I like how your mind works. Sometimes, you cross and uncross your legs, and it makes me wonder how long it would take for me to get your attention if I slipped a hand under your skirt.”
Everything in the room grinds to a halt.
The paintings are a blur of colors.
The other patrons in the room are unmoving blobs.
Because it takes every inch of my brain to process the words Ben dropped on me as casually as if he was sharing the weather.
Heat chases down my spine, settles into a dull, throbbing ache between my thighs.
“…That’s what I would say if we were dating,” he goes on pleasantly before turning on his heel and heading toward the door. “Let’s keep moving. We have ten minutes,” he tosses over his shoulder, leaving me wondering if he came up with that on the spot or if he’s actually thought about putting his hand up my skirt.
As we start into the next room and I'm still recovering from his words, he asks a new question. “How do you like to fuck?”
“If that’s on the list, I’m killing the Vane interview right now.” I snatch my phone back from him.
“It’s not, but if we’re dating, it’s something I’d know.”
I tuck the phone away and find myself trapped in Ben’s intense, curious gaze.
There are a couple people on the far side of the room, a mother and a kid. It feels as if I’m overexposed, standing here thinking about how to describe the kind of sex I like to my best friend.
“Slow,” I say at last.
“It doesn’t have to have one speed.”
“No. But most men tend toward one.” We continue through the galleries. “What about you?” I ask after a moment.
“I like to be in charge.”
“Like, ‘blindfolds and whips’ in charge?"
His frame looms large, close enough his woodsy scent that has no place in Manhattan floods my senses. His smirk is entirely sexy, and I’ve never seen it directed at me before. “It’s still early days. You haven’t found out yet.”
I twist my bracelet, reminding myself this is make-believe. “We have to decide what to tell our friends when they ask why we got together now after all this time.”
His phone buzzes, and he jerks his head toward the door. “We’ll play it by ear.” We head back out into the lobby and he stops me. He heads straight for a display of umbrellas at the entrance of the gift shop and picks out one with my favorite painting on it. “There. For my girlfriend.”
“It’s touristy,” I say, but I can’t resist the smile tugging at my lips.
His eyes dance. “How can having your favorite thing to look at be touristy?”
He’s right. The more I look at it, the more I like it.
"You can be really sweet when no one's looking,” I accuse.
He cocks his head as he pays for the umbrella. "That's the time to do it. Can’t have women indiscriminately falling in love with me.”
I shake my head as we wind our way through the lobby toward the doors. “So in private, we’re still us, but in public…”
“We’ll act,” he concludes. “Convincingly enough they believe we’re falling for each other.”
He follows me out to the front steps. The rain has lightened, but I raise the umbrella anyway, stretching to hold it over both our heads.
His baby blue shirt pulls across his toned chest and shoulders and makes his hair and eyes look even darker.
“PDA,” I say before he turns to go. “We should agree on how much. A lot of couples keep their exchanges to their private lives. We don’t need to touch at all. In fact," I rush on, thinking of how his closeness affects me, "it’s probably better that we don’t.”
I expect him to concede the point, on account of him needing to leave, if nothing else.
He surprises me by stilling, shoving his hands in his pockets and looking at me with new appraisal. “Is there a reason you don’t want me to touch you?”
Because I might like it.
“It’s nothing personal.”
It’s totally personal.
With an unreadable look, Ben catches my umbrella and uses it to tug me toward him.
We’re near enough I can smell his aftershave. I’m trapped in that warm gaze that’s familiar and unsettling at once.
“What are you doing?” I manage.
“Making a statement.”
I’m not sure where to look, his dark eyes or his mouth. “I don’t hear anything."
“But they do.”
I glance past him, searching the crowds of people, some with umbrellas and some ignoring the light sprinkling.
He doesn't move an inch.