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Arms crossed, I stare at him. Wait for that pull between us to kick in and his eyes to meet mine, because that’s how it is with us. And when they do, when I feel that connection lock… “Ben.”
Those massive shoulders slump on his sigh.
“Okay, look. Bowie and Piper were right.” His hand flicks the air. “I can’t keep a cleaning service. For reasons. But I knew you wouldn’t be comfortable here if I didn’t clean up my act… like literally. And you should know a lot of those ‘reasons’—”
His added finger quotes here suggest those reasons are vast and varied and possibly in line with the panty delivery of a moment ago, but maybe I’m jumping to conclusions.
“—wouldn’t be an issue anymore.”
“You couldn’t get anyone? In all of Chicago?”
“It’s about the hockey thing. Have to have a certain kind of service. They actually have to be vetted?—”
“How do I always forget you’re famous.”
“Only a little famous. And I can get someone new now. I will. It’s just that you seemed so impressed with how much better Sylvia was doing… so I didn’t want to let her go just yet. And— Hell. I’m sorry I lied to you. It was stupid. But that first night when you were going to leave… I really wanted you to want to stay.” He sucks a deep breath, lets it go. Shrugs. “There. I admit it. I just wanted you to stay.”
I take a beat, letting his confession sit and then my feelings about it settle.
Okay. “So what you’re saying is… you’re a legit millionaire, professional athlete, who has been cleaning this apartment on his hands and knees… for months. Just so I wouldn’t feel uncomfortable here… in this gorgeous space… that you barely let me contribute any rent to… when by all rights, I should be the one cleaning and shopping.” At the very least.
He rolls his eyes. “When you say it like that, it sounds?—”
“Ben.” I press my fingers to his mouth. “You’re making it really hard not to fall for you.”
But I’m not staying. It couldn’t last. Right?
Speaking against my hand, he reiterates what we both know. “But that’s not what we want.”
We.
As in neither of us.
For reasons. Different from why he couldn’t keep a cleaning service.
I swallow. Nod. “Right.”
Ben gives me a wink, brushing my hand to the side. “I’ll try harder… to be less hot. Charming. Adorab—” His eyes drop to the half-open package in his right hand. His chin pulls back just as I realize… that’s my name on the address label.
No.
“Champianna Extreme Vibrat?—?”
I shriek, lunging for the box and then racing back to my bedroom… where I slam the door and press my back against it… as I am silently incinerated by the burn of embarrassment.
A text comes in.
Ben: Lock your fucking door
I do.
Ben: If I hear that thing, I’m coming through the wall
I wouldn’t use it when he was home. Couldn’t. Right?
I really, really shouldn’t think about it because his threat isn’t having the desired effect.
Ben: Make good decisions, Lara
