Ben:We'll need a third one. Someone to referee those two
Me:Three kids? Someone's confident
Ben:I'd want ten, but three seems reasonable
Me:Three kids and you haven't even kissed me yet
Ben:Yet
Me:Yet?
No reply.
The rest of the day I did domestic chores, and folded laundry with manic focus—shirts into perfect squares. Anything to not think, to not keep flipping my phone that sat face-down, as if I didn't put the sounds on full blast so I could run to it the second he texted back.
Hours passed. I changed into my pajamas, yawned and got ready for bed.
Then, two minutes past midnight, his reply finally came.
Ben:Open your door
Staring at the message, I quickly grabbed that red sundresshe loved on me, my fingers fumbling with the zipper, too impatient to do it properly as I walked to the corridor, every step a countdown.
And there he was.
Door barely cracked and he surged in, pressing me back until my spine kissed the wall.
His hand cupped my chin, making sure I don't slip away. "Should've done this a long time ago."
My breath stuttered. "What happened to friends?"
"Emma." He tipped his head toward mine, eyeing me like I was the only one not getting it. "I've never been your friend."
That made me blink, thrown off. "What do you mean?"
"Friends don't spend years trying not to think about bending you over mid-sentence." He said it, sounding almost pained, like it was the unfortunate truth but my jaw slipped open.
We'd had several sleepovers during which I waited for his move in the dark, and it never came, so it made no sense.
His hand slid onto my thigh and my whole body went electric.
"Our stupid deal is over," he said, dragging my skirt higher until his fingers grabbed my hip. "Even though you'll probably ruin me."
I searched his eyes, wondering if he was serious. "You think I'll ruin you? You'll ruin me."He already had.
"Then maybe we'll ruin each other," he said like that was our inevitable fate, and his hand cinched closer between my thighs.
I let it happen for one delicious second before catching his wrist, scraping for sanity.
"Ben," I breathed. "I hate to say this, but I'm on my period."
There. Honesty grenade.
For a second, he recoiled, as I expected any guy would, and it made me feel pathetic and angry with the timing. But then, his expression softened, even melted as he leaned in closer, voice dropping into something worshipful: "So? You think I mind when it's you? You're more tender now. That makes it better. More intimate. I'd love to take you slow like that."
My jaw nearly hit the floor. Even I squirmed over my period sometimes, especially the first few days, and here he said it like it was holy.
It made me like him more. So much more.
