He chuckles. “Sorry ’bout that.”
“But I got the idea from him. To change things. To try to make it better here. I got the idea from him.”
“I know you did.” He’s smiling at me, his head turned toward me the way mine is toward him. “You think I don’t remember every little detail about you?”
I shrug again, this time slightly self-conscious. This moment feels intimate in a way we almost never are.
“And now,” he goes on, saving me from the moment the way he’s saved me from so many other things. “Now I even know how you look when you come.”
I gasp, flushing hot and laughing and excited all at once. I swat at his chest. “That’s not appropriate talk!”
“Why not? Just sharing all I know about you. What did I do wrong?”
“You know what you did. We agreed not to do that again.”
“Hey, I didn’t make a single move.”
“You brought it up. You made me think about sex again.”
“And…” His eyes are glinting deliciously, irrepressibly.
“And now I can’t think of anything else!”
“Well, there’s an easy solution to that problem.”
The excitement that sparked from his initial comment has exploded into a full-fledged compulsion. I sit up and move toward him. But before I touch him, I ask, “Do you think we should?”
“Why not? Did yesterday damage anythin’ between us?”
“No. Not at all.”
“We both had a good time. I don’t see any reason not to do it again. But it’s up to you. I’m easy.”
“I’m not sure I’d call you easy.” I grin down as I move over him, my chest over his and my lower body beside his.
“Sure, I am. I’m as easy as it gets. You wanna fuck, you got a fuck. You wanna keep me at arm’s length, I’ll fall in line. The only thing I’m never gonna be easy about is you leavin’ me behind.”
“I haven’t done that yet, have I?”
“Nope.”
“So I don’t think it’s likely to happen.”
“Good.” He’s raised his hand to my face, brushing his fingertips over my cheek and then moving them to myhair. He runs his hand down one of the braids of my wig with a particular smile.
“What are you smirking at?” I ask.
“Nothin’.” He lets go of my braid. “Just that my mom always wears her hair like that.”
I gasp, remembering the pretty, laughing, warmhearted woman I met and got to know during our year in the wilderness. A woman who always wore her hair in two long braids. “Shit!” I hurriedly start pulling out the braids of the wig.
“What are you doin’?” he asks, overcome with laughter.
“I’m not going to fuck you wearing your mom’s hairdo! There’s no chance in the world I’m doing that.”
He keeps laughing as I free my hair and comb out the waves with my fingers. I’d prefer to take off the wig entirely, but then I’d have to put it back on without a mirror, which doesn’t seem like a wise option.
Ben’s expression softens as he stares up at me. “Red or blond, you always look pretty with your hair loose like that.”
