Page 46 of Peaches

Today the café is so slow after lunch that I decide to break out the Valentine’s Day decorations to keep myself busy. The holiday is still technically a couple weeks away, but people around here love getting in the spirit of—well,anyspirit, really—and it’s the perfect distraction. Charlotte, who’s been working from the far corner booth all afternoon, eyes me with an arched brow as I unravel a giant pink heart made of tinsel.

“You have something you want to share, Liv?” she asks.

I throw her a look. “Doyou?” I’ve hardly seen her in weeks since she’s been spending a majority of her time at Ivan’s house. Their relationship is trapezing fromcasualtoseriousreally fast, but I can tell it makes her happy. Even as she rolls her eyes now.

She rises from the booth and stretches her arms over her head before meandering over to check out the box of decorations. When she pulls out a roll of red streamers, she nonchalantly mutters, “Ivan asked me to go to Florida with him for Valentine’s Day weekend.”

I gaze at her. “A romanticvacation?”

Her brows pinch. “Do you think it’s too soon?”

“How the hell should I know? The furthest I’ve gotten in a relationship is all the campaigning Shawn did to ask me to prom.” Shawn was in my senior year math class. He was definitely cute but super timid, and mixed with my overall lack of confidence with boys, nothing between us ever stood a real chance at amounting to much. He was my first kiss though and, later,almostmy first time . . . but his intense nervousness sort of shut the whole thing down before it ever really got anywhere.

“What if he murders me? What if I end up on an episode ofDateline, my body lost at sea?”

I shrug. “Not the worst way to go—you’ve always wanted to be famous. And a mermaid.”

She swats my shoulder, laughing.

“Honestly, Char, if he’s making you happy, just lean into it. Take the chance. He seems to really like you.”

“What about you?”

I think about Rhett and everything that happened in that apartment four days ago and have to work to fight a blush. “He’s . . .” I say, not knowing how to finish the thought. He’s kind and warm? Sexy as hell? He knows how to work my body better than I do? “He’s good.”

Char gives me an incredulous look, like she knows I’m holding out. “Good?”

I sigh, looking around before making eye contact. “We had sex,” I whisper. “Twice.”

The roll of streamer drops from her hand, wheeling across the floor until it runs into the leg of the table the mayor’s wife currently occupies with two other ladies from town. “Shit,” she mumbles, running to pick it up and apologize to the women before coming straight back to me. “Spill,” she directs, her eyes bright with excitement.

Laughing, I try to explain as honestly as possible so she doesn’t get any wrong ideas. “I sort of asked him to,” I say. “After we kissed, I guess I decided if he was going to let me practice . . .thingswith him, I should take advantage.” The words taste bitter as they leave my mouth, but I’m not about to tell Charlotte how thoroughly he’d dismantled me in that apartment, both with his body and the things he’d said after.

“And he was happy to oblige?” she asks, wagging her brows.

Shame burns the back of my neck. “It wasn’t like that,” I quickly say. “It was . . . really nice. Thoughtful, even.”

The look on her face morphs into something rooted in confusion, and I can’t blame her. “Rhett Bennett wasthoughtfulwith you?”

I nod. “He . . . cared about my experience.”

She smiles, a knowing gleam in her eye. “He fucked you good, didn’t he?”

“Charlotte!”

“I mean, it’s Rhett Bennett! If there’s anything he’d be good at when it comes to women, it’d be delivering memorable nights in bed.” She leans forward. “I want to knoweverything.”

My cheeks burn hot and I’m suddenly sweating. I should be comfortable telling my best friend all about my night with Rhett—lord knows she spares no details when she’s dishing about her own sexcapades. But something about sharing the way he was with me, simultaneously dizzyingly rough and tender, feels cheap.

I had to hide small bruises that wrapped around my wrists under an oversized sweatshirt the next day for work. And that’s not counting the half-dozen sprinkled fingerprint-sized marks he’d left around my thighs . . .

It feels wrong to give details about something I’m not even sure I fully understand for myself. The way the marks he left on my body don’t scare me. The way Ilikedall the things he did to me, how it made me feel powerful when he lost control. The way he held me afterward and told me that his heart raced . . . I had a hard time believing that would be normal for him.

Then again, do I really know him? Maybe it’s part of the reason everyone is so quick to warn girls about the Bennett brothers. Maybe he’s just playing with me and I’m naive for falling for it.

I sigh. “Another time,” I mutter. “I need to get back to work.”

Charlotte’s gaze skims over the decorations at my feet, picking up on my hesitation. “Okay.” She nods, a coy grin still plastered to her face as if to tell me my lack of desire to spill my guts about the whole thing won’t deter her for long. “Sure.”

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