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“Right,” he says, but I can tell I haven’t helped.
“Maybe you need to set yourself a new goal. Athletes set themselves a goal, a personal best, and then when they reach that goal, they set another one. Maybe your problem is you’re focused on a goal you’ve already achieved. You probably just need something more.”
“I don’t need anything.” He glances around his apartment. “I have my money spread across various investments in all kinds of sectors, across the globe. I know I won’t be dependent on anyone for anything in my life. Nothing can break me now.”
A rush of sympathy courses through me and his words echo in my head.
Nothing can break me now.
I long to slide onto his lap and wrap my arms around the frightened little boy I can see in Ben’s expression. He’s witnessed broken. He’s lived broken, and he’s been running from it ever since. “You can stop running now,” I say softly.
His eyes narrow slightly.
“You’re out of danger,” I add. “There’s nothing chasing you anymore.” I think of my brother and wonder if he ever felt the same way. I’m so glad he found Sophia when he did. It gave him someone to pour his love and energy into.
“I know,” he says, almost shrugging off what I’m saying to him. But we’re past the point of pretending now.
“You can rest,” I say.
“I don’t want to rest.”
“Then you need a new goal. Something different to strive for.”
“That’s the answer, is it?” He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.
“What is it that you want most of all now?”
He grins. “Other than another omelet?”
I shake my head and laugh. “You can’t still be hungry.”
“Yeah,” he says. “Maybe that is the problem. I’m not hungry anymore.” His expression is puzzled. “But I don’t know where I’d start trying to find my appetite.”
“Restaurants?” I ask.
He chuckles. “You think I just need to keep eating and I’ll find my appetite? That doesn’t make sense.”
“I’m not saying eat. I’m saying cook. Or invest. Or something. You seem to have a real connection with food and making food for people.”
He looks at me, a sense of vulnerability in his gaze, and I’m expecting him to say something more. But he blinks and it’s like windshield wipers clearing away whatever was there, his expression is back to the Ben I met that first night at Aurora and Deacon’s engagement party.
“Maybe I should launch an online course and teach people how to make omelets.” He stands and picks up his plate. This conversation is over before it’s finished. Ben has shut down.
I watch him disappear into the kitchen, but just before I’m about to head to bed, he reappears from the kitchen carrying a tray with two glasses of milk and a packet of cookies. “More Housewives?” he asks.
I’m not sure I’ll get a better suggestion in this lifetime.
SEVENTEEN
Ben
The gym is packed today. I hate it when it’s this busy. But I definitely couldn’t skip my workout with Deacon today. I have some energy I need to work off.
Waking up to Avril’s arm across my stomach, her legs entangled with mine, had been a shock this morning. Before I realized where I was—in my guest bedroom—I’d panicked. I thought I’d overslept at a woman’s house and was running late.
But I was at home. With Avril. And we hadn’t slept together, but we’d slept together.
I was dangerously hard, as I felt her warmth all over me. I wished I hadn’t made this stupid deal with her that she had to prove we could stay professional. The last thing I want to do with Avril is stay professional. As she lay on her stomach with her bedtime shorts riding up and exposing her arse, her leg and arm over me, claiming me, making sure I couldn’t leave without waking her, I couldn’t imagine a place I’d rather be. It took everything I had not to slide my hand down her back and pull her closer, desperate for more of her heat.
