by Kristy Marie
He takes a breath, steadying himself, and then grasps the skin.
I nod in approval. “Now, uncap the needle.”
He groans and looks at the ceiling. “I lied to my father.”
I brush off his words. We need to focus. “Uncap the needle, Bennett.”
He drops the syringe on the counter and grabs my hands. “I lied. I applied to a few schools.”
“What?”
I try to pull away, but he grips me tighter, making sure I listen to everything he needs to say. “I needed options.”
“Bennett.” Oh my God.
He hurries to fill the panicked space between us. “I haven’t accepted anything yet, but Asp…”
My heart sinks… but Asp. He only uses those two words when he needs to break my heart. I hold my hands up. “Don’t tell me right now, okay?”
Bennett stares at me as if he’s debating whether to blurt the rest out anyway.
“I can’t take any more tonight,” I add, picking up the insulin syringe. “Hold your shirt up for me.”
He sighs and meets my eyes. I hold still, making sure he sees the finality of my words. I don’t want to talk about this anymore tonight. We’ll deal with it tomorrow.
Nodding, Bennett lifts the hem of his shirt and I locate the area he cleaned earlier. Pinching his heated skin between two fingers, I whisper, “Look away.”
He doesn’t, like the stubborn ass he is, choosing instead to focus on my face. The weight of his stare sends a flush through my cheeks, but I remain focused, pushing the needle in and injecting the medicine. Finished, I wipe the area and lean back, finding his gaze.
“Stay with me?” he begs.
Damn him.
Closing my eyes, I exhale into his chest and drop my legs from around his waist. “Okay.”
“Okay.” He agrees, like that’s the final word. “I’ll get your pajamas.”
He’s holding my boob like he would a football—firm and confident.
Stretching, I reach slowly for my phone, careful not to wake him. If I don’t document this moment, I’ll literally hate myself for a lifetime.
When the cool metal is clutched in my hand and Bennett is still snoozing behind me, I do a silent fist bump.
A hundred pictures ought to be enough.
Snapping off a few, I add a couple faces of pretend ecstasy for my sick sense of humor. After about the sixtieth shot, Bennett flinches. Welp, party’s over.
“You need a stress ball,” I tell him, giggling as I watch his fingers open up slowly, allowing my tit to drop back into its natural position. “Do you feel better now?”
He ignores me, removing his arm and getting out of bed.
Guess he needs coffee… or a toothbrush?
Regardless, I use the quiet time and flip through the pictures, noting some really frame-worthy ones.
“Here.” He reappears, dropping a marker on the bed. I roll my eyes, picking it up and noting his shirt is already lifted.
Ugh.
“I think we can chalk this up to an accident,” I tell him. “Besides, it’s just a ti—”
“Aspen.” His tone is serious.
I sigh. “Fine. What’s the rule?” I uncap the marker and wait.
He drags his hands over his face and mutters, “You must always wear a bra to bed.”
I rear back. “Ugh, no. Unless you plan to wear one too.” I narrow my eyes. “Do you know how uncomfortable those things are?” I’d like to see his ass sleep in an underwire.
He shakes his head. “Fine. No tit squeezing.”
I grin. “I guess that goes for me too?” I eye the delicious pecs he keeps all to himself.
“Yes, that goes for you too,” he confirms with a flat look.
“Shame,” I mutter. “Monthly breast exams would have been beneficial for the both of us.” Leaning forward, I write the rule on his chest. I don’t expect an answer. He won’t change his mind. And for that reason alone, I’m careful to write over his nipple, so I can touch it one last time.
The action gets a frown and a firm, “Aspen” out of him. Too soon, I’m finished, and I pass over the marker, flopping down onto the mattress in a huff.
Again, he doesn’t react—just continues to hover over me. Unlike him, I don’t lift my shirt. He can do it. He does it better anyway.
