Brooke & Ben: Before Fate Interrupted

by Kaitlyn Cross

“It’s okay,” Brooke whispered. “I’m on the pill.”

  “You sure?”

  She pushed against him, taking him all in and wiggling her curvy cheeks against him. “I’m sure.”

  He took a deep breath and punched back in, throttling her hips with his strong hands as he punished her from behind. The bed creaked in protest, its legs scraping loudly. Skin slapped against skin, rising above the stereo in the living room.

  Brooke’s head rammed into the padded headboard. “Oh shit, not that fast!”

  He reached forward and pulled her arms back, using them like reigns as he brought it home. Tendons bulged in his neck.

  “Give it to me, baby,” Brooke said into the pillow.

  Ben scrunched his face up and grunted her name, exploding inside of her like the fireworks going off inside her head. Brooke’s muscles constricted around him as a wave of something she had never felt before washed over her tingling body. She turned her head to the side for more air. Her insides felt like gravity had lost its hold, like she was plummeting down that first big hill on a wooden rollercoaster. Goose bumps bristled across the surface of her skin, the air sweeter than ever before.

  Ben released her arms and fell onto the bed next to her, spooning her from behind, struggling for air. His warm breath rushed over her ear. “That was…incredible.”

  Brooke stared at the alarm clock next to the bed, wanting to disagree but unable to form any type of defense. She was breathless and stunned. He wrapped an arm around her and nuzzled his nose into her neck, breathing her in. She inhaled a quick breath as he pressed his softening manhood deeper inside of her one last time, his twitching release beginning to slow. She pushed against him, taking all that she could before it was too late.

  “God, you smell good.”

  She rubbed the dragon coiling around his forearm, drawing in deep gulps of oxygen to appease her racing heart. “How old are you again?”

  Ben cleared his throat. “In human years?”

  “No, in vampire years.”

  “A hundred and sixty-seven.”

  “What’re you like twenty-seven? Twenty-eight?”

  “I’d have to dig through some paperwork and get back to you on that one.”

  She turned to face him, their noses inches apart. “You’re seriously not going to tell me how old you are? You’re as bad as my sister.”

  He smiled at her and lightly stroked her cheek. “Why does it matter?”

  “It doesn’t, I’d just like to…”

  “How old are you?”

  A short laugh shot past her lips. “Apparently, not old enough to know better.”

  He didn’t respond. Just sat there soaking her in, sharing a relaxed moment that made Brooke uncomfortable.

  “Your eyes are stunning.”

  “Don’t try to change the subject.” She traced the dragon’s pink belly with an index finger, unsure what to say next. “I’ll find your wallet.”

  “Already hid it.”

  She snorted. “So what’s with the dragon tattoo anyway?”

  He turned his arm, bringing the green creature’s scaly back into view, and spoke in a soft voice. “In Japanese culture the dragon symbolizes supernatural powers, with great strength and a hidden wisdom as a valued protector.” He took a thoughtful breath and pinched his eyes together. “It is said, the only way to journey past a dragon is to answer its riddles.”

  Brooke met his heavy eyes. “Seriously?”

  He hedged, holding onto her beautiful gaze a moment longer. “Yep.”

  She turned back to the alarm clock, the left side of her face resting on an extra comfy pillow. “Well, here’s a riddle for ya: why is your place is so clean?”

  His eyes darted around the room. “I just vacuumed.”

  She slipped out from under his arm and sat up, giving the night stand the white glove treatment with a bare index finger. She held her finger up for a closer inspection and then turned to him. “Are you a neat freak?”

  His eyes fondled her plump breasts. “Just because there aren’t empty pizza boxes and beer cans lying around doesn’t mean I’m a neat freak.”

  Her eyes thinned. “Were you expecting company tonight?”

  “Company? No.”

  Brooke resisted staring at his bulging chest, still feeling it against her lips. “I think you were.” She slid off the bed.

  “Hey, where’re you going?”

  She threw her bra and shirt on in a hurry. “I should go.”

