Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 46599 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 233(@200wpm)___ 186(@250wpm)___ 155(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46599 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 233(@200wpm)___ 186(@250wpm)___ 155(@300wpm)
After pouring two glasses of water, she returns to the counter.
“Why do you work so much, Ben?” she asks.
I shrug. “I don’t like being one of those people who blames everything on their childhood.”
“Okay….”
“Which is what it’ll sound like if I tell you.”
“How about this.” She reaches over, placing her hand on my forearm, her touch reassuring. “You stop worrying about me judging you, or being extra manly, or whatever it is. It’s just us, Ben. Nobody else.”
“Just us,” I repeat, warmth infusing me like it never has before.
With a nod, I say, “Fair enough. It’s not complicated. When I was a kid, my dad died. I’m sure you’ve heard about that.”
She frowns. “Yeah, the car accident. You were only seven.”
“That part’s common knowledge,” I say. “But what the newspapers, tabloids, and boxing promoters never learned was about my mom. She’d always had a drinking problem, but it became far worse after Dad. There was a lot of drama and pain, and soon we were on the verge of being evicted.”
I shrug. “I was eleven at the time. What was I supposed to do? I started working. I found employers who were willing to look the other way when an eleven-year-old who could pass for fourteen wanted a job below minimum wage. I got two jobs, before and after school, not getting in until past midnight most nights.”
“Oh, Ben,” she mutters. “That’s awful.”
“It’s what I had to do,” I say. “It was like I flicked this switch in my head. Work mode, on. But then, I never learned how to turn it off. Even when I grew up, and started boxing…hell, with boxing, it helped. If I wasn’t training, I studied tape or visualized certain moves, mentally practicing my technique. But now, with the gyms, and real estate…there’s only so much work. Of course, the stakes are higher, but they’re not as high as being knocked out cold.”
“But you never learned how to turn that switch off,” she says softly.
I shake my head, but then I stop, a smile touching my lips. It feels like a smile, anyway, not a smirk, not a wolfish baring of my teeth.
“Until I met my Becca bee,” I tell her. “When we’re together, it’s not even a challenge. No other woman has ever made me feel that.”
She bites down, her eyes flooded with emotion, as though she can sense how much more I have to say.
But what if I tell her and it scares her?
Wouldn’t that be for the best, for Alex, for my friend?
My thoughts rush, never settling.
Then the timer for her phone goes off, shattering the moment.
“We’ll go on a real date one day,” I tell her. “A restaurant, the fanciest place in town, like you deserve.”
She smiles gently as she takes the tray out. “I don’t need the fanciest place in town, Ben. It’s enough just being with you.”
“Let me do it for me, then,” I say. “To show you how much you mean to me. I want the whole place to turn when they see us come in. Maybe a few of them will recognize me and know you’re my girl. You don’t belong to anybody else.”
I have to stop. My breath is coming quicker.
Becca stares, her expression the same as it was in the car on the way over…when she told me she was thinking about a garden, then refused to say anymore. It’s the same look now.
Then she turns to the tray.
Standing, I say, “I need to use the bathroom. Excuse me.”
I walk quickly through the cabin, almost breaking into a jog, knowing I won’t be able to hold back the desire if I stay a moment longer.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Becca
Ben returns as I’m dishing out the food.
It was good that he had to go to the bathroom right then, giving me a chance to compose myself and quiet the raging fire inside me.
When he was talking about taking me to a restaurant, he told me everybody would know I was his girl.
He was probably talking about the date and the date alone, but I couldn’t help but think about the rest of our lives. I couldn’t stop imagining him extending that feeling to every aspect of us, so people would always know I belonged to him.
He sits opposite me, his shirt sleeves rolled up, his silver hair messy from all the heat we shared. My sex rubs against my panties as I sit, my core screaming at me to do more.
But I can’t, not now, not with how freaking huge he is.
And what…waiting is going to make him less big?
He forks a chicken piece, smiling at me. “Are you sure you’re a photographer and not a chef? These are cooked to perfection.”
I giggle, shaking my head. “You’re such a tease, Ben. We both know it’s impossible to mess up frozen chicken pieces.”