“You’re the best partner ever.” Ben’s grin is a full-fledged smile now.
“Oh yeah?” I shimmy my hips as I push the denim down my thighs, revealing a pair of black bikini underwear. I’m glad I match today, despite the fact that I had no idea I’d be stripping in front of a crowded field of people.
“Yup. Definitely the best partner.” He laughs out loud as I toss my jeans at him.
“It’s like wearing a bathing suit,” I say with a shrug. “Like the beach volleyball players in the Olympics.”
“It’s, uh, better than a bathing suit. Here. Let me put your clothes and purse in my car. It’s right over there.”
“Great,” I say. “Meet you at the start line.” I try to ignore the stares of the people around me, but somehow, in the absurdity and fun of the entire event, I don’t feel that out of place, and people aren’t really paying me that much attention.
Ben runs back over to me. “Come on,” he says. “It’s almost time.” He takes my hand and pulls me over to the starting line.
Gemma appears in front of us. She’s wearing electric blue bike shorts that accentuate her gorgeous curves. She’s got on a tight black tank top, the curves of her perfect boobs rising above the fabric. After looking at my bra and underwear, she pastes a fake smile on her face as she fights down the obvious surprise she feels at seeing me here.
“Tessa?” she asks.
I nod. “Hi, Gemma. Ben said he wasn’t expecting me. Something about a sick relative? Must have gotten a mixed message, though, because I’m here.” I shrug and give her a faux-confused smile.
“Great.” She frowns and looks down.
I can tell she’s embarrassed, and I feel a momentary flush of sympathy for her. It must be awful, caught in a lie in front of both people involved.
But there’s no time to feel sorry for her because Ben’s pulling me to the starting line. “We’re in the first heat,” he says. “Two teams compete. Winner advances.”
He kneels down and I approach him in my underwear and bra and can’t help noticing that he bites his lip as I approach. He makes a low growling sound as I straddle his shoulders and he stands.
Immediately the blood rushes to my head, and I tighten my grip with my knees around his neck and wrap my arms around his stomach.
“Oh, hey!” he yells over his shoulder. “My parents are right there!”
“Great,” I yell back. “They get to see their son carry a strange girl in her underwear.”
“Eh, you’re not that strange,” he teases. “And you’ll be wearing clothes next time you meet them.”
Next time. My heart flutters.
A gun shot signals the start of the race, and I shut my eyes and cling to Ben as he begins to jog up the incline that marks the beginning of the course.
His beard scratches the bare insides of my thighs, just like that first time in practice, and all I can think about is how it would feel if he was there with intent. If he was there kissing my thighs, biting my skin, moving closer and closer…
Ben’s climbing over a giant log, and my body’s jostled as he does. “Hang on!” he yells, but he doesn’t have to tell me to. I’m clinging hard to him, both to keep from falling off and because I can. I mean, who wouldn’t hold on tight to a guy like this if given the chance?
Cold spray splashes up and I shriek as he enters the water section of the course, a trench about thirty feet long filled with what feels like ice-cold dirty mud. I can hear Ben’s laugh, and then suddenly he nips the inside of my right thigh with his teeth.
Electricity shoots through me, and I don’t even care when I see the other couple pass us. Because Ben likes me! He kissed me. And he just bit my thigh.
We finish second, and when Ben sets me down on the ground and we’re both standing upright, he grasps me around the waist and swings me around. “That was amazing!” he says.
“We lost,” I counter, but I’m grinning ear to ear.
He shrugs and grins. “No. We didn’t.” He leans down to kiss me, but just before our lips meet we’re swarmed by his parents and a bunch of guys whom he briefly introduces as his med school friends. Gemma’s there, too, and I’m overwhelmed by so many people all at once.
“I’m going to get my phone for photos,” he whispers to me and runs off to his car, while I stand there and awkwardly listen to everyone being familiar with each other.