  “Oh come on!” he laughed, leaning against the padded headboard. “It’s always clean in here.”

  She slipped into her heels and grabbed her bag from a white armchair that matched nicely with the dark colored bedroom furniture. “Can you take me home?”

  “Now?”

  “Yep.”

  “It’s three thirty in the morning.”

  Her eyes wandered into his closet. “Oh my God, how many pairs of shoes do you have?”

  “I don’t know. A few.”

  “Wow, and I thought I was bad.” Her gaze moved on to the silver blue walls. “Did you paint this place yourself?”

  “I did.”

  “It’s… nice.”

  “Thanks. The landlord paid for the paint and I slapped it on.”

  She bent for a closer look at the white trim separating the walls from the dark wooden floors. “Your lines are perfect.”

  “I don’t know about perfect.”

  She turned back to him, her mouth agape. “Do you watch HGTV?”

  “What?” he said with a nervous chuckle, pulling the bed sheet up around him like he was cold. “No.”

  She surveyed the dresser with stainless steel pulls that matched the two nightstands framing the bed. “Do you shop at IKEA?”

  “What? No.”

  Her jaw came further unhinged as she took in the padded headboard and floor lamps. “I think you do.”

  “I don’t even know what IKEA is.”

  She glanced down the hall at the red couch with straight lines in the living room where Volbeat was now commandeering the airwaves with a driving force. “Your apartment is so dang cute!”

  “What’d you expect?”

  “A lot of dusty oak and tarnished brass. Maybe some halogen lamps and posters of girls washing Camaros.”

  He laughed. “Why? Because I have tattoos and a motorcycle?”

  “Exactly.”

  His smile faded. “That is racial profiling!”

  “You can admit it, ya know. It doesn’t make you any less of a man if you shop at IKEA and watch HGTV.”

  He folded his arms across his chest and looked away. “I don’t.”

  “I’m actually very impressed.”

  He turned back to her. “You are?”

  She nodded, admiring his colorful bedspread and drapes.

  He watched her eyes for a second or two longer before a defeated breath left his lungs. “Well, I don’t mind catching a little Design on a Dime every once in a great while.”

  Brooke snapped her fingers and pointed at him. “I knew it!”

  His brow crumpled. “You knew what?”

  “You’re gay!”

  “What!”

  “Now it all makes sense.”

  Ben frowned. “What all makes sense?”

  A mischievous grin played on her smeared lips. “I’m just messin with ya, buttercup,” she said, softly smacking his foot. “Now get up and drive me home.”

  ***

  Ben shook his head and grumbled under his breath, white knuckling the steering wheel. The engine’s throaty roar filled the truck’s cabin as darkened houses zipped by, one after another.

  “Wow, can you drive any faster?”

  He pressed on the gas pedal, making the black F-150 buck.

  “I was being sarcastic,” Brooke quickly replied, double-checking her seat belt.

  Ben eased off the pedal and lit up a smoke. He threw the lighter into the console where it clattered around a plastic cup holder. “You’re really
not going to give me your number?”

  “That’s right, so stop asking me.”

  Smoke floated from his nose as he considered her. “Why?”

  “Because I’m tired of it.”

  “No, I mean why won’t you give me your number?”

  “Because this will never happen again.”

  The deserted road unfolded before them in a humming silence, the dotted lines quickening once again as he got back into the gas. Ben zipped around a lazy bread truck and kept digging.

  “What is your problem?”

  “Look, my parents already think I’m a no good tramp, and you don’t even want to know what they think of you.”

  He glanced at her, eyebrows drawing together, and turned back to the road. “Me? How do they even know about me?”

  “Because someone had to be the scapegoat monster. They think you drugged my drink and took advantage of me and now my father wants to break your face.” A wide smile spread into her cheeks.

  Streetlights flickered across his wrinkled brow. “You told them what?”

  “What’d I care? I didn’t think I’d ever see you again, but I couldn’t lie to them. They always know.”

