He’s quiet for a moment. “Come upstairs with me.”
“No.”
“C’mon, Red. I’ll let you tie me to anything you want.”
Groaning, I lightly bang my head against the wall. “I shouldn’t have ever let you into my bedroom. I’m not even a big restraint person! I just want to go home and take a bath.”
“I have a bath upstairs.”
“I don’t like bubbles.”
“I’ll throw the bubble bath away,” he counters.
“There are specific candles I like.”
“Hmm. Well, since I don’t know you, there’s no reason I should have Irish coffee scented candles upstairs in my bathroom.”
My head snaps toward him. “What the fuck?”
His body tips back, head nodding toward the door he just came out of. “Let’s go, Red.”
Against my better judgement, I follow him.
I’m telling myself I have no idea why—that’s not really true though, is it? Ben, whether I want to acknowledge it or not, has been one of the most constant things in my life. After my parents divorce, I was never able to form a stable relationship with them—hell, even before the divorce. My parents didn’t understand my quirks. Neither did Maya, apparently. But Ben…
We climb the stairs to the apartments above Louie’s. I knew Ben lived here, but I’ve never been inside. I’m expecting it to be loud up here but it’s surprisingly quiet. I look down at the floor, wondering if I’m just so overwhelmed, I’ve detached myself from the world around me.
It doesn’t look like a bachelor pad, either. The furniture is semi-coordinated, and there are pictures of the various Bardot family members hung up on the walls. Ben reaches back, linking his pinky with mine in a surprisingly sweet gesture, while leading me down the hall. He pushes open the door to a bedroom and guides me to the bed.
I stop short. “I was serious—no sex.”
“We aren’t having sex, Red. I respect you, as much as you’d like to think I don’t.”
He walks through another door, and after a moment I hear the water start to run. “Extra hot,” I call.
“Boiling lobster, got it!”
Rolling my eyes, I stand and wander around Ben’s room. There’s a queen bed with a plaid comforter, a nightstand holding a variety of knickknacks—including an extra pair of glasses even though he’s currently wearing a pair—and a small desk pushed up against the wall. Might as well be nosy while I’m here, not sure I’ll get the chance again. I inch closer to his desk, looking over my shoulder to make sure Ben is occupied.
A drawing catches my eye, of… is that a princess? And a knight that is hiding behind a bush? “Chloe” is written in all caps across the bottom. There’s also a moleskin journal open on the other end of the desk. I didn’t take Ben as a journaler, but I can’t say I’m not curious. Slowly, I creep sideways, trying to get a peek. My brow furrows as I realize it’s just full of tally marks. Is Ben a serial killer?
“Water’s ready,” Ben calls from the other room. Sure enough, when I walk into the bathroom there’s an Irish coffee candle lit on the counter and steaming, bubble-less water in the bathtub. “Strip, Red.”
“Help me?”
I’m pretty sure he mutters afucking hellbefore standing from where he was kneeling next to the tub. He taps my elbows, urging my arms up. I feel his hands slide under my sweater, across my stomach. I’ve kept up running since high school, but not even a run gets my heart rate up the way Ben’s hands roaming my body does.
Soon my clothes are on the floor and I’m dipping my toes into Ben Bardot’s bathtub.
The warm water immediately soothes me. Ben watches with rapt attention as my ivory skin begins to splotch red all over. I sigh, in contented silence, pulling my legs in toward my chest, feeling suddenly exposed and vulnerable even with this man who has already seen me naked.
“Why did you leave your date tonight?” Ben asks.
I choose defensiveness as a response. “I already told you about the hair thing,” I say, sliding further into the water.
The corner of his mouth tips up. “Yes, we’ve established that you like the hair thing, Red. But that’s not really why you left Louie’s, is it? You said something about being overstimulated?”
Oh. That’s what he means. “Have you been to Louie’s?” I deadpan. “It’s loud. It’s hot. People are making poor choices. And I really didn’t want to listen to Garrett sing and… Pretend. Pretending is so fucking exhausting.”
