Won't Miss You: A Brother's Best Friend Romance (We Shouldn't Book 4)

by Lilian Monroe

  “Two of those burgers are for me, by the way. If you want another one, you can go grab it yourself.”

  I hide a grin. “I guess chivalry only extends so far.”

  “You’re, what, like a hundred and ten pounds soaking wet? I figured one burger would be enough.”

  “I’m five-foot-nine. I’m heavier than I look. Just because you’re a behemoth doesn’t mean—”

  “A behemoth!” He chomps down on his burger.

  I grin. “Don’t food shame me. I like to eat.”

  He shrugs, a big boulder of a shoulder stretching against his top. “Either way, I only got you one. After that, you’re on your own. You can have the salad.”

  “How generous,” I deadpan.

  Benji’s lips tug and my stomach clenches. I like seeing him smile. It changes him from a scary, animosity-filled beast to something altogether different.

  Softer. More approachable.

  I hide my grin behind another bite, enjoying the lack of tension between us.

  “Willow told me you were planning a party for Sarah,” I say.

  Benji’s eyes flick to mine. He nods. “A surprise. Don’t tell her.”

  “That’s nice of you.”

  “You sound shocked.”

  “Can you blame me?”

  Benji chuckles. He chews his food, swallowing before he answers. “Sarah’s always loved big parties. She makes friends easily, but she’s always the one to organize events for others. Her wedding was the last time she had her own party, and that was four years ago. I figured it was the least I could do.”

  I nod, staring at the big man in front of me. Here, when we strip away the hatred between us, he seems gentle and kind and good.

  I like it more than I should.

  When we finish our food, Benji gets up and wipes his hands on his jeans. Everything he does is unaffected. Unpretentious. Real.

  “Let’s get these beds built.” His eyes wander down to my mouth, and I instinctively bite my lower lip.

  I swear I hear him groan, but it’s so soft I could be wrong. His eyes darken, his gaze shifting back to meet mine.

  A spark jumps in my stomach, but Benji heads toward the bedrooms. I walk behind him, inhaling the air around him with an almost ravenous hunger.

  If I could bottle up the feeling he gives me, I’d sell it for millions—or keep it all for myself and live the rest of my days in a haze of lust and vague animosity.

  I watch him haul the heavy tool bag into the master bedroom, immediately tearing the cardboard box open and pulling out bed frame pieces.

  His hands are broad. When I watch him lay the plank of wood out on the floor, I imagine how it would feel if he were to run those calloused palms over my body. Would the roughened skin feel good as it swept over me? Would his stubble scratch my chin if he leaned over to kiss me?

  I squeeze my eyes shut. I can’t think like that. The man is just being nice, for once. I should accept his kindness and move on.

  He’s not here because he likes me. He’s probably just here because his sister invited us over.

  Whatever it is, I appreciate the help. We don’t speak much as we build the first bed frame. I hold the pieces as Benji tightens the screws. I can’t stop watching the thick ropes of muscle on his arms flex as he twists the screwdriver, the thumping in my heart growing louder.

  Can he hear that?

  When we put the slats down across the bed frame, I pinch my finger between two pieces of wood, dropping my side with a yelp. Benji’s beside me in an instant, turning my hand over between his.

  Calloused. Strong. Rough.

  I want to feel those hands everywhere.

  My heart is racing. My mouth is dry. I stare at his chest, not daring to look up. My hand feels so small between his, and finally, with a shallow breath, I force myself to drag my gaze up to his.

  “You okay?” he growls, the timbre of his voice rattling against my ribcage.

  My chest constricts, making it hard to breathe. I nod. “Fine. Thanks.”

  He drops my hand, and I miss it. I can feel exactly where his fingers brushed against mine, like he branded me with a single touch. My body screams for him, needing more, more, more.

  I stand there, turmoil raging within me.

  Sawyer would kill me. He’d never speak to me again if I acted on these desires.

  So, life as normal, then?

  I brush the thought away. Bad.

