Bad Swipe

by Elise Faber

  And she didn’t give a damn. They would pry her skinny jeans and scarves off her cold, dead body.

  “Exactly,” she muttered as she finished slicking on her lipstick, of which she’d had to buy extra tubes because Ben kissed it off her so often. Not that he seemed to mind his own lips getting stained from her, and she loved the gleam that came into his eyes when he wiped his mouth of the lipstick.

  The wicked glint.

  The promise of more.

  More.

  She was starting to believe that more was a possibility. She’d certainly had more with Ben than she’d ever had with anyone else. They fit, and she liked the person she was with him, especially since she’d stopped doubting every gesture and promise.

  He showed up when he said he would. He called or texted to check in with her during the rare times they were apart, and he wasn’t passive-aggressive. He meant what he said, and there was no hidden message she needed to untangle. And beyond that, he was . . . nice and patient. He made her smile.

  She was happier than she’d been in ages. Maybe ever.

  Five weeks they’d had.

  And he hadn’t turned away from her, hadn’t pushed her to share things that made her sad, not because he didn’t notice when something made her sad, but because he did. He’d ask if she wanted to share, and when she’d found the words stoppered up, unable to admit that final piece of her that she held back, he’d just held or kissed her, murmured again that he would show her.

  Five times seven was thirty-five. Plus eight for the four weekends together. Forty-three days. How many months of dating was that?

  Six? Seven?

  Enough that she was thinking about it.

  Enough that she wanted to tell him, because he’d shown her repeatedly that he was patient and kind.

  Enough that she desired to let go of the burden.

  This weekend.

  She’d do it this weekend.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Ben

  Claire leaned back in her chair, hazel eyes sparkling, curly brown hair shining under the lights as Stef burst into laughter.

  He wanted to close the distance between them, to kiss the woman he was utterly in love with—Stef, not Claire—though he loved the latter, too, albeit in a sisterly fashion, and despite her efforts to embarrass him.

  “And then he came to that first production meeting with his hair all messed up, his shirt half-unbuttoned, and smelling like booze.”

  Baine gave him a wolfish smile. Spence looked vaguely uncomfortable, having said only a handful of words. CJ had been still and silent as a statue.

  “In fairness for my idiocy,” Ben said. “I’d never been to a strip club, and that one”—he pointed at Baine—“decided that I needed to have the full experience.”

  “You were twenty-seven and hadn’t had a lap dance. That needed to be remedied.”

  Stef’s grin stayed in place, but Ben saw a glimmer of insecurity dancing on the edges of her expression.

  Baine got that, too, and he didn’t lie to her, just said the words that would put her at ease. “This one hated it. Sat there like a statue when I brought the girls over, no matter how many drinks I bought him.”

  The insecurity faded. “Not your thing?”

  Ben shook his head, but Baine answered for him. “Definitely not his thing. No matter how much I coaxed, I couldn’t get him back there.”

  “It was too much for this nerd,” Ben said lightly. “Plus, I had enough people trying to get close to me because of Hunt. I didn’t need an entire club’s worth doing that.”

  Baine shrugged. “At least you knew what they were after the moment you walked through the door.”

  He considered that, nodded. “That’s true,” he agreed.

  “But still not your thing,” Stef murmured.

  Lacing his fingers with hers, he brought them up to his mouth and kissed them lightly. “For the scrawny kid who didn’t even have a date to prom . . . it was less a fantasy and more a nightmare.”

  Claire tsked. “Oh poor, poor CEO. Everyone wants a piece of him.”

  Baine snorted.

  Ben rolled his eyes.

  Spence’s cheeks went a little pink. CJ still played statue.

  Stef bristled, turning to Claire, her delicate features pulled into a scowl. “He’s allowed to feel the way he feels,” she ground out, adding when Claire scoffed, “And those feelings are valid, whether or not you think they are.”

  A glimpse of the fire beneath the sweet.

