Page 64 of If Only In Our Dreams

“But the chair screeched.”

“Chairs do that sometimes.”

I was just trying to get over the fact that Ben had called me sweetheart and gorgeous all in one day.

“Mom didn’t like loud noises like that,” I tried to explain—because I was dumb, and my mouth wouldn’t stop running. “One time Miles sat down too heavy and oh my god! You wouldn’t believe the tongue-lashing he got later. It was at a party? She’d throw these parties. With her friends. Well…they weren’t really her friends? More like acquaintances that all pretended to be friends because their families had money. You know? Fake friends. Like in high school.”

Ben, to his credit, looked fascinated.

“Anyway. She didn’t like that. Said it was impolite.” I bobbed my head, cheeks hot. Then, because I’d been talking too long, I latched on to my coffee to shut myself up. Before I could bring it to my lips, however, Ben reached out and with one sexy-ass finger, pushed the rim gently till I set it down.

“It’s still too hot,” he hummed. “Wait a minute so you don’t burn your mouth.”

“I like a little pain,” I said, because again—my mouth hated me.

The grandfather clock ticked and Ben’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment before opening again, something indecipherable flickering deep inside them.

“Good to know.” Ben cleared his throat and reached across the table. “Cream? Sugar?” Ben’s hand flexed, knuckles turning white as he grabbed the creamer.

“Yes please.”

He flashed me a little smile as he fixed my coffee up for me. “I didn’t know how you liked it.”

“I like it ninety percent sugar,” I told him. “The sweeter the better.”

“Also good to know.”

Ben let me drink only after he’d decided it wasn’t going to burn me. Which I appreciated, but also hated, because it meant my mouth kept running off without something to occupy it. I ended up shoveling pancakes in my mouth—then half-orgasming because holy shit these were good—just to shut myself up.

By the time my plate had been cleaned and my coffee was empty, I was a sleepy, happy pile of Ben’s clean laundry. Leaning back in my chair, I watched Ben through pleased slits as he moved to rise from his chair. He made a face. A new face. A face he hadn’t made before, and I frowned.

“You okay?”

“Fine,” Ben rose to his full height with a hum and reached out for the dishes. But I beat him to it, slapping his hands away as I piled everything high and waddled my way toward the sink, careful not to drop anything.

“You cooked, I’ll clean.”

Ben was right behind me. “That’s not necessary.”

“Sure it’s not,” I agreed. “But it’s happening anyway.”

Ben laughed. He leaned against the counter to watch me for a minute. “You really don’t have to do that. You’re a guest.”

“A guest that stole your bed and spent the night without being invited?” I arched an eyebrow. “A guest that is currently wearing your clothing, again stolen, and used half your bottle of conditioner to—” Oh no.

Oh no.

Ben’s eyebrows shot up when my rambling screeched to a halt. “Used half my bottle of conditioner towhat, Robin?” His voice was a quiet, amused rumble. There was heat in his eyes again, low and flickering.

My mouth clicked shut, further implicating myself.

“What did you do with it, Robin?”

“Ah hahahaha!” I twisted away from him. “Did I say something about conditioner? Because I didn’t mean to.” This was not going well. “I’ve never seen a bottle of conditioner in my life.”

God, how embarrassing.

Especially when it’d been his face I was picturing as I stroked myself off. That eyebrow twitch. He was probably bossy in bed too, wasn’t he? Super bossy. I licked my lips, staring at the soapy dishes blindly. “I mean?—”

---