  Benji clears his throat, nodding to the plastic-wrapped mattress. “Give me a hand with this,” he says before tearing the plastic open with his bare hands. I don’t even care that he’s ordering me around. A part of me likes it—a lot. More than I’d admit out loud.

  My eyes are glued to his back. He’s sweating, and the thin fabric of his shirt clings to his ropey muscles. They flex as he moves, and my heart is beating like a maniac again.

  Thumping against my ribcage. Banging. Wanting to be heard.

  I do my best to ignore it.

  Benji isn’t my friend. He’s not more than a friend, either. Yes, he’s attractive. Yes, it’s been a long time since a man has made me feel this way.

  Alive.

  Excited.

  Wet.

  But I take that feeling and stuff it into a tiny, locked box in the depths of my heart. Then, I sink it down to the bottom of the ocean and forget it exists.

  Or at least, I try.

  Benji lifts his eyes to mine, nodding to the mattress as it rests against the wall.

  I move to help him, nearly tripping over my legs. My body isn’t cooperating. My mind is doing its best to sabotage me. My whole world is tilting on its axis, and the only thing I can see clearly is Benji.

  His brawn. His strength. His undeniable, rough essence of man.

  He’s everything my ex-boyfriends haven’t been. Rugged. Unaffected by me. Unimpressed by my last name.

  But still, when he gazes at me from the other side of the mattress, his shoulders straining with the effort of carrying it, his eyes are hooded. They sweep over my body, lingering on my chest, my lips, my neck.

  I like the way he looks at me.

  We haul the mattress onto the bed frame, and I take a deep breath.

  “One down, two to go.”

  “You’re lucky I’m feeling charitable.” Benji’s blue eyes flash.

  I meet his gaze. “I know.”

  Benji’s eyes drop to my lips again. He stares at me from the other side of the bed, his gaze darkening. My body runs hot. Nipples pucker. Thighs clench.

  Bad, bad, bad.

  I break away from his gaze, rubbing my hand on the back of my neck as I walk toward the bedroom door. I can still feel the heat of his gaze on my skin, though, and I glance over my shoulder.

  In his eyes, I don’t see the hatred that’s burned there since I met him. I don’t see the downturned lips and the fire-spitting gaze. I don’t feel venom burning against my skin with every word, and I don’t need to build a wall around myself to defend against his hostility.

  In his expression, from all the way across the room, I see exactly the thing I’ve been trying to deny since the moment I laid eyes on him.

  Desire.

  Red-hot, unwavering, and completely inappropriate.

  Clearing my throat, I turn away from Benji and move to Roman’s new room. I can sense Benji following me. His presence behind me only makes my body feel more alive. Every drop of blood in my veins is singing for him. Begging me to listen. Hoping I’ll turn around and act on my irresponsible, inappropriate lust.

  When we enter the smaller room, it feels almost claustrophobic. Benji’s chest is right next to mine. His eyes are low.

  The energy that surrounds us is dangerous, and I know I should fight it. I should turn my back to him or walk away—or even better, I should run.

  Nothing good can come of this. I should listen to my brain and stick to my plan. Think of my family. Work on bringing my siblings back together again, then address my parents. Stitch the pieces of our lives b
ack together again and try to mend the broken relationships. Be the adhesive that makes everything stick.

  Stay away from the man who makes my body want to submit.

  But my fingers itch to touch his skin. I want to walk them up his chest, feeling the warmth of his solid muscle and the beating of his heart. I want to let my hands drift over his shoulders, twisting my fingers into his hair. Taste his lips. Feel his body pressed up against mine.

  For the first time in a long, long time, my responsibilities take a back seat. It’s only for a moment, but it feels like an eternity. I don’t want to think about doing the right thing.

  Forget about Lucy and Roman and Sawyer. Forget about my parents. Forget about the responsibilities that have weighed heavy on my shoulders, and just do something impulsive.

  I could show this man exactly how he makes me feel. How he makes my body run hot. How even when he despises me with every fiber of his being, I don’t hate him at all.

