He kisses my cheek. “Let them.” Kisses my jaw. “God, you always smell so good.”
“It’s a …”
Benji skims his fingers along the hem of my shirt, teasing over my stomach, which flutters underhis touch.
“A new body wash. Unscented.”
“I’m taking you to dinner tonight.”
Is he? Okay.
“I’ll pick you up at seven.”
You could pick me up right now.
His smile skims my cheek. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
I press my hands into his hard chest. Apparently, Isaac shoved him into the gym last year in an attempt to kick him out of his “sadness spiral”—Benji’s words—and, wow, did it work. It’s added about ten pounds of muscle to his chest and arms, and it makes it even harder to concentrate when Benji slides his hands down my sides, the way he’s doing now.
“Yes,” I whisper.
Finally, he kisses me.
The door chimes.
“Oops, sorry. Don’t mind me.”
I jolt back. “Rhys! Hi.”
“Was just checking if you wanted to get a sneaky break for lunch, but I can see you’re occupied.”
Benji hasn’t even moved away from me and looks like he’s enjoying this.
“He came over to fix the register,” I say, still trying to catch my breath.
“Did he?” Rhys teases.
I nod. “It’s jammed up. I can’t get the drawer to open. I think it’s that thing you said.” I wave my hand around. “Inflation.”
“Heat expansion, probably,” Benji corrects, amusement thick in his voice.
Rhys smiles from the doorway.
My faceburns. “Um, yes, that. I think the wood has swollen.”
“It has a habit of doing that,” Benji says, low.
I want to hide under the damn counter and jump him, all at the same time.
Rhys breaks, snickering, and I walk over to push him out the door.
“Oh, am I leaving? Okay. Bye, Benji,” he calls out as he goes. “Have fun dealing with your swollen wood.”
“Get out,” I say with one last shove. “I’ll text you later.”
When we’re alone again, I’m struck again by how fucking handsome Benji is. How did I get so lucky?
“Um …”