  Hidden steel wielded for him.

  Claire leaned forward. “You have a defender.”

  Stef narrowed her eyes. “Ben is a good man, and he deserves your respect. He’s done so much for me and—”

  Silence.

  Then Claire’s voice took on a note of cold, one that drew Ben’s sharp glare. “And what has he done, exactly?”

  He could read the undertones in the question, same as Stef could, if her going stiff as a board beside him was any indication. “Claire,” he began, warning lacing his tone.

  Stef talked over him. “He’s given me hope.”

  More silence.

  She spoke softly but fiercely, each word carefully clipped out. “And shown me that I can trust people again. Not because I was dragged along by someone else, included because someone took pity on me and brought me along. Not even because he’s stuck with me due to us working together, like . . .” Her lips pressed flat then relaxed, voice even softer, and he realized she was talking about her friends, about Heidi. “Ben chose me, and I know what a gift that is.”

  His heart thudded, twisting the words over in his mind.

  She thought her friends only liked her because of some bizarre obligation?

  That drove a blade right through his insides. He wanted to yank her out of this restaurant, find some quiet place, and yell at her until she realized that she was loveable and worthy of her friends. Then he wanted to track down Jeremy Whatever-His-Name was and hurt him for hurting her. Then he wanted to find out who else had hurt her because he understood now that her wounds weren’t from one man. They ran deeper than that, ingrained so deeply that they’d been imprinted on her soul.

  “And you’ve known him how long? A month—”

  Ben jerked his gaze to Claire. “That’s—”

  “Yes,” Stef snapped. “A month. Or five weeks, if we’re not counting that we first talked four months ago and that I chickened out and ended it.” She rolled her shoulders, and he hated the glimmer of disgust on her face, but she kept talking before he could take her to task for it. “Try as I might, I couldn’t get him out of my mind, and found that I had to talk to him, so I reached out, and we’ve been together since. So yeah, maybe we’ve been dating for barely more than a month, and maybe that’s not a long time, but maybe it doesn’t always take a long time.” She inhaled, released it slowly, her tone gentling. “Life can change in a minute, an hour. Life can change the moment that you meet someone. Life doesn’t follow a set of rules, and when you find someone who’s worth you taking a fucking risk, you grab on tight.”

  Ben was too stunned, too touched by her words to manage to do anything other than just stare at her in awe.

  Her color was high.

  Her eyes flashed with temper.

  But her grip on his hand was gentle.

  “For the record,” she continued, Claire having fallen silent, Baine, CJ, and Spence no doubt gaping very much like he was.

  She had a heart of fire, a spine of steel, and had unleashed that for him.

  For him.

  “Ben was that for me.”

  She turned, her gaze alighting on his, something warring within her gaze, as though she were trying to come to terms with a decision. Then she seemed to come to it, straightening her shoulders and saying softly, “I love you.”

  Electricity shot down his spine.

  But before he could recover, she stood. “Excuse me. I need to use the restroom.”

  Then she took off acro
ss the restaurant, disappearing down the hall, and moving out of sight.

  “I like her,” Claire breathed.

  Baine grunted in agreement.

  CJ and Spence didn’t say anything.

  But Ben barely noticed. He was already on his feet, following her.

  But she wasn’t in the bathroom.

  Wasn’t in either of the two single stalls—a fact he knew because he’d actually checked in both, barging in front of a couple of people waiting and peering inside.

  She definitely hadn’t come out of the hall, so the only logical place she could have disappeared through was the back door. He moved swiftly to it, pushing the steel panel wide and searching the dimly lit alley behind the restaurant.

  Nothing.

  Nothing.

  There.

  He moved to her. “Stef.”

  She turned, blinked up at him, tears clinging to her lashes. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Your friends—”

  “Are as in love with you as I am,” he interrupted swiftly. “Claire, especially, as it takes a rare person to both laugh at her stories and to shut her down when she goes too far.”

