He groans, tipping his head back so his Adam’s apple is on full display. “Fuck, I really did. Well… do,” he corrects.
Then both of us are laughing. Full belly laughs, something only Ben is able to pull from me. He falls back until he’s lying flat, stomach moving up and down in silent laughter. Catching my breath, I crawl on top of him to give him a proper kiss. Ben makes me excited to touch, to laugh, to play. There’s freedom in that, something I could easily get used to.
He takes my left hand, kissing the ring there before he maneuvers me off of himself and pushes to standing. “Let’s get back to Ernest. I want to show him the pictures I took for him,” he says, completely deadass serious about showing my dog his photographs.
“Okay, Benoit.” I hop up to join him, and we work together to fold the blanket. “Should I stop calling you Benjamin?”
“Hell no.” His reply is instant. “You’re the only one who is allowed to call me the wrong name. I love it. Love your sass.”
I blush and he clocks it, tracing where my skin is turning red. “Love this too.”
“That makes one of us.” I roll my eyes. “C’mon. I’m hungry and I have some more studying to do. But maybe tonight we can get back in the hot tub?”
“And do some butt stuff?” Ben suggests.
“Oh my God.” I shove him as we start back down the trail.
“What? Never hurts to ask.” He smirks, pinching my ass in emphasis.
“Maybe I want to do butt stuff to you,” I tease.
“Colette.” He sighs. “We’ve been over this a million times. My answer to you is always yes.”
Damn, tonight is going to be fun.
“Race you down the trail? Last one to the bottom gets to be the bottom,” Ben winks before taking off.
Spoiler: we take turns being the bottom.
“I think this counts as dates two and three—we were gone an entire weekend together!”
“Absolutely not,” I argue. “It counts as one date and I get three more.”
“Three?! I don’t have time for three more dates, Benjamin.” Cole is currently in her bra and underwear, sitting on top of the bathroom counter and painting her toenails while I take a bath. She’s absolutely right about how relaxing they are.
“I’m in no rush, Colette,” I drawl, leaning my head against the rim of the tub. When she doesn’t respond, I crack one eyeopen to see her narrowed eyes glaring at me. “Let me?” I ask, nodding toward the red polish in her hands.
She scoots over on the counter letting her feet rest on the edge of the tub. “Have you ever painted nails before?” she asks, amused smirk on her lips.
“Never. How hard can it be?”
Really hard, it turns out. “Why are your toenails so fucking tiny?”
“You’re using too much polish,” she replies. “It looks like you yanked all of my toenails out and now they’re dripping bright red blood.”
“That is a visual I could’ve gone my entire life without having. Did you bring any of the remover?”
“No,” she laughs. “I wasn’t expecting to have to remove a bloodbath from my feet.”
I stop what I’m doing to admire the way she giggles. It’s so rare with Cole, this lighthearted side of her, and I’ve seen so much of it this weekend. It only makes me crave more, just like anything new I learn about her.
“What are you looking at?” she asks after I’ve stared at her a beat too long.
I shake my head. “Nothing… just you seem happy. Lighter somehow.”
She purses her lips together. “Have you heard of masking?” she asks. “The conscious, or sometimes subconscious, decision to suppress any of my neurodivergent ‘quirks.’”
It’s like a lightbulb goes off in my head because of course that’s what’s going on. “Yeah, actually. I was reading about it the other day. Do you think you’ve been unmasking more around me?”
