‘Do you have trouble sleeping?’ he asks, passing the glass back to me, the motion drawing my attention to the tanned bicep bulging from under the sleeve of his T-shirt and the coarse hair on his forearms as gold as those on his head.
‘No. Maybe.’ I let out a breath. ‘Sometimes,’ I find myself admitting. ‘I have trouble quietening my mind. It’s like it’s overactive or something.’ He nods as though sympathising. ‘I do a little yoga. That sometimes helps.’
‘If you have trouble today, give me a yell. I know a good stress reliever.’ And then he winks, hopping up to sit on the countertop next to me.
‘And here I was just thinking you weren’t at all like I remember,’ I say, turning to face him, leaning my forearm on the same length of Formica currently holding his ass.
‘That doesn’t sound like much of a compliment.’ He smirks as he looks down at me, and I find myself adjusting the neck of my top to be sure he can’t see down it. His responding expression seems to sayare the girls all good?‘And it’s funny,’ heactuallysays, ‘because you haven’t changed at all.’
‘That’s exactly what I mean. Flattery, Ben? Are you trying to kill me with kindness instead of torment?’
‘I’ve never tormented a girl in my life. At least, not without her consent.’
Be still my excited lady parts...
‘Are you denying you got your kicks out of persecuting me when we were kids?’
‘Me?’ He touches a finger to his chest, the picture of innocence, if innocence was ever depicted by a man who looks as wicked as him. Not that he looks wicked exactly, more like he looks like he knows where wicked lives. Which is currently in my panties, I think. ‘I couldn’t have been that bad, Nell.’
‘No, you’re right. You were actually worse.’ I take another mouthful of my wine as he rubs his hand up the back of his head in an embarrassed action. He makes a good show of it, at least. You know what else is a good show? The movement of his arm as it pulls his shirt up and exposes the trail of hair between his navel and jeans. I can’t be sure, but I think I see the evidence of abs of steel, and I definitely see the ridge of muscle running around his hips.
‘You know what they say, Nelly. Little boys are made from rats and snails and puppy dog tails.’
‘Don’t call me that,’ I chastise, reaching out to swat his quad, his very solid quad, when he catches my hand. He takes it between both of his. ‘So you’re saying that’s your excuse for sticking snails down my shorts, huh?’
‘I didn’t, did I?’ he asks, sort of delighted. Well, far too delighted for someone who might be better served to show a little remorse. To his new landlord.
‘I’m sure if they’d been handy, you would’ve shoved the rats and a bushel of puppies down there, too.’
‘Litter.’
‘What?’
‘It’s a litter of puppies, not a bushel,’ he says, looking down at my hand. My palm flat against his left hand, he trails his fingers lightly over my fingers. ‘And as I recall, it was your bikini bottoms, not your shorts. Plus, it was one snail. Actually, it was more like an empty snail shell.’
‘So you do remember,’ I say, unplacated by his words, though slightly mesmerised by his actions.
‘There wouldn’t have been room in your bikini bottoms for puppies.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ I squeak, snatching my hand back.
‘Just that you had a lovely arse. Round and full.’ And, my God, he holds his hands out as though mimicking my ass formybenefit. ‘You still have. And it seems you’ve still got a thing for wearing very small things.’
Out of that mass of information, my mind grasps onto one thing.
‘You weren’t supposed to be looking!’
‘I was always looking, Nell. And not just when your squealing brought half of the cats in the neighbourhood around.’
‘You were a mean boy,’ I say, narrowing my gaze playfully at him
‘Is this where I apologise?’
‘No, this is where you tell me why!’
‘Isn’t it obvious?’ I feel sort of shaky all of a sudden, like this is a quiz and I know the answer but just can’t seem to grasp the information from the back of my head. ‘If I was shoving things down your pants, it was because it was the nearest I got to you. And your arse. I even got a peek a couple of times.’
‘So the answer is... you were a little pervert?’