  “I’m—”

  “Stef, baby,” he said, tugging her against him. “I love you, but I swear to God, if you apologize one more time, I will not be held accountable for my actions.”

  A chuckle bubbled up in the space between them. “Are those supposed to be sweet words?”

  “No,” he said, and was relieved to see light enter her eyes. “But these are.” Lightly, he brushed back her hair, brushed a kiss over her forehead. “I look at your face and I’m stunned by your beauty, but the way you look here”—he ran a finger over her lips, her jaw, one eyebrow and then the other—“is nothing compared to the woman in here.” He placed a hand over her heart. “I’ve spent every night with you because I can’t stay away, because the moment I began talking to you, I felt like I was home again, like the sun was shining down on me, the clouds having finally, finally cleared.”

  “Ben,” she whispered.

  “I saw red lips and curves, was desperate to taste them both, but when I talked to you, when I held you, I knew a taste would never be enough. I want to spend an eternity with you, every night from now until they put me in the ground.”

  A tear slid from her eye, and he brushed it away. “Ben,” she whispered again.

  He loved the sound of his name on her tongue, hated the sight of her tears, even though these were of happiness. “Should I keep going?”

  She laughed as he brushed more tears away, the joy in her stare taking his breath away. “God no, I can’t take it without turning into a complete watering pot.”

  “All right,” he teased. “I’ll save them for when we’re in bed together.”

  Her red lips twitched. “Okay.”

  “Okay,” he repeated, sliding his hand up and down her back, not wanting to let her go, but knowing they couldn’t stand in this alley all night.

  Stef seemed equally as reluctant, her arms wrapping around his waist, her breathing slow and deep. But eventually, she must have realized the same thing as him, “We should go inside,” she said. “We’re probably messing up their dinner.”

  Honestly, he didn’t give a shit about Claire, Spence, CJ, and Baine’s dinners.

  He had the woman he loved in his arms, and she’d taken a huge step today. She’d been vulnerable and still let him in, trusted her with his heart. Ben knew exactly how big of a gift that was.

  Because of that he didn’t release her, not yet anyway. Instead, he wove his fingers into her hair and tilted her head back so that he could see her face. “Only if you do one thing for me.”

  She lifted her brows.

  “No more apologies.”

  Those brows dragged together.

  “You apologize too much for things that aren’t your fault.”

  “I’m—”

  “Uh-uh,” he said, bopping her on the nose. “No sorries.”

  “I wasn’t going to apologize,” she huffed. “I was just going to say that I’m so glad you came back that day. That you’re here in my life and—”

  They needed to go inside.

  But fuck if he could stop himself from kissing her again.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Stef

  Come Monday, she still hadn’t told Ben about Chance, about her parents and the twisted turn her childhood had taken.

  Not because she was avoiding it.

  But because Ben had kept her so busy in bed and at the beach and then watching an early release for a new movie Hunt was releasing. It was top secret, but he’d told her about it the week before. It featured a couple of Hollywood A-listers Stef loved, and he’d told her he’d had to beg, borrow, and practically steal the copy, just so he could bring the DVD home so she could see it. Despite the challenge, he’d brought it all the same, and she’d coaxed him into watching it twice (and crying both times).

  And did she mention he’d kept her busy in bed? Because he’d been absolutely ravenous. Not that she hadn’t been—wasn’t—the same, needing him with an intensity that was all-consuming.

  She was.

  She looked at him, saw his smile, and she was wet.

  Desire and orgasms aside, she’d decided that today would be the day. Her past was heavy. It was stifling. Not the topic for normal dinner time conversation. But she found that she needed to let that burden go.

  Finally, she needed to be done with it.

  So, she’d explain, tell him about her parents and Chance, about how she’d searched for her worth and value in other places.

  And how she had finally begun to accept that her value came first from her.

