doing?” he snapped again.
“I’m going home,” she said into those eyes of deep, deep russet. Beautiful eyes. His picture on the app hadn’t done them justice. “Go to bed, Ben. You’ve done more than your fair share tonight.”
His brows dragged together.
Sparks flashed in those beautiful eyes.
And then he didn’t say anything, just wrapped his fingers around her arm, and said, “I’m driving you home.”
Stef knew she could argue, knew she probably should. The need to give in and let him take care of her was certainly the biggest reason for it. The fact that she’d made him uncomfortable in the elevator was another. Her addiction, still one more. But . . . she just wanted a little more time.
Because, who knew if she’d see him again?
Because she’d been groomed over and over again to expect that any good times would invariably come to an end.
So probably, she should retreat, protect herself.
Instead, she did what she always did. The stupid, idiotic thing. She reached out and grasped on.
“Okay,” she said.
She’d barely gotten the agreement out before he was guiding her over to the car. Her purse slipped down her arm, and he snagged it for her, opening her door and waiting for her to sit down before buckling her in. The metal panel shut, and he walked around the car, opening his own door and dropping into his seat. Gently, he set the purse down at her feet, started up the engine, and backed out of the stall.
Through the city streets . . . in silence.
To the freeway . . . in silence.
South toward her house . . . in silence.
She thought of a dozen things to say and just as quickly dismissed them. Too tired. Too vulnerable. Too—
His hand rested on her knee, and she jumped, jarred out of her thoughts.
Immediately, he withdrew, and she opened her mouth to tell him that she hadn’t jumped because of him, had rather just been so locked into her thoughts that she’d forgotten she wasn’t alone.
For God’s sake! Get out of your head, Stef.
And while it was always a shitty time to hear Jeremy’s voice, it was especially a shitty time when it was—her eyes flicked to the dash to see the time—4:36 in the morning.
God, she could fuck the man, but she couldn’t talk to him?
Say something. Anything.
Thanks for the orgasms and the movie, let’s do it again.
You’re sexy and I want to give you my number.
Please, don’t ghost me like I ghosted you.
Thank you for the ride and the—
But the words stayed locked on her tongue, in her mind, in her throat, and then she looked out the window and realized where she was.
Nearly at her condo.
Well, she supposed with a yawn, that she’d just get her car after she slept. She was probably too tired to drive anyway.
“What number?” Ben asked, both hands now clenched tight on the steering wheel. Strong hands, strong fingers, fingers that had been inside her.
His eyes came to hers, and she blinked. “On the end. White mailbox.”
He nodded, navigated to her driveway and pulled the car to a stop.
Her throat was still tight, the words still stoppered up. “Thanks,” she managed to squeeze out. “For the—”
Ben opened his door and got out so quickly that she was still talking when the door shut, still blinking at his movements when hers opened. He reached in, unbuckled her seat belt, and snagged her purse, waiting for her to get out before trailing her to the door.
She unlocked the door, stepped inside.
Ben waited on the porch, and she was summoning more words when Fred came bounding down the hall, a soft “woof” in the air that had her ordering, “Wait.”
Her good boy waited.
Her . . . complicated, confusing man also waited.
Although Ben wasn’t hers.
They’d watched a movie. They’d fucked. They’d talked a bit. He wasn’t her anything.
Fred crept forward, his feet not crossing that invisible barrier of the threshold, even though his nose crept over it, smelling Ben’s hand when he held it out. Tentatively. Fred sniffed and then licked and then, as per his usual, his tail went propellor.
“Wait,” she reminded him.
He plunked his butt on the floor and looked up adoringly at Ben, who carefully and slowly set her purse on the porch before bringing his other hand down and beginning to scratch the sides of Fred’s head, his ears, his neck.
Fred practically turned into a puddle.
“You’re a good boy, aren’t you, buddy?” Ben murmured, and his rough, sexy voice had her melting into a puddle,