He seems to take forever, but finally he lopes back, curls bouncing, holding his phone. He hands it to one of his buddies, then poses with me, his arm over my shoulder, for a photo by the finish line.
His friends surround him, slapping him on the back and talking over each other, and I introduce myself to his parents, who are really sweet and funny. They explain that it was always an annual tradition for Ben’s friends to come out to watch them race. And now that Ben’s taken over, they’re here to see him.
“Benson! Carla!” Gemma insinuates herself between me and Ben’s parents, hugging them and talking like she’s known them forever, and I take a few steps away from the big group of Ben’s people.
I glance over at Ben, and he’s busy chatting up his med school friends and doesn’t even notice me. I don’t like crowds. I never have. I always end up feeling awkward, like if I left, nobody would notice.
Sighing, I head to his car to get my stuff that he stashed there. I keep hoping he’ll stop me, but nobody notices that I’m leaving. At my own car, I pull my sweater and jeans on, then get inside and sit in the driver’s seat, bummed and sad.
I consider calling Jessica to update her, but I’m too depressed. I like Ben. And I know he likes me. But maybe we’re just too different. Maybe our worlds are too separate and not meant to collide.
I buckle up, ready to head home.
“Asshole calling. Asshole calling. There’s an asshole on the other end of the line.”
What the heck?
The voice is coming from my purse, which I pull onto my lap before rummaging around to find my phone. When I do, the screen is lit up, and a photo of Ben smiles at me as the stupid ring tone continues.
I burst out laughing. He must have taken the opportunity when he got his phone from the car to program his photo—and the ring tone—into my phone.
“Hello?” I answer somewhat breathlessly.
“Where are you?” he asks. “We’re supposed to collect our money and drink your weight in beer!”
“Except we didn’t win!” I object.
“Depends on how you define win.”
His tone is heavy, heavier than I’m used to with him, and I don’t know how to respond. My heart pounds.
“I want to take you out,” he continues. “We keep getting interrupted, but now that the race is over, we’re going to go somewhere and be alone. Like I’ve wanted to do with you since I met you at that concert in the park.”
“OK,” I murmur. “When?”
“Now.”
A knock on the passenger side window startles me, and when I look up, he’s peering in the window. He grins, and I press the unlock button so he can get in.
“Why’d you leave?” he asks, sitting down and shutting the passenger door.
“You seemed so busy…”
He interrupts me with a kiss, light at first. He’s leaning over the center console, and he puts one hand around the back of my head as his lips open, teasing mine.
“I wish I’d caught you before you put your clothes on again,” he whispers.
I laugh, but it’s slightly strangled by my desire and his lips, which kiss me harder this time. He puts a hand on my knee, the warmth traveling straight through the denim and making my skin so, so hot. When his fingers move slightly up my leg, I remember the way his beard felt there, and a shudder of desire takes over my body.
He breaks off the kiss and laughs. “I feel like we’re in high school, making out in a car and hoping nobody sees.”
“And your parents are here!”
“Yeah. But I don’t care if they see. I want everyone to know I�
��m with you.”
“Really?” I ask.
“Yeah. Really. In fact, my mom will probably literally kill me if I don’t bring you over for a late lunch today. She insisted.”
“Well, I don’t want you to literally die…”
Ben chuckles. “So we have…” He glances at his watch. “…about an hour to kill before then.”
“What do you want to do?” I ask.
“Go park somewhere?” He winks at me. “You know, continue the high school theme?”
I laugh out loud. I know he’s joking, but part of me thinks that’s the best idea I’ve heard. Ever.
“There’s a really cool coffee shop not far from here,” he suggests.
“Tell me where to go,” I say, turning the car on.
He puts his hand on my thigh as I pull out of the parking lot. The day is crisp and bright—the sun finally broke through the clouds—and I can’t get the grin off my face. As we drive down the gravel road, through the tall trees that open up to the paved road ahead, I’m not sure exactly where we’re going. But I know I’m headed somewhere amazing, with this guy who’s definitely not an asshole at all.