  Ben flicked an ash out the window. “You’re a real piece of work, ya know that?”

  “Hey, I’ve screwed enough up already. I don’t need to add some inked up sexy werewolf looking guy to my to-do list. You’re not that great.”

  “Yeah well, your sister seemed to think I was okay.”

  “She didn’t know who you really were. And for the record, my sister likes anything when she’s been drinking. One time, she licked a railing at a Burger King.”

  His face soured. “Look, I know we got started out on the wrong foot…”

  “Try wrong penis!”

  Ben pulled over to the side of a lonely residential street and slammed on the brakes. Their heads snapped forward with the abrupt stop in motion. He jammed it into park and twisted in his seat to face her, smoke rising from the cigarette between his fingers. “At least take my number.”

  She folded her arms and looked out her window. “No.”

  “In case you change your mind.”

  “I won’t.”

  “You might.”

  “Unlikely.”

  He sighed and looked out the front window when four kids in hoodies crossed the street up ahead. They broke into an inconsiderate burst of laughter for this time of night and slipped back into the shadows where they came from. Ben rubbed his scruffy chin and turned back to Brooke. “If you don’t take it, I’ll just show up at your parents’ front door like some deranged stalker.”

  She turned to him with a warm smile. “No, you won’t, silly. My father will murder you in cold blood and I can’t have him going to prison. I love him too much.” She filled her lungs with a mixture of crisp autumn air and smoke. “You’re going to drop me off at the wrong house and I’ll sneak through the backyards like I did in high school.”

  He pounded the steering wheel with his fist. “Foiled again!”

  Brooke bit back a laugh. “But thanks for the brave gesture. You’re very sweet.” Her voice turned stern. “Now drive.”

  “Not until you put my number in your cell.”

  “I’ll just delete it as soon as you drop me off, so what’s the point?” She patted his hand like he was a child who had just dropped his ice cream cone to the ground. “Besides, we both know this isn’t going to work. You’re too much of a bad boy and I’m too innocent.”

  “Oh, please.”

  She turned up a fiery glare. “Do you know what my parents would do if they found out I was hanging around some guy covered in tats who bangs strange women in his girlfriend’s walk-in closet? I’d be homeless again, and I’m just not ready for something like that. It’s too soon.”

  Ben took a long drag and exhaled out the window. “God, you talk a lot.”

  “Don’t get cranky.”

  “Punch in my number.”

  “No.”

  He opened his mouth to confute further but closed it instead. His eyes followed the soft lines in her face. “Fine,” he said, shifting into drive.

  The road hummed beneath them, assimilating with the tension in the air to form a calming state of unease.

  A drained sigh rolled from Brooke as she dug her cell from her purse. “All right, what’s your number?”

  Ben made a pfft sound while concentrating on the road. “You’re just going to delete it anyway, so what’s the point?”

  “I won’t.”

  “You will.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because you just told me you would.”

  “I promise I won’t delete your number. Turn here!”

  He took a sharp left into a neighborhood with tall pines and nice cars lining both sides of the street.

  “Just give it to me.”

  “Naw, I’m good.”

  Brooke dropped the cell into her lap. “Don’t be like this.”

  A beat up Chevy Impala with blacked out windows and bumping bass zipped around them from out of nowhere.

  Brooke watched the red taillights march into the night, determination sinking in. “I won’t delete it.”

  His dubious eyes made her cross her heart. He turned back to the road and thought it over, passing the quiet one and two-story houses dotting the front yards. “Can you put my picture with it?”

  A vacant look washed over her face. “I’m about to change my mind.”

  ***

  The front door gently clicked shut and Brooke twisted the deadbolt until it locked into place. She turned around and clapped a hand over her mouth to keep from screaming.

  “Sorry,” Will whispered, a mini-box of Junior Mints rattling around in his hand. “Didn’t mean to scare you.” He smiled, the remnants of fake blood still encircling his mouth.