  Because Ben had given her the patience and kindness to understand that. By him seeing her value, loving her for being herself and not the over-the-top caregiver she’d been with Jeremy; nor the small, quiet, trying to never step a toe out of line girl she’d been with her parents; not even the everything was fine young woman she’d been with her college boyfriends and afterward, she found that worth.

  She was done with always doing things for everyone but herself.

  Done with thinking that doing something for herself, or wanting something, or saying no would be selfish when everyone else needed it more.

  Because it was different with Ben.

  He took care of her, making sure to give back what she offered freely . . . and that had opened doors inside her heart she had never risked cracking before, doors that had been slammed and locked for many years. He made her understand that a relationship could be different, that they could have give and take. It wasn’t always perfectly equal, sometimes one person gave or took more, but when everything was averaged, their relationship wasn’t lopsided.

  Because he never took more than his fair share. In fact, if she were being truthful, she would say that he’d given more.

  Tonight, however, would be different.

  It was her turn to give more.

  Smiling, she took the exit. She was heading back to her place after work, Fred in the back seat. She’d filled the Crock-Pot that morning with the one recipe for dinner that she couldn’t fuck up, and she was going to feed the man, give him a glorious orgasm, and then pass over the final pieces of her, offer them up on a silver platter.

  And she was going to hope that he didn’t dump them on the floor.

  Her stomach twisted, worry sliding through her.

  “No,” she gritted, gripping the steering wheel. “He’s not going to do that. He’s a good man and—Ugh, Fred!”

  Her pup had licked her ear and she cringed, trying to drive as she wiped it on her shoulder, and not having much success. Luckily, she was almost home, just turning onto her street, so she just waited until she was in her driveway and parked to get the doggy saliva out of her ear.

  “Thanks a lot, Fred,” she muttered, shuddering as she dried her ear then reached for her purse. She got out, let Fred out, not bothering with the leash since he was sure to be focused o
n dinner and not on any rogue squirrels who might be lurking. He barked, and she kept muttering, grabbing a grocery bag with some prepacked salad and store-bought chocolate cake, “Hold your horses, bud. I’ll be right . . . there?”

  Finishing on a question came from the fact that the front door was open, and Fred had let himself inside.

  She smiled, hurrying to the porch, thinking that Ben had beaten her here, and since she’d given him a key a couple of weeks before, he’d let himself in, too. Fred was probably excited to see him, and—

  Another bark.

  This one deeper. Not a friendly one.

  Her eyes flicked to the driveway, to the street, across it, realizing that she didn’t see Ben’s car anywhere.

  Fred barked again and then she heard a sharp, “Shut up!”

  And then . . . a yelp.

  She ran inside.

  As stupid as it was, she ran inside her house. Because Fred had yelped, and she couldn’t leave him to be hurt and . . .

  She dropped her purse on the entryway floor when she saw who was there.

  Jeremy. Rifling through the drawers in her kitchen.

  Fred had backed himself into the corner, his teeth bared, and he seemed to be favoring one leg awkwardly.

  And Stef saw red.

  “What in the absolute fuck are you doing here?”

  Jeremy stopped, turned to face her. “Where is it?”

  She stifled a sigh. Were they really on this merry-go-round again?

  “How did you get into my house?” she asked, carefully moving so that she put herself between Jeremy and Fred.

  “Where is it?!” Jeremy screamed.

  He looked unhinged, dark circles beneath his eyes, his cheekbones sharply pushing against pale, clammy skin, the stubble on his jaw patchy and overgrown.

  Fear clamped a heavy hand on her shoulder.

  He might hurt her, she suddenly realized. He might actually be capable of physically hurting her.

  She’d never seriously considered that possibility before.

  The truth had her pulse speeding until it was a rapid drum against her veins, her vision hazed and narrowed to the man who returned to searching through drawers, yanking one open and then the next, rifling through them, dropping the contents on the floor. She reached in her pocket for her cell, unlocked it as she asked, “Where is what, Jeremy?”