Learning to Love the Heat

by Everly Lucas

  So, not only did he pick up on my food weirdnesses last night, but he remembers them a full twelve hours later. I used to have to remind Cameron at least once a week, and we’d been together for over three years. Why does Ben have to be so damn thoughtful? Any other woman would love this kind of treatment from a man like him. Poor guy had to go and bestow it on me.

  “Tonight’s no good. Maybe another time.”

  Part of me means that—the “maybe another time” part. Cameron slowly drove away all my old friends, and when I left him, I lost all the friends I’d made through him. So, yeah, a new one would be nice. But how long until Ben wants more? I can tell he’s already holding back. I’m not suffering under the delusion that I’m irresistible or anything, but the way he stares at me…

  “Another time. Absolutely,” he says, not looking the least bit deterred. “You’ll have to give me your number for that to happen, though.”

  Damn. I really backed myself into that corner.

  “Oh, I do, do I? How about you give me yours?”

  “An even exchange, then. Let me see your phone.” He makes the universal hand-it-over gesture, so I locate my cell on one of the end tables and place it in his waiting palm. After he enters his digits, he pulls his phone from his back pocket and holds it in front of me.

  Eying it like it’s the devil disguised as a black rectangle, I reluctantly take it from him and plug in my number.

  There. It’s done. No taking it back, now.

  I head upstairs to his magnificent bedroom to change into my dress and clean, yet slightly damp, bathing suit. When I emerge, tote bag on my shoulder and ready to go, I find Ben leaning against the kitchen counter, facing away from me. His hair is up again, and my fingers itch to untie it and comb through the loose strands. My heart races, and I grow warm from the inside out, just from looking at the back of his head.

  This whole thing with him and Andy is messing with my mind. Before yesterday, it had been years since I’d felt sexually attracted to a guy—my ex included. And now, in less than twenty-four hours, two men have gotten under my skin and made me want…I can’t even think it without feeling queasy.

  Maybe I’m ovulating, like, real hard. Hormones go into overdrive at that time of the month, right? That has to be the reason for all these unwelcome cravings. My biological clock is saying, “These guys look super virile. Let’s make babies with them!” If that’s the case, hand me a sledgehammer so I can pulverize the fucking thing.

  There’s only one solution: I need to leave. Now.

  “Okay, I’m ready,” I say as I round the counter to stand in front of him. This close, I have a much better view of those warm, green eyes of his. They’re so expressive, and right now, they express longing. My brain screams at me to escape, but as I take my first step back, he closes the distance between us and wraps me in his arms.

  I’m being hugged. Ben’s hugging me. Honestly, I haven’t been held like this in so long, I’d forgotten how good and safe it can make me feel. Ben’s strong arms are both those things and more, and I find myself leaning into him and enjoying the warmth and comfort of his embrace.

  Cameron was never big on hugging. The most physical contact we had after our first year together came in the form of mediocre sex, and even that fizzled out toward the end of our relationship. Just thinking about my ex makes this normal, friendly gesture into something…just, something else.

  As soon as my body goes stiff, Ben releases me and steps back. “I had an amazing time with you, Claire. And I mean it—we should stay in touch and get together soon. I’d really like to have you as a friend,” he says, his voice catching on the last word.

  “I’d like that, too.” In theory, at least.

  He checks his phone when it vibrates on the counter. “I got you a car. It’s waiting outside.”

  He walks me downstairs and out to the waiting SUV. When he opens the door for me, our eyes meet for an extended moment before I say, “Goodbye, Ben.”

  The week passes. That’s really all I can say for it.

  Ever the dutiful daughter, I call my mom and assure her that I’m doing just great. Of course, I’m lying through my teeth, but I’ve learned it’s something she needs to hear every couple of days, now that I’m living alone. She once told me she’s afraid I’ll be murdered in my apartment, and no one will realize I’m dead until my body starts to decompose and my neighbors call the landlord to complain about the stench. Her concern is legit, really, since I’m friendless and she’s my only family.

