Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 107630 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107630 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Believe me, girl. I want to, I telepath back.
“You’re telling me there are rules for the fights?” Ben asks an hour and two more rounds later. “I wouldn’t expect it to be outright street fighting, but that sounds weak.” He throws his voice to a higher octave and taunts, “Oh, hold on, let me take my gloves off, put my big-ass stick down, and make sure the referee is watching so I don’t get a time-out in the naughty spot for bad behavior.” In his regular voice, he concludes, “It might as well be a duel at dawn between gentlemen.”
Ben’s good-natured teasing is getting Shep riled up—but in a twisted, testosterone-fueled sort of way, it seems like a good thing? They’re definitely bonding, I’ll give them that. “Better than jumping some guy from behind because you’re too much of a pussy to face him. Or you and your buddies ganging up on him when he’s alone.”
“True,” Ben agrees. He tilts his head, thinking, and then adds, “Can’t say I’ve done that, though. Any fights I’ve gotten into have been because someone’s running their mouth, so they’ve all been face-to-face, and then face-to-concrete.” He lets his tongue loll out and his eyes flutter up, playing like he’s unconscious.
“Your face or his?” Shepherd questions, peering at Ben’s perfect, handsome, probably-never-been-smashed-to-the-ground face, like he’s covered in road rash scars.
“Both, depending on the guy and me that day.” They laugh together, somehow having become friends over brawling, both sanctioned and unsanctioned. Men are weird.
“Not sure what’s worse: concrete or ice. We’ll have to watch a game sometime to debate it,” Shep says, forgetting that Ben’s only in Maple Creek for a short while.
I kinda forgot that too.
I’ve had my hand on Ben’s thigh while the guys have been talking, but at the reminder of the time limit of his visit, I grip him tighter, like I can keep him here with me by physically restraining him. He responds instantly by rubbing my shoulder with his thumb and giving me his full attention. His dark eyes peer into my blue ones, which are suddenly stinging. “You okay?” he asks, his voice low.
I can’t explain my abrupt mood swing, so I force a nod. “Yeah, fine. Wanna beat me at darts?” I ask Ben, then explain to Joy and Shepherd, “He chose Maple Creek by throwing a dart at a map.”
“That doesn’t make me a good throw—but yeah, let’s do it.” He’s still watching me like he can sense that I’m hiding something, but he takes my hand and helps me out of the booth as my siblings make a beeline for the boards. Ben blocks me in, though, my knees backed up to the edge of the pleather seat and his hands on my hips. If the music weren’t vintage rock, we could be slow dancing with how close we are—toe to toe, thigh to thigh, and chest to chest.
“Hey . . . ,” he starts, and I lift my chin. He scours my face, his gaze going from my eyes to my mouth and back. “Anything you need, anything you want, say the word and I’ll make it happen, okay?”
My lips stretch into a soft smile because I believe him. And though that doesn’t change the limit on the time we have together, it does make me feel better.
“Thank you. I think Shep likes you, and he doesn’t like anyone. I know Joy likes you. She told me to bound-a-rebound-a on you.” I bounce up and down on my toes a few inches so he knows I’m talking about sex.
He laughs, but it fades into a real smile. He seems surprised. “Yeah? Your brother kinda reminds me of Sean. I’d pay good money to see the two of them go at it, rules or no rules.” He plants a quick peck to my lips, like we’ve done it dozens of times before and it’s a completely natural thing to do, and then he moves to my ear. His breath is hot and his voice goes rough as he groans, “And I’d love to fuck you, Hope. Anytime you want to.” He pulls back, scanning my face for a reaction, and there’s a real possibility I’m drooling, because he pushes my mouth closed for me with a cocky smirk. “Come on, they’re waiting on us.”
Us. I like that.
Ben doesn’t let go of my hand as we make our way over to the dartboard, effortlessly guiding me through the crowd as people move out of his way to give him space but then gawk at me trailing behind him. The grapevine’s firing up all around us, but I’m feeling too good from that kiss—and probably the beers—to care. In fact, I think I’ll have another. Beer, not kiss, although I’d happily take another of those too.
“Brooklin, another round, please,” I shout, waving a finger in the air to indicate the four of us.