by Arthurs, Nia
Besides, Seo Ah had gone through hell and he’d been such an idiot that he hadn’t even seen it. He should have asked more questions when she told him about sleeping with her professor. Instead, he’d gone off the deep end and broken up with her.
What kind of guy would he be if he rejected his girlfriend because of that sleazy old man? He should try to understand, right? He should heal her wounds and be the knight in shining armor that she needed.
Damn, but I don’t want to.
A weight sat on his chest. He gripped the edges of the bed and swung his feet to the floor. Benson slipped a hand over his mouth and ran it up, past his temples, into his hair.
He was a jerk. Plain and simple.
Padding to the kitchen for some water, he guzzled the mug in the fridge, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and headed back to bed.
Nothing much had changed, but he liked to pretend that doing nothing would ream some sort of benefit. It was the Ostrich method. Bury your head in the sand and maybe your problems go away.
For the next hour and a half, Benson fought with the mattress, unable to get any rest. After another ten minutes, he gave up entirely and headed into the office to look through the bar’s financials.
If he couldn’t sleep, he might as well do something productive.
Around dawn, Benson’s jaw cracked on a yawn. His eyes were burning like he’d thrown raw alcohol in them. Dragging himself out of the chair, he fell into bed and slept.
* * *
A whirring sound woke him. Benson peeked an eye open, silently cursing the idiot that was blasting his lawn mower at… he peered at the clock and his eyes bugged. Nine? It was so late?
He scrambled out of bed. Sunshine paraded past the blinds covering the windows. The heat in the room was enough to melt his bones. He whipped his shirt off and headed to the bathroom to do his business.
When he was done, he washed his hands in the sink and threw some water on his face. His hair looked wild and in desperate need of a brush. Since he was alone in the house, Benson didn’t care.
He scratched his naked chest, another yawn cracking his jaw, and headed to the kitchen. His stomach growled.
“Yeah, yeah.” He shushed it. Stacie had to have ingredients for eggs and toast. Even if she didn’t, he knew he’d find her favorite weight-loss granola bars stashed in every nook and cranny.
As he walked down the stairs, the whirring noise got louder. What he’d mistaken for a lawn mower was actually the blender.
His eyes narrowed. Had someone snuck in? What kind of ballsy thief made himself breakfast in someone else’s house?
Benson searched for something to use as a weapon, but there was nothing. He settled on using his kickboxing knowledge as his defense and crept carefully down the stairs.
At least one of the assailants was in the kitchen, but he didn’t see anyone in the living room or foyer. Was this a one-man job then?
He neared the doorway to the kitchen and slid in.
The person working the blender turned.
His gaze collided with Carrie’s.
Her jaw dropped. Brown eyes dipped to his shoulders and chest before bouncing back to his face. He was so shocked he couldn’t even react. Instead, Benson soaked in the sight of her.
Carrie wore a spaghetti-strap tank top over a pair of barely-there shorts that exposed every glossy inch of her ebony legs. His pulse spiked. Benson was definitely a legs guy and this woman had legs for days.
She popped her headphones from her ears and stared at him, shock dripping from her plump lips. “Benson? What are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same question.” He strode toward her.
Carrie visibly shirked back, her hips slamming against the counter as if she’d forgotten an obstruction was there. She flinched. Benson would reach out to check if she was okay, but he couldn’t trust himself to touch her right now.
Soaking in a deep breath, Carrie shook her head. “I thought Stacie’s house would be empty.”
“Is that your thing? Breaking and entering to steal blenders?” He nodded to the machine on the counter.
“No, I—” Her eyes whipped to his chest again. She licked her lips and turned slightly away from him. “Stacie gave me the key. She asked me to check in on her dog.”
“Why would she do that? I’m housesitting for her and taking care of the dog.”
“She must have forgotten,” Carrie said unsteadily.
He doubted that. Stacie had a steel-trap mind that forgot nothing. If she’d given Carrie a key, it was for a reason.
“Did I wake you?” Carrie rubbed the back of her neck.
“Yeah, but it’s alright. I needed to get up anyway.”
Her hands trembled when she reached out to hold the blender. Benson strode over and cupped his hand over hers to stable the mug. Carrie sucked in a little breath and it gave him pride to know that he wasn’t the only one feeling the tension between them.
She quickly slipped her hand back and tried to escape. Wiping her hands on her shorts, she offered a trembling smile. “Well, I’m sorry for disturbing you. I should go now.”
“Have you had breakfast?”
She froze. Turned back around. Her soulful brown eyes focused on him. Benson leaned against the counter and crossed his ankles, staring back at her with a placid expression.
Carrie looked like a baby deer ready to bolt at any sudden movements.
When she hesitated, he tilted his head. “It’s just breakfast.”
“See, I don’t believe you.” Her nose scrunched.
“Why?” He stalked toward her, smiling as he watched the emotions play across her face in real time. Interest. Desire. Annoyance. With herself? With him? He wasn’t sure.
Carrie put a hand out to stop him from inching closer. Her fingernails lightly grazed the center of his chest. Pinpricks of heat settled everywhere her hand brushed. He snatched her wrist, keeping her captive.