  “What’re you doing up?” she whispered back, slipping her purse from her shoulder onto the table.

  He followed her into the kitchen, his short dark hair sticking up in all directions. “I fell asleep at ten-thirty and woke up at three. Now, I’m about to watch Terminator Salvation.”

  “You’ll wake mom up.”

  He shook his head. “I’ve got Beats, yo.”

  “Beats?”

  “Headphones, yo.”

  Brooke arched an eyebrow at him. “Dad, you know that creeps me out when you talk like that.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like you’re younger than I am.”

  “Oh.” He popped a mint into his mouth and began to chew. “Sorry, I saw it on TV or Twitter or something and can’t seem to shake it.”

  She pulled open the fridge and squinted against the harsh light inside. “You’re still having trouble sleeping?”

  “I wouldn’t call it trouble. I slept for four and a half hours.” Will coolly tossed another mint down the hatch. “How much sleep does a guy need?”

  She twisted the cap off a bottle of water and took a long chug, trying to douse the hot flashes of Ben’s naked body from her mind. Brooke had dated guys with tattoos before but the way his spiraled around those slabs of muscle shaping his wonderful arms made her forget what she was doing.

  “Hello?”

  She shook the thought from her head and put the bottle back in the fridge. “Four and a half hours is not enough. No wonder you always have rings around your eyes.” She turned to him. “You know you’re going to be a zombie at work in the morning.”

  He shrugged in his Kansas City Chiefs shirt. “Hey, you know what Edgar Allan Poe always said…”

  She folded her arms across her chest and tilted her head to the side, the clock softly ticking off the seconds behind her.

  Will lowered his voice to a whisper. “Sleep, those little slices of death; Oh how I loathe them.”

  Her eyebrow went crooked in the dim light spilling from beneath the microwave mounted over the stove. “Why would you ever hate sleeping?”

  He lifted a shoulder to an ear. “Fr
aid I’ll miss something.”

  “At three in the morning? Like what?”

  He shrugged again. “Whatever’s going on.”

  “There’s nothing going on, which is why I’m going to bed.” She kissed him on the cheek and turned for her room down the hall. The room that made her feel like she was sixteen all over again.

  He popped in another mint and calmly grinded the peppermint chocolate between his teeth. “Maybe I’m also a little worried about you.”

  She stopped in her tracks and turned back to him, her heart rate spiking. “Me? Why?”

  “Probably because you don’t come home until three in the morning. You could’ve at least shot me a quick text.”

  “Dad, I’m not a little girl anymore.”

  “Under my roof you will always be my little girl.”

  Brooke started to say something and swallowed it instead, fidgeting under the weight of her father’s gaze.

  “And maybe the whole thing about some strange guy slipping you the date rape drug and dragging you into your friend’s closet has me a little on the paranoid side.”

  An ice pick plunged deep into her heart, leaving her breathless and cold. Her eyes blurred with the water welling inside. If he knew the truth she would never be his little girl again. She squeezed her fingers and blinked, sending a tear from each eye racing down her cheeks. “Dad, I have to t…”

  He wrapped her in his arms and pulled her into his neck. “I’m sorry, honey, I don’t mean to make things worse but you can’t put yourself into dangerous situations like that. It’s a recipe for disaster.”

  “I’m know and I’m sorry,” she said softly. “That won’t happen again.”

  After what seemed like several minutes, he held her out for a better look. “I know it won’t, sweetie.”

  Brooke tried flashing him a reassuring smile. “It won’t. I promise.”

  He studied her for another moment, the clock softly ticking away, and then held out the box of candy.

  She shook her head and wiped her face. “Hey, how’d the trick-or-treating go?”

  “Good.”

  She grabbed a fun-size Milky Way from an orange bowl of assorted treats sitting on the island table. “Did you get a lot of candy?”

  “Ha-ha.”

  She giggled while unwrapping the bite-sized bar.

  “No, but here’s what happened…” Will paused to fill his lungs with a deep breath. “I dressed up as a zombie…”