  “Rae,” Benji growls, his voice low and raspy. My body yearns. I drag my eyes up to his, inhaling the headiness in his gaze. His lust feeds the hunger inside me.

  He’s so close. Lids hanging low. Lips parted. Need swirling around him like a thick fog, tugging me into his current.

  It would be easy to kiss him. Two steps, and I’d be there. The distance between us is no distance at all. All I’d have to do is walk to him and tilt my head up, and I’m sure he’d meet my lips. I’d finally get to feel what it’s like to have his hands on me. Hands that make my body ache and pulse and thrum.

  But I hesitate.

  The responsibilities I’m trying so hard to ignore come back with a vengeance. They scream in my mind, reminding me where I am. Who he is. Why I’m here.

  I’m not here to kiss Benji, wild as he makes me feel. He’s Sawyer’s friend. It would be complicated. Messy.

  I’m here for my family. I’m here to bridge the gap between us all and try to bring us back together.

  First, my siblings. Then, my parents. Glue the pieces of my shattered family back together again and start over. That’s been my goal for three and a half years—maybe even longer.

  Wasn’t I the one who made sure we never stopped our traditions? Made sure we had stockings full at Christmas, even if it meant buying all the presents myself. Made sure we did Easter egg hunts until we were far too old, because it meant something to me? To us?

  I was the one who did that. Traditions held our fragile family together, and I was the paste that made it stick. Still am.

  That’s why I’m here. Not to satisfy some carnal craving Benji ignites in me. Not for myself.

  I’m here to give Lucy the support system she needs. Have Sawyer in my life again. Give Roman a chance at a happier childhood with his aunts and uncles around.

  Where does Benji fit into that? There’s no room for lust in my plan. No space for desire.

  I need to take my urges and lock them away, just as I’ve always done.

  Clearing my throat, I turn my head. Benji exhales, and the moment is over. The tension cracks like a thin, clear sheet of ice over a frozen puddle. I grind my heel into my lust, feeling it crunch underfoot. Pulverize it. Destroy it. Forget it even exists.

  We build Roman’s bed without speaking another word.

  9

  Benji

  Everyone’s already done with dessert by the time Rae and I get back to Sarah’s house. When my sister sees me, she waves in the general direction of the freezer, mumbling ice cream before turning back to Lucy.

  Rae stands a few feet away, avoiding my eyes.

  Fine by me.

  Just because I help her build a few pieces of furniture doesn’t mean we’re best buds now. Nothing has changed.

  Yes, I’ll admit, there was a moment. A moment. Nothing real.

  Maybe my pants got tight. Maybe I thought about tasting Rae’s lips. I let myself think it might happen.

  A second or two of weakness, that’s all.

  Still, from the corner of my eye, I can’t help but watch as she sits beside her sister. I like the way she grabs her nephew and sits him on her lap, and how much he seems to adore her.

  She’s close to her family. Really close.

  How does that make any sense with the image Sawyer painted? The woman who let him drift away because she was more worried about herself and her own financial stability? The one who took his job for herself? The one who told him all the right things only to stab him in the back?

  Where’s that Rae Montgomery? Because she sure as hell isn’t here.

  Rae lifts her eyes up to meet mine, questions swirling in their depths.

  I avoid her for the rest of the night.

  When I get back to my house a few streets away, a shiny black car is parked on the street. I groan.

  A tall, salt-and-pepper-haired man gets out of the driver’s side door and stands there, waiting for me. He’s an inch or so shorter than me, but age hasn’t rounded his shoulders. He stands upright in his expensive, tailored suit, watching me approach.

  “Benji.”

  I walk by him, heading for my front door. The lawn is overgrown. I’ll have to mow it tomorrow.

  “Benji,” he repeats.

  “What?” I stop, spinning on my heels.

  My father is in the driveway in front of me, his arms hanging loosely by his sides. Drawing his brows together, he looks at me pleadingly. Pathetically.

  “Will you talk to me?”

  “I don’t see why I should.” I cross my arms.

  Ben Cartwright Sr. takes a deep breath, and a part of my resolve weakens. My mother named me after him, but he still walked away. He abandoned us. Turned his back on us when we were just kids.

