Page 50 of Friends With Benedicts

“I dunno. I’ll probably feed her a bunch of sugar and send her back with you.”

“If you value your life, you’ll rethink that.”

I chuckled. “Probably swim. Maybe the park. Think she’ll like that?”

“I think she’ll like anything she does as long as it’s with you. She takes after her mom that way.” She stepped into her panties and reached for her bra.

“Does that mean you’ll come over after work? I mean, after you shower. I enjoy fries just as much as the next guy, but grease traps aren’t my fragrance of choice.” I caught the pillow she threw at me and chucked it back at her hard enough to almost knock her over.

She was laughing too hard to be mad. “Absolutely! Dick,” she said, pulling on her uniform.

I mourned the loss of my view.

Later, you’ll have your fill. And soon, this could be every morning.

“Have your mom text me when’s a good time.”

“All right. My cousins will be glad Cilla’s gone. They need all the hands they can get packing mailers for Keep It Local and making signs for the march next week.”

My smile faded at the reminder of that particular issue. “Tell them to pack up a box and we’ll work on some here. If we don’t give Abuela something to do, she’s going to drive us all nuts.”

“She’s not being a good patient?” she asked wryly. “I’d never have guessed.”

“I caught her trying to vacuum yesterday. With a walker.”

“Oh my God,” she said on a laugh, buttoning her dress.

“She cussed me out in Spanish when I took it away and put it in the garage where she couldn’t get to it.” At her curious look, I clarified, “Stairs. Abuela’s Achilles.”

“Well, if it’ll help, then of course. Oh, I have a balm for her too—sorta like icy hot with CBD in it. Don’t tell her there’s weed in it.”

“What makes you think that’d stop her?”

Presley turned to me with a smirk as she pulled her hair up into a messy bun. “Well, maybe we should get her the real thing. Give Abuela a joint and I bet she’d chill out.”

“Anything’s worth a shot. She’s gonna be so pissed if she busts her other hip trying to sneak the vacuum back in.”

She yawned and packed up her things, slinging her bag on her shoulder before turning back to me with a bummed look on her face that matched mine.

“I wish I could stay.”

“Me too.”

“You look like a goddamn model lying in bed with the sheets around your waist like that. Makes it pretty hard to go to a place where I’ll get pie all over me.” She made her way around to my side of the bed and reached for my hand.

I pulled until she was in my lap with a squeak. “I’d ask if you’ve looked in a mirror recently, but you literally just did.”

“Please. I have a busted mom bod.”

“Nothing about you is busted, Pres.”

“You have to say that. You did this to me, you know,” she joked.

But I didn’t laugh. “I don’t have to say anything. When it comes to you, there’s not a single thing I don’t want.”

“Even my saggy belly?”

I laughed. “Nothing on you sags.”

“That is a bald-faced lie, Sebastian Vargas. Flattery will get you everywhere, but don’t straight up lie to me.”

“What, you think I expect you to have the same body you had at sixteen?”

“It wouldn’t be the worst, would it?”

I shifted her weight in my lap so I could get a better angle on her smiling lips. “It’d be a little disturbing to fuck a sixteen-year-old, don’t you think?”

She sighed. “You know what I mean.”

“I don’t want you any other way. In fact, you know what I was just thinking as I sat here watching you get dressed?”

“I’m not sure I want to know.”

“I was thinking that every little difference in your body is just more proof you belong to me. You’re right. I did this to you. How could I do anything but love the proof of that?”

Her cheeks were smudged with color, her pupils wide as she cupped my jaw. “You’re too much, you know that?”

I leaned in, smirking. “So are you. It’s why we make such a good pair.”

I captured her lips in a kiss thick with longing and promises and possession, kissed her until she was wrapped around me, and the air was heavy with desire.

She broke away with half-shut eyes. “I’m gonna be late.”

“Then I’d better be quick.”

And I swallowed her laughter with a kiss before making doubly sure her late slip was worth it.

A little while later, I stood leaned against the porch post with my hands in the pockets of my sleep pants, watching Presley drive away, daydreaming about the future. We’d have a little house in town big enough for Cilla and her mom. Lazy mornings that would afford Presley the time to do what she wanted—run her business, just like she wanted. Grow her business. Do what she loved all day, every day rather than in the free moments she grabbed between the dozen other responsibilities she had.

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