desk, like maybe being near you and those beds . . .”
“Not if we don’t let it,” he said. “I promise I’ll sleep on the very edge of the other bed.”
We got off the elevator, found our door, and slipped inside. It was a plain but clean room. Two
queen beds sat side by side, separated by a nightstand. A bathroom was across the room, along with a
closet, a mini refrigerator, and a sink.
“I call this one,” I said, pointing to the bed closest to the window.
“Sounds good to me.” He lifted the corners of his cheeks.
I smiled back. “Now, let’s go sell your stuff.”
***
We drove to the art exhibit, which was in a huge space in one of the local shopping malls. I helped Bennett bring in his pieces from the back of his Jeep and find the table where he was to set up his
display.
The event coordinator assigned him one of the last tables in the far corner of the largest section and
he got to work placing his art on easels as well as on the long table provided him. His pictures were of
varying sizes, and though all of them were black-and-white charcoal drawings, a couple had hints of
added color.
Like the one he set on the easel that resembled the eye of a tornado—black and gray and angry. But
when you directed your gaze to the center of the storm, you saw that Bennett had inserted splashes of
green and orange. The effect was awe-inspiring.
There were dozens of other exhibitors setting up, and I found myself moving down the line passing
table after table of artists and their wares. There were sculptures, photographs, and abstract paintings.
And almost every artist held that same intensity in their eyes that Bennett had. Like gratification
restrained by sheer nervousness. Maybe pleased with their craft, yet still reserved. Not quite ready to
show off their art, to perhaps give it away, for the world to see.
Bennett had encouraged me to bring my books to study from during the setup, but I was too jazzed
up to pull them out of my bag. There was too much creative energy in this room and spilling over its
sides.
When I headed back in the direction of Bennett’s table, he was talking to a short redhead with
pretty blue eyes—another artist? She placed her hand on his arm, a personal gesture that made my chest
constrict.
“Avery, this is my friend Rebecca.”
Rebecca turned and smiled, all the while appraising me closely, from my jeans to my sweater to my
hair.
“Are you also exhibiting here?” I asked to be polite.
“Yeah, my sculptures are at table fourteen.” She pointed in the direction of her art. “I saw those,” I said looking back to the table I had recently passed. “Your stuff is really good.”
Bennett cleared his throat. “Rebecca and I know each other from the Bane Center for the Arts, in
our hometown.”
“Yep, and I haven’t seen you in months,” she said, pouting out her bottom lip. It gave me the
impression he had known those lips more intimately. “Next time you’re home, give me a call so we can
grab coffee.”
He nodded, and she walked away, throwing a smile over her shoulder. I wanted to ask him about
her, but it was none of my business.
Although maybe it was my business—because we were friends too, right? Besides, I was more than
curious about who and how much Bennett had dated. Or maybe he just had hordes of female friends—
like me—all of us waiting, hoping, to jump his bones someday.
Ugh, my imagination was getting the best of me.
“So what did you think of the other artists?” he asked, placing an empty box beneath the table.
“Some amazing stuff,” I said. “But I’m partial to this one artist’s work.”
“Oh, really?” A deep red splattered across his cheeks. “Why is that?”
I looked down at his display and noticed a piece I hadn’t seen before. It was so stunning I couldn’t
help being drawn to it, tracing my fingers along the outer edges, trying to understand it. “Take this
breathtaking one, for example.”
Two charcoal figures stood on opposite ends, as far away as the canvas would allow. They were
drawn in swirls of stormy grays, browns, and blacks. But in the space between them, the entire center of
the drawing, were abstract colorful objects floating in midair, like a misshapen hourglass, melted books,
and ghostly trees.
As if the objects represented all of the stuff between them, cluttering their path, keeping them apart.
Swirls of reds and yellows and purples offset the dull colors of the androgynous figures, as if their lives
were colorless in comparison to the bits and pieces in the center. The two characters couldn’t see each other clearly—there was so much in the way. But one of the
figures leaned to the side trying to see around all of that stuff, trying to get a good look at the other one.
And the look on this figure’s face was unabashed want and need and desire.
It occurred to me that the drawing could have been a metaphor for Bennett and me. An absurd one,
at best, because I was pretty sure it wasn’t at all and that Bennett had created it long before he had met
me.
But for some reason this drawing spoke to me. To something deeply rooted inside of me. I was so
moved by its intensity, I felt the stinging of tears behind my eyes.
Bennett was directly behind me now, so close I could feel the heat radiating from his body. His
mouth moved close to my ear, and my stomach quivered at the feel of his breath on my neck.
“Tell me what that drawing makes you feel in five words or less,” he murmured against my hair.
And as the first tear rolled down my cheek, the words came to me. “Pain, melancholy, beauty,
longing . . .”
