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“And to get married,” I remind him. “But yeah, also the baby fear. My mother and Aunt Penny were twins. Fraternal twins, but still twins. I’m one-third of a set of Triplets.”
He looks adorably confused. I love being able to read his expressive, sexy, very distracting face.
“Triplets, Benson,” I repeat. “My family is known for popping out multiples at one time. I’m not ready for one kid, much less multiples.”
He grins broader. “It’s funny how you think it’s anyone’s decision other than yours. Just tell people to leave you alone.”
“You need to remember that you haven’t dated anyone from here. Trust me. The pressure gets to you. I broke up with my ninth grade boyfriend—”
“Who?” he interrupts, brow creasing.
“Tim—”
“Tim Forrester?” he asks incredulously.
“He was hot in ninth grade. Pre-beard.”
He just looks at me like I’m crazy. “Did you have sex with him?
I make a sour face. “Ew. No. I didn’t have sex until I was seventeen and living in Seattle.”
He shakes his head, looking away, acting like he doesn’t want to hear that part. It’s totally an overshare, so I get it.
“Anyway, I broke up with him because his mother was constantly asking when we were getting married. It was shortly after I lost my parents—can you say insensitive, by the way? Best decision I ever made, because Tim was married the day Rebecca turned eighteen.”
His lips purse, his eyes on me again. “Not everyone has parents living here. Not all mothers would pressure you like that.”
“Aunt. Penny.”
His smile cracks on that one. “Touché.”
“So are we going or not?”
“You wearing that?” he asks, his hand gesturing to my shorts.
“It’s summer.”
“Still gets cool at night in the summer,” he says, eyeing me.
He’s right, but I’m committed to showing some leg right now. There’s a reason I borrowed Kylie’s shower to shave my legs before I left her place.
He seemed fascinated with them earlier, and I did get that weird date request from Paul—who is terrified of my brothers and doesn’t particularly like me. All from a little extra leg.
My hair is fixed now, since my shower. I even donned a little makeup. Not that he’s seemed to notice. Annnnd I’m back to feeling self-conscious. Not cool.
Maybe he should grow that beard back until I know how I feel about whatever he’s doing to me.
“You coming?” he asks.
Loaded question.
Usually, I skip right up to him, not the least bit intimidated. But now…totally intimidated.
He leads me out the lake-facing door, and I swallow as he tosses his arm around my shoulders before locking his door. He’s put his arm around me a thousand times. Never once has it felt like more than a friendly gesture.
His intentions are still friendly, but mine seem to be the ones obscured.
“So the face is better than the beard?” he asks, smiling down at me.
My knees actually go weak. Not kidding. It’s humiliating when I almost fall.
Benson quickly steadies me, looking around for a reason as to why I was seconds away from slamming head-first into the ground. “Ankle turned,” I lie, and he frowns as he looks back down at me.
“You hurt?”
I shake my head. “Just happens. No biggie.”
He nods, accepting the lie, and he guides me down the dock. My tee has a ‘Fear the Beard’ logo on it, just to really rub it in. Benson seems to notice it for the first time, laughing as he hops into the boat and helps me down.
“Of course that’s what you’d wear,” he says, smiling like it’s a good thing.
I try to ignore the way it feels when he grabs my waist this time, but I can’t. I shudder in his grip, but he doesn’t seem to notice. In fact, I think he’s blissfully unaware of my current status.
That’s utter hot mess status, in case you’re wondering.
He pulls us away, and he drives the distance across the lake to my aunt’s house. I’m all too happy to let him help me out, and he follows behind me.
My aunt walks out with a tray of cupcakes in her hands, beaming when she sees me. But when her eyes go over my shoulder to Benson, she drops the tray of cupcakes.
“Benson?” she gasps.
The cupcakes turn into ant food when they tumble around on the grass, and Benson smirks as he runs a nervous hand over the back of his neck.
“I can’t possibly look that different,” he grumbles.
“Oh yes. Oh, yes, you can,” she says while fanning herself with her hand.
The mosquitos will be out soon, so I walk off, abandoning them as I grab the unscented spray that works the best on me and spritz down. I notice my brothers glaring at me, and I smile wickedly at them.
My uncle would kill them if they touched me in front of him.
I even twirl my hair around my finger like an evil, glass-eyed dolly for good measure. Just wait until my next act of revenge on them. It’ll give me a reason to stay at Benson’s longer.