About Maria Monroe
Hi! I’m Maria Monroe, contemporary romance author. I’m honored to be part of this anthology, which benefits such an important cause.
I hope you enjoyed Tessa and Ben’s adventure participating in the Wife Carrying Competition (which is actually a real thing)! Tessa’s friend Jessica is the star of my book The Rescue, which takes place in the same fictional town of Deerfield, ME, as this story does. And my novel Julian & Lia is about an innocent freshman at Maine University at Deerfield (MUD), who meets sexy college senior Julian.
I love connecting with readers. Please feel free to contact me!
Email: [email protected]
Website: www.graffitifiction.com
Facebook: www.facebook.com/mariamonroeauthor
Twitter: www.twitter.com/authormaria
“Another Wharton graduate in the family. Your father must be so proud,” Aunt Ina boasts, her hands clasped in front of her heart.
Before I get a chance to answer, Father steps up to my side, his arm firm on my shoulder. “We are very proud of our Jules. Top of her class and still soaring. Only the best for our girl.”
I look up at my father, his face beaming with immense pride.
In seven generations, there hasn’t been a failure or scandal to the family name. My graduation from the Wharton Business School was not only expected—it was written in dogma.
Aunt Ina’s cheeks are pinched with a rosy glow. “We’re all dying to know where you accepted a position. Leave it to Franklin Bradford to host a bon voyage party for his daughter without sharing where it is she’s traveling off to.”
I open my mouth to respond, but Father cuts me off. “Nice try,” he says with a pointed finger to his elder Aunt. “You’ll just have to wait for the champagne toast like everyone else.”
“If you’ll excuse me. I have to use the ladies,” I say and bow out of Father’s arm.
I’m not three feet away when another relative is congratulating me on my accomplishments. My father’s colleagues hand out business cards, telling me to stay in touch. Mother’s socialites compliment me on the chiffon, aubergine-colored dress I’m wearing. I don’t believe they’ve ever spoken to me about anything other than the couture on my body.
It’s twenty minutes before I make it to the French doors leading to the veranda overlooking the ocean, the Long Island sun setting into the Atlantic. Splaying my hands on the rail, I take a moment to collect my thoughts. I love my parents and my life here at The Manor, but part of me can’t wait to board that plane tomorrow and get away. I shouldn’t complain—being a Bradford has had its privileges. I attended the best prep schools and now the most prestigious business school in the country. Weekly trips to the salon, a closet full of designer clothes, and everything I want at my fingertips is just the top of the iceberg of the life my father has been able to provide.
I respect where I’ve come from. I do not take it for granted.
But I want more.
I want an adventure.
And tomorrow, my new life begins.
Taking a deep breath, I inhale the salty air and listen to the waves as they crash into the shoreline. Rolling my head to the side, I see the lights of the carriage house are on. Inside that building is my Mercedes convertible that I adore. Mother thinks it’s foolish I park it myself when one of the staff will bring it to the garage for me. I tell her I enjoy doing things myself. But that’s not the real reason.
Looking through the French doors, into the party room, I see guests are still arriving. Father and Mother are busy in conversation, and cocktails are just being served.
I walk down the back steps and turn right onto the path to the carriage house. The workers are at the front of The Manor, valeting cars. Ducking in through the back door, I enter the large room that smells of wax and motor oil. It’s silly I’d be in here all by myself. Perhaps it’s force of habit.
I suppose I just wanted to come in here one last time.
“You wouldn’t be thinking about leaving your party early, would you?” His deep baritone makes my heart race. A chill runs up my spine; I have to close my eyes to compose myself.
My back is to him, so I take a moment before turning around. I brush my palms against the soft fabric of my dress, gripping it lightly. Slowly, I turn around. My breath hitches at the sight of him.
Jameson Brock.