  I go to work and stay late every single day—even after I clock out—to soak up as much cold air as possible before heading home. I spend my evenings at the café with my laptop, writing about women who do things with men I can’t even think of doing myself, which includes pretty much every physical intimacy that involves another person. And I look at my phone at least fifty times a day to see if Ben’s called or texted.

  He hasn’t.

  The way he talked on Sunday, I was sure I’d have heard from him by now. You’d think I’d be okay with the radio silence, given how reluctant I was to give him my number. But I’m not. I’m beyond disappointed.

  Looking at it logically, it’s for the best. Sure, it’d be great to know I’m not the only one who still thinks about our Saturday together. But once we get past the hello part, then what? Would we chat for hours until one of us falls asleep? Would we make plans to hang out? What the hell would that look like?

  Or maybe it would be an awkward realization that the moment has passed and our connection is gone.

  Friday rolls around, and I’m super antsy when I return home from the café. Today’s high was 102 degrees, with ninety-nine-percent humidity. That’s enough to drive anyone insane. It’s enough to drive anyone without air conditioning to consider living inside her refrigerator.

  Agitation zaps its way through my nerves, the pent up energy causing me to overheat from the inside out. I need to release it, ASAP.

  I climb into bed and pull my pink toy from the drawer in the bedside table. Flipping the switch, I close my eyes and lose myself.

  My fantasy begins with the characters I wrote about earlier tonight—a petite blonde woman who pursues a dark and mysterious older man. She’s relentless, determined to wear him down until he can no longer resist her. The first time they fuck, he takes her hard and fast against a rough brick wall in a filthy alley, where anyone passing by on the busy sidewalk could see them. They don’t give a shit about being quiet, either.

  I press my toy deeper, moaning when it bottoms out inside me, hitting just the right spot. The temperature in the room feels like it shot up twenty degrees, and the sheet beneath me is soaked through with my sweat and arousal. Everything from my waist down tightens as my desire climbs.

  Without permission, the blonde girl’s hair turns a vibrant red, her tan skin now pale and glowing in the moonlight. Her mysterious man morphs into someone taller, leaner, and fairer, his now-long hair tied back. Soft green eyes open and fix on her blue ones.

  My body responds like crazy to the new scene playing out in my head. Me, with Ben between my legs and pounding me into the wall. Kissing me with a fevered passion. Holding me just like he did on Sunday, but tighter. Much tighter. And this time, I’m holding him back.

  My pleasure skyrockets, shocking the hell out of me. Not that I’m at all surprised Ben has a starring role in my fantasy—the image of his rain-slicked abs has haunted my every other thought for the past six days. No, what’s shocking is how much it’s turning me on. I’m never able to use myself in my fantasies. That’s pretty much a nonstarter. No pleasure, no relief. Nothing.

  This is so very much the opposite of nothing. Me with Ben? It’s exquisite.

  I’m half a breath away from an explosive orgasm, when a tall silhouette appears at the end of the alley, blocking the light from a nearby streetlamp. His body is broad and muscular, his movements sensuous and sure. Fantasy me closes her eyes, focusing on the pleasure Ben’s bringing her. When she
opens them, Andy’s standing next to her while Ben continues his powerful, even thrusts, as if his friend intruding on a moment like this is perfectly normal. He just watches, smiling, when Andy’s mouth consumes mine.

  My body freezes, as does the fantasy. Next thing I know, my vibrator is sailing across the room and smacking against the wall before crashing to the floor. My eyes flood with tears because this is so wrong. I am so wrong. Sick to my stomach, I roll onto my side and curl into a ball, trying to force the forbidden images from my mind.

  I’m a mess. I’m broken.

  Cameron broke me, and I hate him for it.

  Seven

  Ben

  "What's with you, Ben?" my baby sister, Leah, demands the second I open the front door. We don't usually get together on Friday nights, but she texted earlier that she has news she can’t deliver over the phone.

