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Kristy seemed a little reluctant to let me help her in the kitchen at first, but I kind of forced her hand. She’s feeding a zoo. She really needed the extra help, and I think I impressed her with how well I could boil potatoes.
But now dinner is over, and Bennet and I are showered and back in the trailer, the dim light flickering above us. Gods, this seventies furniture is always such a shock.
I need to get some bell-bottom jeans and a wig for this shit.
“You gonna head back to California soon?” Bennet asks as I situate my phone on the kitchen counter, the only place that will get a good shot of us teasing near the rickety kitchen table. I could use the cameras I packed for Bennet, but I think this will do just fine.
I eye him as I fiddle with the phone settings and shrug. “I looked at flights at the hospital but I didn’t book anything.”
I mean, I almost did. I have a bunch of different flights saved, but Bennet just looked so damn sad that I was hesitant. I can just book one tomorrow.
Bennet’s shoulders seem to sag a bit at my answer, and I’m not sure if he’s disappointed or if he’s happy I’m staying.
“I can stay or I can go. You need to tell me what you want, Bennet.”
He runs a hand through his hair and meets my stare.
“I’d like you to stay,” he says after a pause, and my heart leaps in my chest.
Probably all that deep-fried food we had for dinner. My arteries are clogging. I swear to the gods, I have never eaten that much fat in my entire life. I had to practically beg Kristy to make a salad. I don’t think they know what a vegetable is.
I mean, Kristy’s husband, Mark, had remarked that a potato was one. He was very confidently incorrect. There is no reasoning with him either.
“I can stay,” I say, leaning against the counter. “I don’t have much going on anyways.”
Bennet eyes me and then nods, leaving it at that. “Does this make us friends?”
“Fuck no,” I mutter and then hit record, looking at where Bennet is standing on the camera screen. It’s clear and crisp and as good as it gets, so I move toward him.
We’re both clothed, Bennet wearing his sweatpants and a white t-shirt, looking fucking rumpled. And I’m wearing my pajama pants and a long-sleeved black shirt. Because it’s fucking cold and I cannot. The heating in here is lousy and my toes are already going numb. I cannot wait to crawl into bed with Bennet and warm up.
The heat is the only reason I am looking forward to that, of course.
I don’t want frostbite.
I move up against Bennet who is watching me intently. I eye the camera and pull my bottom lip between my teeth, playing up my looks—my big brown eyes and my pink, plump lips. People fucking love them. I’ve read the comments from my fans.
“Your eyes aren’t lying to you. It’s really us. Look,” I say as I reach out, my fingers toying with the bottom of Bennet’s shirt, and I sneak my hand underneath. He lets out a breath, his hand clenching into a fist at his side.
“You’ve been begging for it,” I add as I press closer to him, smelling him. Something musky and spicy. So distinctly Bennet.
I fucking hate it.
My mouth becomes dry as I splay my cold fingers against his warm skin and push my hand up his abdomen, feeling his muscles flex beneath my palm. Gods, he’s cut. He’s fucking ripped. I can’t stand looking at it.
Makes my dick hard every time.
I move my gaze away from my hand that’s slowly exposing his stomach to the camera, and Bennet’s eyes slam into mine. Those hazel depths are flashing with something I can’t decipher.
Don’t want to decipher.
“So, here we are,” I say to Bennet and the camera, pulling his shirt up until his nipples are exposed, letting them see his abs. Letting them get a taste. Not like they haven’t seen it before, but fuck, I’m seeing it again and my dick is hardening between my legs. There’s no stopping it.
“Look at him,” I murmur as I pull his shirt off, tossing it to the side. His nipples are pebbled and his skin is broken out in goosebumps. I have this ridiculous need to lick him, to press my tongue to his skin. To taste him.
When we fucked before, I didn’t really do any touching. There were reasons for this. But now, it’s just us. Alone.
I run my nose along his arm and feel the muscles of his biceps flex beneath me as I bite down on his shoulder.
