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“Yeah, homes that I paid someone else to set up and design for me. I can take no credit for that.”
“Shit. I was counting on you.”
“I was counting on you!” Ben retorts in shock, running his hand through his hair. “Don’t you have some cute little girly place you’ve outfitted with, I don’t know, BSB posters?”
“Ha! You got one part right—little. My place in the city is like 600 square feet. And the landlord has all kinds of crazy rules about what I’m allowed to do.”
“I guess painting isn’t one of the things you’re allowed to do?”
“Bingo.”
“Okay then, you were right. We’re screwed,” Benjamin says with a big smile as he slouches into a dining room chair. He looks so casually cool—shirtless, muscular, hair perfectly mussed. I could take a picture of him now and it could be an album cover. “These paint samples seriously all look the same to me. I don’t have an eye for this stuff.”
“Me either.”
“Well, you said your dad gave you free rein money-wise, right?”
“Yeah.”
“So, why don’t we drive into the city and consult some pros? We can see about the paint—”
“Oh, and we could do some furniture shopping while we’re there!” I add excitedly. “We need a new bed.”
“We?” Ben asks with a sly grin.
“I mean for the primary bedroom. For our project. Notwelike it’sourbed,” retort, feeling myself blush.
“Got it. Well then, let’s go get abed.”
“I assume you’re going to put a shirt on for this escapade?” I ask, eyeing Ben’s bare torso with an eyebrow raised. Despite my requests for him to keep his t-shirt on, he’s always peeling it off. I make a mental note to prioritize a new HVAC system so we can get some air conditioning going inside.
“Yeah, yeah, of course. Let me do a quick shower and change. I’m not sure I’m fit to be seen in civilization like this,” he gestures to his jeans, covered in dust from some sanding he was doing earlier.
“Good point. I think I could actually draw into that layer of dust and dirt on you.”
“Ha, I’d like to see you try!” Ben stands up, showcasing his torso. “Your canvas?”
“You’re ridiculous,” I reply, but I gamely get up and go over to him. With a finger I carefully trace a tiny line on his chest—it works. There’s a clear mark where I’ve run over his skin.
“Hey it works!” Ben says in surprise.
“Told you so.”
“Hey, what are you…” Ben’s voice trails off as I keep going.
I trace my finger over his chest carefully, noting how firm his muscular physique is as I go…W… A… S… H…
I move my hand down, so I’m not tracing over his torso. Geez, he must do 100 sit-ups a day when I’m not looking. My cheeks flush as I try to concentrate on tracing a straight line—not on Ben’s abs.
M… E….
“There, all set,” I say, standing back and surveying my handiwork proudly.
Ben takes one look at the WASH ME traced on his body and bursts out laughing.
“Okay, you’ve made your point. I need a shower.”
“Me too.”