Methodically, he pens the rule onto my stomach. It doesn’t make me feel tingly or sad like it normally does. Probably because I’m flipping through the pictures on my phone and enjoying the hell out of seeing that big hand palm the shit out of my boob like he was scared someone was trying to steal it. I turn the screen around so he can see. “This one is my favorite,” I say, beaming. “It says, ‘I could use my mouth and make you feel so much better.’”
The hand on my stomach pauses.
“Don’t you agree?” I tease.
At first, he doesn’t answer me, but then he sucks in his bottom lip and shakes his head. “It says, ‘You had to have my hands because my tongue would’ve tortured you.’”
My mouth hangs open. Bennett Jameson has finally shocked me speechless.
“I—”
I can’t form words as I watch him bow over my stomach, popping a dot on the “i” of tit.
“You want some coffee?” he asks, sitting up and capping the marker like he didn’t just admit that his mouth would have tortured me. Tortured!
Am I dreaming?
“I’ll take that as a yes,” he says, grinning like a little kid. “Shower and change. The guys and I will start loading up your boxes.”
The mention of boxes pulls me out of my blissful shock. “Okay. Thanks.”
How could I forget for even a minute I was moving today?
Oh right, Bennett squeezed my boob and told me he was considering transferring schools! However, both milestones come with a big fat but. Neither I want to know right now. Call me crazy, but I prefer living on Denial Island just a little longer. Then, when I’m full of fun in the sun with Bennett, he can destroy me.
Climbing out of bed, I tug Bennett’s oversized shirt down and pad out to the kitchen. The living room is what I expected—a mess, but Fenn and Drew each have garbage bags and are picking up—not by choice, I’m sure.
I can already tell Fenn’s going to be a real sweetheart with the glare he’s sporting. “Do you ever sleep in your own room?”
“Do you ever stop whining?” I return.
See? He’s super lovely today.
Bennett slides a cup of coffee across the counter, ignoring Fenn, which tips him over into Shittyville quickly.
“I hope she’s riding with you,” he says, eyeing Bennett. “Otherwise, she won’t make it home.”
I scoff. “Please, sweetie. Don’t act like you know the way home.” I poke my lip out pitifully. “Mr. I Failed Geography Twice.”
I dodge the can he throws and laugh. “Text me when we’re leaving,” I tell Bennett, making my way to the front door. I don’t have time for sleep-deprived drama demons.
The drive home was typical. Bennett sat in the driver’s seat brooding while I scrolled through the boob grab evidence, showing him a few when we stopped at a traffic light.
“You need to delete those.” He’s trying to be a real honorable dude. Too bad I won’t let him.
“You can delete your copies then.”
He jerks his gaze to his phone lying on the console. “You sent me copies?”
“All sixty of them.”
“Aspen.”
“Bennett.”
“I’m not playing,” he says, leveling me with that look he gets before a game.
“I’m not playing either. I figured you might miss me when I move to Boston. Better to have as many memories as possible.”
I totally sent those pictures to aggravate him.
“It’s against the rules.”
I cock a brow. “Looking at pictures of us?”
He sighs. He knows looking at pictures is not against the rules.
“Say you’re going to mis
s me,” I demand, laughing.
I meant it teasingly, but when he grips the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white, I know he is not in the teasing mood. But since I’ve already put my foot in my mouth, I keep going, trying to salvage this car ride. “I mean, if you think about it, Fenn has some similarities to me. Our eyes are the same color blue, and he uses all the hot water. Toss him some gum—” I wave the pack in my hand, “—and he’ll be just like me, except uglier.”
“We need gas,” is how he answers.
“Okay.”
“Text Drew and tell him.”
“Why? They know the way home.”
It’s not like they need to follow us home. Unless… No. He couldn’t want to swap cars. “I’m not riding with them,” I blurt out harshly.
He rears back as if I had slapped him. “I didn’t ask you to.”
Oh. Okay, then.
He pulls off the exit and turns into the first gas station he spots. “You need to use the bathroom?”
I shake my head. “I’m fine.”
“Anything to drink?”
I smile. “I’m good, I promise.”
