Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 103721 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103721 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
For the love of everything holy, he is deliciously unpredictable.
A bemused smile sits on his lips as he gazes down at me. My heart feels as if it’s getting knocked around like a puck, and my mind is whirling with every negative thought I can come up with.
He doesn’t mean it.
He just wants some ass.
He just wants more money.
He’s bored, and I’m here.
He has needs.
But none of my thoughts line up with his proclamation.
Because I wanted to.
Well, maybe the needs bit. And maybe I’m being hopeful, but I feel his words are more than that. Or maybe I want them to mean more because of how much I desire him. Or is it more than desire? I care for him. Deeply. But does he really want me more than sex?
Why do I make life harder than it needs to be?
For some reason, God is looking out for me because Evan calls out, “Hey, y’all making out or coming to eat?”
Benson’s gaze burns into mine as a feral grin pulls at his tantalizing lips. “Unfortunately, no making out is being done, so we’ll come eat,” he calls back, his eyes devastatingly hooded. For me, he whispers, “Unless you want to make out.”
God, yes.
Instead, I shake my head, and his knowing eyes dance. “Good thing you’re wearing sweatpants, eh?”
Oh, he is devious. “Eat ass, okay?”
“Are you offering?”
I smack him, and his grin falters as he stands back, eyeing me. “Stop. You don’t have to do this when—” He walks away, shaking his head, not even allowing me to finish. “Rude.”
Though, I’m glad he walks away. I rather hate stating what I believe, when I want the opposite. I know he is doing this for show. He has to be. Or else, he means what he says, and what the hell am I supposed to do with that? I tried so hard to script this out for us, make it easy, but I’m finding neither of us is using a script. I’m pretty sure he trashed his, and I probably lost mine. Which isn’t surprising with my ADHD.
I push off the wall and see that Callie is watching me with a knowing grin. When she starts to hump the air, I roll my eyes. “Grow up.”
Her laughter taunts me as I head toward her room when I hear the buzzer for the dryer ring. I close the door behind me, needing a moment to breathe as I take care of my clothes. I take my time switching everything over just to have a chance to compose myself. I have no clue what I’m doing. I don’t get how I’m even entertaining the idea of putting myself out there. I haven’t put myself out there like that since the last time he and I were together. Now I want to? It doesn’t make sense. What is so different about Benson?
Everything.
Absolutely everything.
I shake my head as I start the dryer and then walk back out to the kitchen to make my plate. I feel his gaze on me as I move to each pot, taking what I want, before heading to the table. Of course, there is only one seat left, and it’s beside Benson. I inhale deeply as I sit, and I notice everyone has started eating except him.
I glance over at him, a thankful smile on my face. “You didn’t have to wait for me.” He doesn’t say anything. Instead, he reaches for his fork and starts to eat. I look over at Callie, and she’s grinning around the bite she just took. “You could have waited.”
She snorts. “I didn’t know how long it was going to take for you to get your shit together before you came out.”
I flash her a dark look as Benson chuckles beside me. Soon, the conversation is flowing just as fast as the wine that Quinn had brought. Not that I expected anything less; we’re comfortable together. We laugh, we joke—but Ava, she just sits there. She has not said a word, nor has she eaten anything. I swallow my bite before I ask, “Are you not hungry, Ava? It’s really good. Evan is a wonderful cook.”
Evan’s lips curve. “It’s my new passion, helps the mental health.”
Callie leans into him, the proud fiancée, as we all wait for Ava to answer. She looks at me, and I almost wonder if she didn’t hear me. With a bit of sharpness in her voice, she says, “I’m not hungry.”
“Oh, okay,” I draw out as I lock eyes with Callie.
She shakes her head, and Quinn adds, “She’s not much of an eater.”
No one comments or even acknowledges him, because something is off here. An awkwardness falls over the table, and my knee starts to bounce. I don’t do awkward. Leaning on the table, I ask, “How long have you two been dating?”