  But as he’s standing here, pain etched across his features, I almost relent. It’s hard to hate someone when they look like they’re suffering as much as he is.

  I blame Rae. She got in my head tonight, and now I can’t think straight. I can’t take another confusing interaction with someone I’m supposed to dislike.

  “Benji,” he says, taking a hesitant step forward. “I know you’re mad at me. You have every right to be.”

  “Wow, thanks. How generous of you.”

  He pauses, sucking in a deep breath. “I want to make things right. I want to be there for you, and Sarah, and the kids. I set up a college fund—”

  “You can’t buy us off, Ben. You can’t just throw money at us and expect us to come running back. We don’t want your money.”

  “It’s for the kids.” His sharp, blue eyes—so similar to my own—drill into mine. “It’s for Gabby and Bradley, son.”

  “I’m not your son.’

  “You are my son. No matter what you think, you’ve always been my son. Always will be. Even if you push me away for the rest of my life.”

  I scoff. “Is that a challenge?”

  His eyes drift to the house behind me. I know what he’s seeing. A house on the verge of disrepair that needs a new roof and a good lick of paint. An old truck with the garage’s logo emblazoned on it. A lawn that needs mowing.

  “Listen, Dad,” I spit. “Why don’t you go back to your pretty, young wife and your new family. Enjoy your five-bedroom McMansion. Give your army of gardeners an extra weeks’ worth of wages in my name. Either way, just stop coming around here. I don’t need you. Never have. Never will.”

  “I want to help, Benji.”

  “You didn’t want to help when Sarah and I were kids. You didn’t try to help when Mom started using. You never once came to see us when we needed you most. You were off gallivanting all over the country, making your millions. Well, enjoy them. I don’t want your money.”

  “The courts—”

  “Save your excuses. You left us. Live with it.”

  “Sarah’s kids—”

  “Stop pretending you care!” I step up to him, puffing my chest out. My father’s face twists as he takes a step back, holding up his hands.

  “Okay. Okay. I’m sorry.”

  “I don�
�t want your money.”

  “It’s not mine, Benji. It’s yours.” He lifts his gaze up to mine, his lips set in a thin line. “You can choose to use it or not, but it’s yours either way.” He takes a deep breath. “I know you’re planning a party for Sarah’s birthday—”

  “If you think you’re getting an invitation, you’re more delusional than I realized.”

  My father sighs. He shakes his head. “I only wanted to help out, if I could. Pay for the venue, or the food. I don’t know.”

  I set my jaw. “I. Don’t. Need. Your. Money.”

  I turn around and stomp toward my faded front door. The frame rattles when I slam it closed, my chest heaving. I clench my fists, dropping my head and letting out a breath.

  I can’t get away. Can’t have any peace.

  Money-hungry, blood-sucking vultures. All of them.

  I can’t even go to Sarah’s house without thinking of Rae next door.

  They’re all the same.

  They think money can solve everything. My father thought he could pay us to make up for the years he spent away from us. They were the worst years of my life, when I had to watch my mother get high every single day. When I had to be the one to make sure Sarah’s clothes were clean and she was fed for school. When I had to start working for Harold just to pay the rent, because all my mother’s money was being poured into her various addictions—even the child support my father sent.

  His money didn’t help me then, and it sure as hell won’t help me now.

  Deep down, in a dark chasm of my heart, something tugs at me. Gabby and Bradley. For them. College. A better life.

  Isn’t that what I’ve been working for? Isn’t that why I helped Oliver out with a job? Why I took care of Sarah all those years? Why I’ve worked every day since I was fourteen?

  I shake the thought away.

  Taking Ben Cartwright’s money is shaking hands with the devil. It goes against everything I believe in. It makes me no better than Rae, who turned her back on Sawyer for the sake of a few bucks.

  Loyalty is more important than money. Integrity is more valuable. I won’t sell my soul for a couple of dollars. I won’t put on a pair of golden handcuffs, no matter who happens to be dangling them in front of me.