  It's a good thing I stopped at the State Store last night to replace her Riesling. I may have also purchased an extra bottle, just in case, by some miracle, Claire comes to visit again. Hell, I’d build an entire wine cellar and keep it fully stocked with the stuff, just to keep seeing that look of pleasure she wore when she first tasted it.

  "What do you mean?”

  Brushing past me, she heads upstairs, making a beeline for the fridge to grab a bottle of...water. Interesting. "I mean, you've been in a funk all week, and I want to know why."

  "How would you know what kind of mood I’ve been in? We’ve barely talked since the last time you were here." It was last Wednesday—three days pre-Claire. Feels like a lifetime ago.

  "Those two texts you sent me the other day. They were so terse—not like you, at all," she says, disregarding the fact that I hate texting and never use more words than strictly necessary. “Plus, Andy told me you're hung up on some new girl.” She tries to hide it with the plastic bottle, but the grin to end all grins takes over Leah's whole face.

  Crossing my arms over my chest, I lean against the counter and watch as she pulls the milk from the fridge and breaks into my stash of Lucky Charms, which only she and Andy know about. I’m a sophisticated, self-made, successful thirty-something who most certainly does not harbor a secret love of hearts, stars, and horseshoes. At least, not as far as the rest of the world is concerned.

  "Andy needs to mind his own business.” Or I’m going to kill him. “When the hell did you two talk, anyway?"

  "He called me specifically to let me know you’ve found my future sister-in-law, but that 'she don't wanna be touched.’" Andy's South Philly accent coming from Leah’s mouth is too atrocious not to laugh, but once that’s out of my system, I’m back to wanting to kill my meddling prick of a best friend. “He didn’t go into details, for which I’m grateful. We both know how colorful Andy can be.”

  Leah would know that as well as anyone. She’s the product of my mother’s second marriage and twelve years younger than I am, so she was only six when Andy and I became friends. Growing up, she had two protective, doting big brothers.

  As much as I love my baby sister, Andy was always better at the role than I was, especially when Leah started dating. The twerp she went to junior prom with nearly shit his pants when Andy answered the door that night, looking like a cross between a bodybuilder and a mob enforcer.

  She went through the requisite bad boy phase, but I always got the feeling she was just trying to find someone with enough balls to not run at the sight of her bodyguard. She must’ve finally grown out of that, though, because the guy she’s been seeing the past two months sounds normal enough.

  Henry has a steady job and a good relationship with his family. And from the way Leah talks about him, it sounds like he adores my sister.

  Her dark brown curls bounce around her shoulders as she plops down on the couch, sitting cross-legged. She picks up her bowl and digs in.

  “So are you going to tell me about her, or what?” she asks around a mouthful of cereal. “You know you want to. I highly doubt Andy’s giving you any helpful advice on this.” She pats the cushion next to her, ordering me to sit and spill. “Dîtes-moi.”

  I’ll admit she’s not wrong about Andy being no help. With the way he’s talked about Claire this past week, I honestly can’t tell if he’s encouraging me to pursue her or if he’d rather I didn’t. Dropping down next to my sister, my head falls over the back of the couch. My eyes point to the ceiling, but all I see is Claire.

  “She’s gorgeous, Lee,” I begin, because that was the beginning, after all. Her beauty drew me in like a moth to a fiery redhead. “We clicked as soon as we started talking, and it only got better from there. I was even gearing up to ask her out. Then it was like, all of a sudden, she realized where things were headed and threw up a wall, closing herself off to the possibility.”

  “She ended up spending the night here, though. She couldn’t have been all that closed off,” Leah points out before shoveling another heaping spoonful into her mouth.

  “Conversationally, mentally, no. Physically, yes. It was the best first date ever—there was instant chemistry, we talked for hours, and the night ended with her in my bed.”

  “Gah. Did we not agree details are bad?” Her scrunched-up face shows exactly how she feels about them.

  “Fine. But, yeah, ideal date. Only it wasn’t a date. Based on how things went Saturday, I doubt I’ll ever get to date Claire.”