Dark hair curling up lightly at the ends. Blue-green eyes and pouty lips accentuated by a full beard I’m dying to run my hands through. His tan skin is slightly worn and rough showing off the rugged character of the man who works outside, shirtless, bent over the hood of a car. He’s not like the stuffed shirt boys I went to business school with—the ones with manicured fingers and smooth pale skin from never seeing the light of day.
No, Jameson is the epitome of blue collar. Sunshine and steel, salty from the sea with eyes that appear older than his twenty-seven years.
“I … had to get something from my car.” I awkwardly point to where my Benz is parked.
“You could have rang. It’s your special night. One of the valet would have run it up to you.” He’s standing about ten feet away. The deep searching look in his eyes has me scrambling to think of something to say.
I take in his attire. He’s wearing blue jeans and a flannel shirt paired with worker boots. It’s his signature look, one father lets him adorn when he’s spending the day in the garage.
“Why are you in civilian clothes? I thought Father said the staff had to wear uniforms today?” I internally punch myself for uttering the most pretentious lines in the world.
His eyes shift to the side slightly. He places his hands deep in his pockets, his shoulders rounded. “I requested the night off.”
Jameson is The Manor’s mechanic. He maintains all of Father’s cars. All twenty-five of them. Yes, it’s a bit excessive, but father is a collector of vintage cars. The carriage house is where we house our everyday vehicles. Next door is a hangar where father’s collection lives.
“Oh, well, you deserve it.” I bite my lip and look down at the shiny concrete floor. Clinging onto my dress, I try to think of something witty to say. Nothing comes to mind.
“Can I help you get whatever it is you need from your car?” he offers.
My head jolts up. “No, I just realized it’s not in there.” I start to move toward the back entrance where I came in from but am compelled to spin around and look at him once again. “I’m leaving tomorrow.”
“I know,” he says, nodding slightly.
God, I’m pathetic. Twenty-two years old, harboring a crush on a man who has never looked twice at me. At least, not in that way. I’m just the rich brat he works for. Well, not anymore. By tomorrow evening, I’ll be thousands of miles away and don’t plan to come back. Not for a very long time.
Jameson releases his hands f
rom his pockets and runs his hands through his hair. “I heard there’s a big announcement tonight.”
“Yes, Father is telling everyone that tomorrow I’m off to—“
“Don’t say it.”
“Okay.” I fidget for a moment shifting my toes from side to side. “I’ll being going then.”
“Stay,” he says. A plea that makes my heart stop.
I look back toward the door and the walkway that would bring me back to my party. My farewell party filled with people I adore and some I have never met yet are very important to my family.
Still, the only person I want to be with is in this room.
And he wants me to stay.
With him.
A small smile tugs on my face, and my body beats again from head to toe. A current that’s drawing me back toward the center of the room where Jameson is standing.
I raise my brow. “What did you have in mind?”
Those blue-green eyes crinkle, the lines of life appearing with the action. He radiates when he smiles and my soul is about to burst at the sight of it.
“Wait here,” he says and then walks quickly toward his office. When he’s gone, the room feels entirely too big and lonely. I stand and wait for an eternity until he appears through the doorway holding a box with a red satin ribbon in his hands.
Jameson walks toward me and stops just two feet away. I look up into his purposeful gaze and get lost in the sheer magnitude of his larger-than-life presence.
He holds out the box to me. “This is for you. A going away gift.”
My eyes widen in surprise as I take the box from him. “I wasn’t expecting something from you.” I turn around to hide my blush and walk the gift to a nearby table.
My fingers are untying the ribbon as he says, “I didn’t know if I should give it to you.”
I halt my movements and spin around. “Why not?”
“I just … Doesn’t matter. Open it.” He gestures with one hand while running his other down the strands of his beard.
I’m grateful my back is to him when I lift the lid on the box and see the most beautiful necklace of gears, like the kind you see inside a watch. There are seven in total, all made of white and yellow gold, interlocking to create the most intricate piece of jewelry I’ve ever seen. I lift the necklace from the box and try to tame my insides from not bursting thought my skin. My eyes burn with tears that I can’t let fall.