I watch as Bennett gets out and stands by the SUV, pumping gas, all sexy in his sunglasses like some kind of model. Why must he be such a good man? Why can’t he just bang me in the backseat? Hell, at this point, I don’t think I’d mind a romp in a grungy gas station bathroom.
I just need something—anything.
Somehow, I tear my eyes away and turn on the radio. I find the country music Bennett likes and recline my seat, closing my eyes until I hear the door close and something hit my stomach.
Cracking open an eyelid, I spot the pack of gum Bennett tossed. “Thanks, BJ.”
He groans, starting up the car and easing out onto the roadway. He doesn’t even thank me for playing his “Yeehaw” music in the background.
“Drew mentioned he and Fenn were heading to the lake after the carnival,” he finally says, breaking the silence.
I sit up and turn the music down. “Oh, really?”
Bennett nods, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. “We always enjoyed summers at the lake house.”
I grin, remembering all the times we searched for hidden coves and the best swimming spots. “Yeah. We did.”
“Maybe we should go.”
Maybe he read my mind. “You want to?”
He runs a hand through his hair. “Yeah, I do.”
It takes all the restraint in the world not to squeal and hug him. “Okay, then. We’re headed to the lake as soon as the carnival is over.”
Bennett nods, not nearly as excited as I am. I don’t know what inspired him to ditch our families and head to the lake, but I’m not one to balk at miracles.
Aunt B rushes from the porch the minute Bennett puts the car in park. “You made it!”
I smile, watching her fawn over Bennett as if she didn’t just see him last night. “We’re so happy to have you home.”
I give B a squeeze as my father comes to the door, dressed in sweats and a t-shirt. “It would’ve been nice if you’d have called before you left.”
I groan. “Dad. You knew we were coming.”
He tugs on my ponytail, bypassing me on the way to the car. “No. I knew you were coming yesterday,” he corrects. “Not this morning. You interrupted my workout.”
This time it’s Fenn who groans. “Please, Dad. I’m already queasy, don’t make me hurl.”
When Fenn and I were little, Dad used to send us over to Aunt B’s for a couple hours a day. Once, when I asked what he and mom needed to do, he replied, “Workout together.” Now that I’m older, I’ve long since realized working out was code for banging. However, my parents are very active, and they actually do work out together daily. It’s confusing and we’re never sure which one they mean. So, we just assume they are always banging.
“Ask me how much I care about your comfort level right now,” my father snaps at Fenn, a teasing grin on his face. “Jameson #2, let go of your mama and come grab these bags. I’m not the fucking bellhop.”
Bennett smothers a laugh and goes to help my father.
“Come on, help me with brunch,” Aunt B says cheerily. “I made this new sugar-free syrup I think you’re going to love.”
Now, I wish I would’ve told Bennett to grab me a doughnut from the gas station. I almost forgot this was a sugar-free zone. “Mmm. I can’t wait to try it.”
Walking into the farmhouse, I note the kitchen hasn’t changed. It still has a massive butcher block island where Bennett and I made Santa cookies every year.
“Angel,” Mom calls, wiping her hand on a towel and running up to squeeze me. You’d think we hadn’t seen our family since last year and not just last night. “I need to prepare you for something,” she whispers in my ear.
The air shifts. Whatever is going on here, I won’t like. “You’re scaring me,” I tell her.
Aunt B clears her throat. “What your mother means is that we need to prepare you for Bennett’s behavior this weekend.”
“Ah, shit. What did Dad do?”
Mom’s eyes narrow as she pulls out of our hug. “Don’t swear.”
Please. She swears like my dad. “Fine.” I roll my eyes. “Oh, no!” I add some dramatic flair in my words. “What did Father do this time, Mother?”
Aunt B doubles over, snorting. “Gah, I’ve missed you.”
I’ve missed her too. Some people never have a mom, and here I’m blessed with two, though technically, she’s Bennett’s mom and our neighbor.
“So, what did he do?” I ask again when B finally settles down.
Taking a seat at the island, my mom sighs. “The Boston job you may not want… the one your father is excited about…”
I nod. “Yeah, so?”