The sound had whooshed out of the room, like he and I were the only two people standing in the
entire place, discussing the brilliance of his drawing. And unlike those two figures he had drawn, we had
gotten past all of that stuff and were standing in the space between, close enough to touch.
I turned to him, and he wiped the tear from my cheek with his thumb. “And?”
“Hope,” I whispered.
He said nothing more. Only searched deeply in my eyes for something—but I wasn’t sure what.
Maybe my tattered and bruised heart.
“Is that one your favorite?” he asked.
And then the moment was lost, because there was an announcement and the doors were swung
open and the public was let inside. Bennett steered me to one of the chairs behind his table before the
pandemonium hit. People mobbed the artwork, asked questions, shouted prices, and moved in herds to
the next table and the next. And so the morning passed in that way, with very few lulls. When I returned from getting us a couple of sandwiches for lunch, I noticed Bennett had sold
another two drawings to a man who was hunched over the table writing a check. Bennett moved the
pictures under the table so he could wrap them in brown butcher paper and have the man pick them up
on his way out to his car.
One of the drawings he was storing away was the one I had developed an affinity for. I felt a stab of
regret, because all morning long I had considered buying it for myself. But now that it had sold, I was
happy for him. Besides, I could barely afford much beyond rent, food, and gas.
As the afternoon wound down, I looked up from the nursing textbook I had finally pulled out only
to see Rebecca stari
ng at me from across the way. I turned to Bennett, who was busy playing a game on
his phone, and realized she was probably staring at him instead. Or maybe it was me. Maybe she was
curious about my relationship to him. As curious as I’d been about hers.
I could understand why. He was one hot boy.
“Your pretty redhead friend is looking this way,” I said as nonchalantly as possible.
Bennett heaved a long sigh. “Remember when I told you there was a time I thought I was in love?”
My eyes widened. “It was Rebecca?”
He nodded and put down his phone.
Now I looked at her in a whole new light. Her face was striking and she had a smoking body—tight
butt, bigger boobs than mine. “What happened?”
“She was my girlfriend in high school,” he said, taking a sip of the soda I had brought him for
lunch. “My first love, or so I thought. But she cheated on me—more than once, apparently.”
“Hussy,” I said to get a laugh out of him, and it worked. “Should I assume she got to experience the
sneaky side of Bennett and maybe even got her hair caught in a certain someone’s zipper?”
“Maybe,” Bennett said, with mischief glistening in his eyes.
I gulped down the green-eyed monster. That was a long time ago. “Does it still hurt?”
“Nah, water under the bridge and all that.” “Well, she’s looking at you like she has some regrets.”
“Doesn’t matter; there’s no going back,” he said, shaking his head. “Don’t feel a thing for her
anymore.” I couldn’t help wondering if, in a few months’ time, he would say the same thing about me.
Chapter Ten
Exhausted and starving, we headed back to the hotel. We decided on dinner and drinks at the hotel bar.
We shared wings and mozzarella sticks, along with a couple of beers each.
“Gosh, bar food. It’s yummy, but so bad for you. How do you stay in such good shape?”
“I like to work out,” he said. “And to answer your earlier question, only one sport in high school—
wrestling.”
He took a giant swig of his beer. “How about you? How do you keep that little rocking body in
shape?”
“Kickboxing.” I dipped my head so he wouldn’t see how rosy my cheeks were. “But I’ve always
had a boyish figure. I was a late bloomer in the curves department.”
“I’d definitely never call you boyish, Avery,” he said, before throwing his napkin down. “I’m
beat—want to head up?”
When we stepped off the elevator, it was hard to miss the couple getting it on in the hallway. His
hair shaved short, the guy wore military fatigues and whispered, “I love you” over and over while
tenderly kissing the neck of his leggy brunette.
Bennett threw me a sideways grin and opened our door with lightning speed.
“How long do you think they’ve been separated?” I whispered.
“Probably for a long-ass time,” Bennett said. “That would be hard.”
“Oh, it’s hard,” I snickered, and Bennett burst out laughing.
When I stepped out of the bathroom, I noticed the way Bennett’s eyes scanned over my body, despite the fact that I kept my bra on this time and wore long flannel bottoms. Bennett had gone for
modest, too, in the pajamas department. He wore black, knee-length gym shorts and a blue YMCA T
shirt.
I gave him a quick hug good night, inhaled his coconut scent, and thanked him for bringing me. He
held on to me for longer than expected, and I realized how nice it felt to be in his arms again.
He nuzzled his face in my hair, causing a tingling sensation at the base of my neck, then pulled
back.
“Did you just sniff me?” I asked.
His cheeks lifted into a crooked grin that blazed a trail down to my toes.
Despite my best attempts, my attraction to him was only increasing this weekend.
Now we stood silent on opposite ends of the room, gazes locked on each other. I was about to say
good night when I noticed Bennett close his eyes and swallow forcibly.
