “Wise, hopeless romantic, grandma figure.”

  “A resident?”

  I nodded. His mouth pulled into a sad little smile. Like he realized she was pretty important, but he

  didn’t want to press the issue. I turned away from him to look at the passing landscape. “My turn. What do you hope to be when you grow up?” I asked.

  “Artist who actually makes money,” he said, and then we both laughed.

  His voice became low and gravelly. “What made you notice me at that party?”

  I gulped down my surprise. Were we really going there?

  I kept my gaze turned to the window and said the most honest thing I could think of. �
��Sexy . . .

  magical smile . . . soulful eyes.”

  Gorgeous. Amazing. Special.

  His breath hitched but he remained silent. I noticed how his hands gripped the steering wheel. It

  was the same way that I now grasped at the door handle.

  I adjusted myself in my seat, but refused to meet his eyes.

  “What made you want to kiss me?” I whispered. I wasn’t even sure if he heard me, until he finally

  spoke.

  “Explosive chemistry . . . powerful conversations . . . beautiful.”

  I tipped my head forward, unable to breathe. I pretended to fish for my cell phone in my handbag

  on the floor.

  I felt his warm fingers on my back and heard him swallow roughly. “We’re here, Avery.”

  I looked up as he turned into the Holiday Inn hotel. He pulled into a parking space, and we still

  didn’t make eye contact.

  “Let me grab our bags,” he said, and then rushed out of the car. I took several deep breaths trying to

  get a grip on myself.

  They were only words, Avery.

  I met him in front of the car, and our eyes locked. His searing gaze reached straight through my

  chest and grabbed hold of my tattered heart. It stroked and soothed the bruised places like a salve before

  finally releasing its penetrating hold.

  Bennett strode toward the hotel lobby. My legs started working again, and I stumbled toward the front desk as he gave his name and waited on our room key.

  “You here for the art fair?” the hotel manager asked.

  “Yep,” Bennett answered.

  I cleared my throat. “Are there any other rooms available?”

  Bennett stiffened beside me while the manager punched keys on her computer. “We’re pretty

  booked because of the fair and another conference this weekend. The only availability is a smoking

  room on the third floor.”

  I cringed. I hated anything having to do with smoke. I knew those rooms stunk to high heaven.

  “No, I’m good. Thank you.”

  She handed Bennett the room cards, and as we walked to the elevators he gave me the extra one

  without even a glance. When the doors to the elevator shut, he said, “Damn it. I’m sorry if you feel

  uncomfortable. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all.”

  His pained voice made my stomach clench.

  “No, Bennett, I agreed to come because I wanted to,” I said. “I just had a moment of doubt at the