“Well, your father invited Liam to fly down for dinner.”
“Who’s Liam?”
My mom rubs her forehead as if she’s getting a headache. “He’s the son, and sole heir, of the Boston Bulls’ baseball team.”
I scrunch my forehead. “The Boston Bulls? The job wasn’t with the baseball team.”
My mom nods. “No, it’s with the network.” Her eyebrows arch, waiting for me to put the pieces together. “The same network that’s owned by the Boston Bulls.”
What is this? Confuse Aspen day? “I don’t understand. So this Liam guy works for the Boston Bulls’ baseball team who also owns the B&N Network I’m supposed to work for this fall?”
“Liam doesn’t just work for the team,” Mom adds. “His father owns it.”
Okay. So Liam is a rich turd; so are we, technically. “Okay. And Dad invited him here, why?”
My mom shrugs. “He says he and Hayes want to pitch a few prospects to him.”
“Oh, well. Who cares? Dad is always pitching prospects to baseball teams.” That’s his job. He and my uncle Hayes opened their own scouting company when my dad retired from Major League Baseball. They have contracts with several teams now on the east coast. “What’s that got to do with me and Bennett?”
I look at my mom like she’s become ridiculous since I’ve moved out. “I think—” she sighs, “—your Dad invited Liam to introduce to you.”
Aunt B groans and puts her head on the counter.
“Oh,” I say, finally seeing why B looks exhausted.
“Yeah,” my mom adds, “this weekend is going to be a shitshow.”
No secrets at the dinner table
Aspen
“Your mom sent me out here to tell you dinner is ready.”
Sweat drips down Bennett’s chest. I don’t bother hiding my stare.
He grunts, nodding in my direction. “Hand me that hammer.”
Typical Bennett, ignoring my gawking by deflecting. “I don’t see a hammer.” My voice is serious as if I turned around and gave the bench I’m sitting on a thorough look.
“You might find it if you’d stop staring at my nipple.”
The faint whisper of a smile sends a ridiculous amount
of girly tingles swirling in my stomach. We don’t have a rule about gawking. “Which nipple am I looking at?”
A low chuckle rumbles in his chest. “Does it matter?”
I manage not to laugh. “Absolutely. Because if you’re able to specify the particular nipple that’s caught my eye, then I know you’re not paying near enough attention to whatever you’re pretending to do out here.”
A sound that borders on amused seeps out of his parted lips. What did I tell you? Bennett Jameson wants to pretend he can ignore our connection and shove it between the lines of his stupid rules, but the truth is he’s affected, and it kills him he can’t control it.
“Are you going to answer?” I prod. He stares at me, that hard jaw snapping shut, accentuating the cutest muscle tic ever.
“Tell Mom I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
Any other girl would take his dismissal like a lady and gracefully see herself out of his space. Too bad I’m not a lady. “Sure.”
I stay put, swinging my legs under the workbench, kicking up tufts of hay as I go.
“Aspen.”
I lift my gaze back from where it had been admiring the left pec—not the nipple, but that looked good too. “Yeah?”
His sigh is heavy, and I could give about minus two shits about it. “Can you give me a minute?”
That would be a no.
“Why?”
Don’t think I haven’t noticed his exceptionally terrible attitude since he found out Liam, the sole heir to the Boston Bulls’ Ball Club, is coming to dinner. He acted like it was no big deal when my mom told him and our brothers, simply nodding and flashing a fake smile. But I knew he was pissed. Hence, his being out here in the barn working on random shit that isn’t broken.
Aunt B told me to give him space, but I’m used to moody Bennett. However, this Bennett, the one hiding out in the barn, is a broody bitch on steroids. And I know exactly how to fix that attitude. Just not now. Not when he rakes his hand through his hair and growls out, “Aspen!”
His anger brings a smile to my face. Call me a kinky psycho, but I’m all kinds of turned on and Bennett knows it. Okay, me moaning as I slid off the bench probably gave it away. “See you at dinner, Jameson. Don’t make me come back and drag your sulking ass out of here.”