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Wipers. Rain. A second beat of silence.
“I have tomorrow night off,” Bennett said. “Will you come over? We can talk.”
I exhaled, perhaps a little too sharply, and he winced. “I’m herenow, Bennett.”
He swallowed and redirected his attention to the road. “I know that. I’m not good at talking on my feet like you are. I need time to think. I didn’t think this would happen yet.”
“Yet?”
There you go, Con. Steer it back to neutral territory. You already know he’s not running. Get back to your safety lane.
Bennett clicked his tongue. “Didn’t mean to say that. But. Yes. I was hoping you’d kiss me. At some point.”
I repeated the specific words he used in my head.He wants me to take the lead. Initiate.
I reached across the console and put my hand on his knee. “We can talk tomorrow. It’s okay. I can wait. Let’s just let tonight be tonight, all right?” I squeezed. “I’m not going anywhere.”
He blew out a sigh of relief and licked his lips. Put his hand on mine. “You’re a better kisser than I remember.”
“Hmm,” I said and lifted my fingers so that they interlocked with his. “Talk is good and all. But don’t actions speak louder than words?”
Another big Benny smile. As bright as sunshine. He held up his free hand and lifted the index finger. “Just one more time, Connor.” I grinned and ran my tongue over my teeth. Bennett giggled, said, “I’m serious, just once more. I can’t be making out all night while on duty like this. I need to pull over at least one at some point.”
He said more, but I stopped listening. Grabbed his jaw with my thumb and forefinger and pulled him in. If he gave me the limit of only one additional round of making out, I would honor that request and not push.
But I would sure as hell enjoy every second of those lemon-honey lips.
We made out like teenagers by the river. Like former lovers made anew. Like we re-experienced old familiars with fresh senses. Felt like slipping into a favorite pair of shoes that had been missing for years.
I lost myself in him as we held on to each other.
ChapterEight
WEMETATthe gym the following day. Another workout where Bennett kicked my ass. We kept to our playful banter that became a regular thing. This time, I controlled my libido with regular water breaks and quick circuits around the gym while Bennett worked on his abs, his glutes, his thighs… well, anything really.
The phantom of his kiss lingered on my lips after the previous evening ended. He dropped me off at the house around midnight. In the morning, I remembered an old bio-hack trend I used to do and made myself lemon and honey water, if only to taste Bennett again. I had errands to run, mainly coordinating with Rachel to drop off my rental at the nearest site, now that I knew I’d be in town for the foreseeable future. While my mother didn’t drive per se, she had purchased a car for Rachel to use to chauffeur her, a midnight blue Jaguar E-Pace with a cream interior. With my mother staying home and the hospital coming to her, I had free range with the luxury SUV.
Bennett had texted me when he woke up. Sweet words reminiscing about last night graced my sight, followed by an invitation to work out before going over to his place. I packed a pair of nice clothes in my gym bag and, while Bennett didn’t say specifically, I considered it a date. I brought the cologne.
I followed him back to his place when we finished working out and showering. He drove a gunmetal gray Ford Ranger with rust along the wheel wells and dings here and there on the bumper. The drive lasted only ten minutes before we were rolling through a neighborhood choked with pine trees. He pulled into a narrow driveway up a short hill, patches of old grass that survived the winter slicing through the center of the blistered tar. His truck slid under a carport and I parked behind him.
Bennett lived in a one-story house with white siding and black shutters. A herringbone brick walkway meandered to the front door, a stoop of three steps and a pitched overhang. I savored the moment of walking behind him. Until now, I had mostly seen him in workout gear or in his uniform. He wore a pair of blue jeans that complimented his lower body. Beneath his light jacket he wore an unbuttoned navy blue flannel with a white undershirt. Classically all-American. I wanted to tear it all off and see it piled in the corner of his bedroom floor.
He slid his keys into the deadbolt lock and looked over his shoulder at me. Caught me staring at his ass. Smiled. Behind us, the sun sank below the tree line on its way to bed. “This place isn’t as swanky as a Hollywood bachelor pad. Or a remodel of theColonel William Clarke House.” He said the last part in a faux urbane accent.
I ascended a single step onto the stoop. He was two above me, which put his height just slightly over mine. I put my hands on his hips and urged him forward. “Hey, as long as you’re around, I really don’t care if we hang out at the Ritz-Carlton or down along the Sudbury.”
I observed his reaction at the coy mention of our old spot.
He blushed. I beamed.
We stepped into his house to a linoleum landing that emptied directly into the beige-carpeted living room. Sectional sofa to the left with big cushions and a couple of throws, a large square ottoman at the center, flatscreen on the wall. A record player sat upon stacked shelving stuffed with records. I had forgotten he enjoyed vinyl. I opened my mouth to say as much. Took in a breath.
I turned green. So did he. I clapped a hand over my mouth.
“Oh, hell, Bennett, what is that smell?”
His green deepened into red. “The cat!” Once I was inside, he closed the door and swiveled his head. To the right sat the kitchen with the same linoleum tiling as the front entrance. Directly before us was a hallway where I saw a pile of cat mess as a present.
