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I can’t help but burrow just a bit into his side.
“Bye, Mom. Happy birthday again.”
“Thank you, my sweet boy. You made my entire year, coming here.” His hand tightens on my side. “Now you have no excuse. You’ve broken the seal,” she says with a smile, voice half joking and half serious.
“Mom—” Ben tries to stop the conversation, but Mrs. Coleman steamrolls right past him, speaking to me directly.
“Bring him back to me, okay, Lola? A family dinner. That way, we can actually get to know you a bit more.” Her eyes are kind, but behind that is a tone of pleading. Her husband comes up behind her, holding her the same way his son is holding me.
“Oh, I don’t know—”
“You did it once. I know all about you. Ben’s been talking.” My head tips up, taking him in, and to my shock, his cheeks show a light tint of pink.
“Alright, Mom, we’re out of here. It was great to see you,” Ben says, waving a hand and starting to lead me to the door. His mom’s tinkling laugh follows us as we head toward the front gate.
“You telling your mom about me, Ben Coleman?” I ask with a smile as he helps me into his car. He rolls his eyes and slams the door, but I know he hears my laugh through the metal as he walks around, starts the car, and takes us home.
Thirty-Eight
-Ben-
Three daysafter our quick trip to Springbrook Hills, Hattie pops her head into my office as I finish my first client of the evening. It’s a woman who was here a few months back for her first tattoo, a small music note on her wrist, and now she’s getting a second—a heart on the other wrist.
Tattoos are addictive.
“Sup?” I say, wiping the newly inked skin before slathering it in a protectant lotion.
“You talked to Lola today?” My eyebrows furrow in confusion.
“No. Why?” We’re not the kind of couple that talks nonstop. Last night I texted her, asking if she wanted to meet up, but she said she was tired.
I ignored the part of me that wanted to ask for more details, the part of me that wanted her to give me a better excuse. But taking a day off for me meant Lola has been hustling to make up the time, staying up late to make doughs and batters, and she’s also been working on interviewing employees.
The employees part gave me visions of taking her away for a long weekend, somewhere we could hide away without worrying about work and spend time together, preferably naked in bed for hours on end.
So instead of bugging her, I’d sent a “Good night, babe, see ya tomorrow” text and went to bed.
Okay, I didn’t go straight to bed. I jacked off to the memory of fucking her into submission in her bakery, one of my favorite memories as of late.
I’m starting to worry I’m as whipped as Vic. As whipped as Tanner and Luke.
Goddammit.
How did this happen?
“Lights are off next door. Went to go gossip and get a muffin and the sign is flipped to closed.”
My gut goes cold.
“Are you sure?”
“Do I have a food belly from eating three muffins?” She rolls her eyes. “Yes, I’m sure. She’s closed.”
That’s not right.
It’s eleven on a Tuesday. She normally opens at eight on Tuesdays.
“Can you call her?”