“I’ll stay for breakfast,” Carrie whispered. Her eyes cleared and she tilted her head. “Is your girlfriend joining us?”
The reminder of Seo Ah sent what could have been a very interesting morning careening to the ground. He pulled back and shook his head. “No.”
Benson should correct Carrie about calling Seo Ah his girlfriend. They weren’t back together. Yet.
He’d heard her side of things. Now the ball was in his court and the only reason he was stalling was standing right in front of him in sexy shorts.
Moments like this confused him. Carrie’s mouth said that night meant nothing, but her eyes… they were singing a different tune. He found it hard to walk away from the silent promise that lingered between them.
“Hm.” Carrie pursed her lips as if second-guessing her decision to stay.
He steered her to the bar stool surrounding the island counter. “Sit tight. I make a mean omelet.”
“You can cook?” She seemed to relax a little and settled her chin on her hands.
“Only breakfast foods. I’m a beast at waffles, pancakes, eggs, toast—”
“Waffles aren’t just for breakfast. They’re multi-functional.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He grinned and grabbed a pan from the cupboards. Next he went to the fridge and extracted every vegetable and cold meat he could find. When he glanced over his shoulder, he found Carrie staring at his back. Smiling, he asked, “See something you like?”
She stiffened and Benson was pretty sure she was blushing under that stunning dark skin. “What?”
“Your toppings.” He stepped aside and gestured to the ingredients on the counter.
Carrie pulled her lips between her teeth and glared at him. They both knew he hadn’t been referring to the vegetables.
She cleared her throat. “Surprise me.”
“I knew you’d say that?” He flicked the stove on.
He heard Carrie scoff behind him. “Typical guy. Thinks he knows everything.”
“Is that a challenge?”
“Try me.
”
He abandoned the pan and turned around. Folding his arms across his chest, he studied her. “You like control. Even when you’re letting loose, you still have to be the one holding the reigns.” He turned back to the pan. “You don’t like change unless it’s in measured doses and you don’t like complicated.” He shot her a look. “How’d I do?”
“I guess you’re the next Doctor Phil.” Carrie laughed softly. The sound of her voice as she chuckled was like music to his ears. He hadn’t seen her smile much around him lately. Not after that night.
He wished she would. Carrie could brighten his whole world when she smiled.
And these are the sorts of thoughts you shouldn’t be having if you’re getting back with Seo Ah.
He tried to pull himself back. As far as he could tell, Carrie wasn’t open to a repeat of that night. Even if he could read her desire for him, she wasn’t acting on it and he wasn’t the type of man to force himself where there was no consent.
Carrie’s laughter dried out and her expression turned shy. “Do you, ah, work out?”
Just like that, all his good intentions evaporated.
He’d barely talked himself out of whatever this was and then she went and looked at him with open admiration? How was a man to get back with his ex facing temptations like that?
“Sorry. Stupid question.” Carrie cleared her throat.
He shrugged and tried to make his voice sound casual. “I practice kickboxing.”
“You’re kidding. You fight? Like in the dramas?”
He arched an eyebrow. “I don’t know how they do it in Korean dramas, but I guess.”
“No wonder you’re so ripped.” The words were muffled, under her breath, but he still caught them. Carrie froze and fanned her face. “Is it getting hot in here?”
It definitely was.
Abruptly, Benson flipped off the stove. Carrie watched him with an inquisitive gaze as he stalked past her and headed for the stairs.
“Where are you going?” she called.
“I’ll be right back.” He strode into the guestroom and pulled on a shirt. Until he had a talk with Seo Ah, there’d be no fooling around with the minx downstairs.
He’d keep his hands to himself.
Even if it killed him.
9
Carrie was disappointed when Benson returned to the kitchen with a shirt. Then she checked herself for being a horny little perv. They could stare each other down and simmer in the loins for eternity, nothing would change the fact that:
a. she wasn’t ready for a relationship so soon after her breakup.
b. Benson and Seo Ah were perfect together.
She’d done the interracial thing before. Gone out with this white guy, Timothy, back in college. Timothy had been super excited about dating a black girl… until his parents made a surprise visit to campus.
All of a sudden, he was ‘Carrie who?’
Carrie would never forget the shame she’d felt when Timothy forced her to hide, naked and cold, in his closet until his parents left. Afterwards, he tried to soothe her by blaming it on them and saying his parents wouldn’t understand, but Carrie saw through the bull.
Timothy had no problem getting between her legs just to say he’d been with a black girl, but when it came to bringing her home to mama? He ran.
Carrie could imagine the familial pressure was ten-fold in the Asian community. She’d seen enough dramas to know the drill. In the shows, Asian parents were looking for two things in a prospective daughter-in-law: money and status.
She had neither.
To make matters worse, she was black—a color linked to a whole bunch of stereotypes and racist assumptions.
You’re assuming he even wants to date you…
Carrie knew she was grasping at straws here. Benson hadn’t asked her out or even mentioned that night again. Still, she clung to all the little reasons why letting him coax her upstairs and into his bedroom would be a bad idea.
Those abs of his had almost changed her mind.
Maybe it was a good thing he’d put a shirt on.