  “Claire, huh? Andy said her name was Peach. I thought maybe she was a stripper or something,” Lee says, laughing at her own funny.

  “He calls her that because he wants to take a bite of her.” His exact words from Saturday. And by the way Claire looked at him the next morning, it was clear she wouldn’t mind being bitten. If she could handle getting that close.

  “What did Andy mean about her not wanting to be touched?”

  “Pretty much just that.” Suddenly weary, I let my head drop into my hands. Running my fingers through my hair, I curse in frustration when they catch on the elastic I forgot was there. “I can pinpoint the exact moment her wall went up at the park, because she literally folded in on herself. She even shifted to put more space between us. For the rest of the day, she’d tense up whenever one of us came close to breaching that space.”

  Leah considers my breakdown of events with a solemn look on her face—not an emotion I’m used to seeing on her. “Do you think something happened to her, Ben? You have to know that’s not normal.”

  “I hate even thinking about it, but yeah. It’s a strong possibility.”

  I’ve read about how dogs aren’t fearful of people by nature, and I’m guessing the same can be said of humans. That level of fear takes conditioning or traumatic experiences. Maybe both. I don’t like the idea of either of those things being a part of Claire’s past, but something had to have made her this way.

  “But you’re not planning on staying away from her.” Leah’s not asking me to confirm or deny it—just stating a fact. No point asking a question she already knows the answer to.

  “I don’t think I can.”

  That’s a lie. I know I can’t stay away from Claire.

  My sister pauses, and the compassionate concern on her face reminds me so much of our mother. “I know how much you like to right wrongs, Ben. Fix broken things. If that’s what this is, please don’t. You’re too nice a guy for your own good, sometimes. If you try to fix this woman, you could end up making things worse for her.”

  Leah’s words of caution are all too familiar. They’ve been playing on a loop in my head all week. What if all Claire wants is the time and space to work through her issues on her own? Or what if she’s perfectly comfortable with the way she is? Who am I to judge what’s right for her?

  On the other hand, maybe she’s looking for someone to be in her corner, ready to offer support whenever she needs it. Someone who’ll be patient and understanding and just...just be there for her. More than I’ve ever wanted anything, I want to be that someone.

  “You really are better at this than Andy.” My sister might be y
oung, but she’s damn insightful for her age. “But I haven’t felt this way about someone in so long. If I want to fix her, it’s only because I want the chance to really be with her—mentally, emotionally, physically…” Leah makes a face again. “I didn’t mean it like that, twerp. Hell, I’d be happy just holding her hand. Claire is...she’s special. There’s no way I can let that go.”

  Leah nods as if she’d predicted every word I said. I have no doubt she did. “So, have you talked to her since Sunday?”

  “Ah...no. I didn’t want to push her too far, too fast. She was in a hurry to get out of here that day, so I figured I’d give her some time before contacting her.”

  It may also be because I’m a fucking coward. If I call or text her and she either tells me to fuck off or doesn’t respond at all, that’s the end of it. At least this way, I can hold out hope that Sunday wasn’t the last time I’ll ever see her.

  Leah flicks my forehead. “You’re an idiot, Ben. A girl like that’s got to have some serious insecurities. She probably thinks you moved on because she wouldn’t, you know, ‘hold your hand’.” She flicks me again. “Idiot.”

  “Quit it, kid!” I flick her back on her button nose. I’m done talking about me and my problems. Time to get to the point of tonight’s visit. “Speaking of moving on, you have something to tell me?”

  Leah takes a sip of her water, slowly sets it on the coffee table, and turns to look me dead in the eyes. Something serious is about to come out of her mouth.

  “I’m pregnant.”

  Wait, what?

  I squint at her, replaying her words in my mind and attempting to make sense of them. I think she just told me she’s pregnant, but that can’t be right. She’s only twenty-three and unmarried. Not that marriage is a prerequisite for procreation. But, to me, she’s still just a kid. Still my baby sister. The fact that this kid is having her own kid is messing with my head.