I thought about making a crack about our double beds, but he was so concentrated and intense. I
couldn’t stop staring at the raw emotions on his face, at his clenched fists—it was completely unnerving.
Every fragment, every substance, every element occupying the space between us, began to pulse
and vibrate. There was so much electricity in the air I could almost hear it sizzle.
I wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol I had consumed, or if it was that gorgeous specimen of a boy
standing across from me, but I became increasingly aroused.
I arched my back and squirmed, my body betraying me, as I imagined Bennett pulling me to his
bed, ripping off my clothes, and telling me that he wanted to fuck me senseless.
As the tension between us grew denser, I noticed something steadily swelling across the room.
Bennett attempted to adjust himself, but it was plain as day.
Finally, Bennett turned away, inhaled a deep breath, and then charged toward the bathroom. “I’m
going to shower,” he mumbled in my direction.
He was as turned on as I was and trying to get far away from me as possible. “Bennett, it’s okay,” I said. I felt pinpricks all over my body. It was all I could do not to reach out to
him.
“Give me a minute.” He closed the bathroom door, and I heard him lean his full weight against it.
“Wait, Bennett.” I had this desperate desire, this powerful need to be near him, to do something
about all of this pent-up frustration. If not for me, then for him.
I heard the shower turn on right before he yanked open the door. He stepped back in the room to
grab something from his bag, which was on the floor by his bed. “I’ll be fine in a few minutes.”
The spigot was turned on full blast and steam was already escaping beyond the glass shower door.
When he straightened himself, toothbrush holder in hand, I noticed his breathing was labored.
I scanned down his body to his full-blown erection and his shaking hands.
I felt this overwhelming hunger to touch him as he brushed past me, his stride purposeful.
“Bennett,” I whispered. “I want to help.”
He stopped suddenly and sucked in a breath. “Fuck, Avery.”
I took a step toward him “Please.”
One step closer and he didn’t move away. I stood in front of him and saw his dark and hooded eyes,
overwhelming desire coursing through them.
I inched my fingers to his waistband and he groaned, the container in his hand clattering to the
floor. When the tip of his erection poked out of his shorts and met air, his breathing only intensified.
Edging my hands beneath his shirt, I pulled it over his head.
When he twisted to deposit his shirt on the floor I spotted a second tattoo, low on his back. I
remembered what he said about them being well-placed.
I smoothed my fingers down his chest as goose bumps broke out over his flesh. I eased his shorts
down and let his erection spring free. Damn. He was taut, smooth, and all kinds of exquisite.
I trailed my hands down his belly to his hips, teasing the area around his erection with my fingers.
He grabbed my face and kissed me with such passion and conviction I was begging for air. His mouth was on fire as his tongue tangled deeply with mine.
“Bennett, you’re beautiful,” I whispered against his lips.
Then I tugged his fingers away from my face and down to his sides. I watched as he balled his fists,
but he kept his hands there.
I
looked into his eyes. “Can I touch you?”
His response came out in a muffled pant.
I traced my thumb over his silky tip and watched how his chest heaved and his eyes glazed over.
When my fingers grasped the length of him the breath caught in the back of his throat. He felt firm and
smooth in my steady hands.
Bennett knotted his fingers in my hair and then skimmed them along my neckline. I relished every
touch, every breath, every time he whispered my name.
I pulled his shorts all the way down his legs, and he stepped out of them. “Get in the shower.”
Without hesitation he moved backward, crossing over the threshold of the door, and then under the
stream of water. I watched as it cascaded off his shoulders and beaded down his chest. I reached for the
hotel soap, unwrapping it and running it under the water stream, despite my arms getting wet. I lathered
up and then washed the front of him—his neck, his chest, his stomach. When my fingers traced down
below to his dark and curly hair, he squeezed his eyes shut and moaned. My fingers were sufficiently
soapy, and when I worked my hand up and down the length of him, he braced the shower wall. “Jesus,
Avery.”
As I moved my fingers fast, and then slow, and then fast again, his hands gripped my shoulders and
then trailed down to my breasts. He ran his thumbs over my nipples, which became instantly hard
through two layers of clothing. As my breathing intensified so did my caresses. My hands stroked up
and down his warm and soapy shaft.
“Oh God. I’m close,” he panted.
“Come for me,” I whispered against his lips. That was the breaking point as he groaned out his release and tucked his head against my shoulder.
The milky white substance washed off his stomach with a swipe of my hands, and I stepped back,
dazed, and more than aroused. His eyes locked on mine, and if they hadn’t loosened their hold soon
after, I might have come right then and there.
I turned away from him as he finished his shower. I brushed my teeth and changed into a dry shirt,
and then lay down in my bed, facing away from his. He took five minutes more in the bathroom and I
nearly fell asleep, except my mind was far too busy processing everything.
When he stepped into the room, I felt his eyes on me, but I didn’t stir. I hoped he thought I was
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