“Here we go.” Benson slid a perfectly cooked omelet before her.
She grabbed her cell phone. “Wait, I need to post a pic first.”
He scrunched his nose.
Carrie caught the disapproving look. “What?”
“Some things are better left unshared.”
“That’s a mighty judgmental tone.” She stuck her tongue out before fixing her camera on the plate and snapping a couple pictures.
Benson munched quietly and waited for her to put her phone up. She dug her fork into the fluffy eggs and moaned. “Oh, so good.”
“I know.” He gave her a roguish grin and propped his chin on his elbow, pinning her in place with dark eyes. “I’m amazing.”
She squirmed, wondering if he was referring to his cooking skills or… other things. If it was the latter, praise would be justified but uncomfortable to mention given they’d promised to forget about that night.
Carrie cleared her throat. “Your humility is suffocating me.”
He chuckled.
“I’m curious.” Carrie set her fork down. “Are your rice-and-beans skills as good as your omelet skills?”
“Sorry. These hands are only good at making breakfast.” He leaned back. “I used to work at a buffet chain in the morning before classes. It was the only business that could give me the hours I needed. The chef taught me everything he knew.”
“I didn’t know you worked part-time.”
“You thought I was made of money?” He arched an eyebrow.
Carrie ducked her head as her cheeks burned. “That’s not what I meant. Stacie gave me the impression your folks were well off. I assumed…”
“My parents died when I was young so Stace and I went to live with our aunt and uncle. They didn’t believe in handing out free cash. They paid our tuition, but we had to earn our own money for gas, food, and living expenses. They wanted us to learn the benefits of hard work.” He tilted his head. “What about your folks?”
“I guess they spoiled me. I grew up not having to work for anything.”
“What do they do?”
“They run a natural skin care line. Mom’s big on ‘embracing your true self’. I wasn’t allowed to wear makeup or ‘alter’ my appearance at all.” She plucked at her hair. “As you can see, I deviated from that path.”
“What do you mean?”
Carrie chuckled at his confused expression. “This hair isn’t mine.”
“It’s not?”
“No.”
“Whose is it?”
“No, I mean…” She laughed. “I’ve never had to explain this before. I paid for it at the store.” She eyed him with a smirk. “You at least know what a wig is?”
“Of course I know about wigs.” He forked a piece of egg into his mouth and said casually, “You should smile more often. You look even more beautiful when you do.”
Carrie froze.
Benson pushed the last of his meal into his mouth and stood. “Is bar managing what you’ve always wanted to do?”
She blinked a couple times to clear the haze that had accompanied his unexpected flattery. “Uh, not really. I didn’t have a dream growing up. I just wanted to get away from my parents.”
“They were strict? Religious?”
“You can say that. Their natural-everything regime was a sort of religion to them. But the hippie lifestyle wasn’t for me. I ran as soon as I could.”
“Do you keep in touch?”
She shrugged. “They’re my family. I love them even if they’re insane.” She jutted her chin at him. “What about you?”
“Me?”
“What’s your dream?”
He swung to the sink. Carrie stared at his back—the muscles roped under that shirt embedded in her memory. Silence settled in the kitchen and she wondered if she should repeat the question.
“My dream…” Benson turned suddenly, “I want to write.”
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Grabbing her mostly empty plate, Carrie moved over to him. “Like… novels?”
He nodded and then bit his bottom lip in a move that was both boyish and incredibly sexy. “Stupid, right?”
“Why would that be stupid?” She bunched her eyebrows. “At least you have a dream.”
“Yeah, but I’m not doing anything to go for it.” He leaned his hip against the counter.
“So do it.”
He eyed her as if insulted. “It’s not that simple.”
“Sounds like it to me.” She nudged him aside with her foot and dunked her plate into the sudsy water in the sink. “If I had a dream, I’d run at it with everything inside me. I wouldn’t stop until I made it come true.” Carrie rinsed the suds off and placed the plate in the rack. “You’re incredibly fortunate to have a stable business that can support you while you pursue the job that you actually love.”
“I guess you’re right,” he mumbled.
Carrie lifted her chin. “I’m always right.”
“And you said my humility was suffocating?”
She turned to him, wet hands on her hips. “Don’t use my own words against me.”
“Why not?” He took a step toward her. “I like seeing you squirm.”
“Is that what this is?” She had to lift her neck to keep staring into his eyes as he moved even closer.
“I don’t know what this is,” he said softly. Again, Carrie got the feeling that they were talking in riddles. Could he be referring to the conversation or the heat that burst to life whenever they were near each other?
Her mind went black.
Her heart? Buck wild.
Later, she’d blame the sunlight filtering through Benson’s messy hair, the tenderness in his smoldering gaze, and the deepening connection their conversation spurred for what she did next.
Taking that last step toward him so the space between them shrank to a millimeter, she leaned closer. Their lips lingered an inch apart. Her eyes fluttered shut. She felt him take her chin, calloused thumb rasping over her jawline.
Carrie opened her eyes.
Saw him hesitating.
What am I doing?
Horrified, Carrie whirled around. Her chest heaved and her body trembled. She was sure that Benson could see her distress despite the fact that she’d given him her back.
