Bring Me Back(15)

My laughter rings through the kitchen. His much louder, deeper laughter soon joins mine. He wraps his arms around my waist, with my back to his chest, and spins me around.

I lean my head against his shoulder and laugh until I cry.

I love that I’ve found someone that makes me laugh this much. He goes out of his way to make every moment special. Every look. Every touch. I’m aware that Ben and I share a special love and bond—one not many people have. I’m not saying that other couples don’t love each other, but I think there are different kinds and ways of loving.

Ben sits me down and I spin around to face him, wrapping my arms around his shoulders. His tongue slides out and glides across his lips. He smiles crookedly.

“What’cha lookin’ at darlin’?” He feigns a thick—and truly appalling—southern accent.

“That dent in your face.” I surprise him by poking his dimple.

He throws his head back and laughs. Tipping his head down, his blue eyes shimmer with mischief. “I happen to know for a fact that you love that so-called dent.”

“And how do you know that?” I raise one brow when I step back and cock my hip.

He leans against the counter casually. “Not only have you told me on numerous occasions, but you also frequently mumble about it in your sleep.” He crosses his hands together and lays his head on them, pretending to be asleep. “Oh, Ben, your dimples are so cute. I just want to lick them,” he says in a thick voice.

I swat at his arm. “I do not.”

He laughs and straightens. “You don’t but I wouldn’t mind if you boasted about me in your sleep.” He winks.

I shake my head. “Silly boy.”

He pinches my ass. “Man, B. All man.”

I skitter out of the kitchen and he laughs behind me. “You’re cleaning up on your own now.”

“Not a punishment,” he yells back.

I pad into the bedroom and take a shower. I don’t take long, and when I’m done I apply some makeup and part the front part of my hair—braiding a section of it and pulling it back into a bun.

With my robe secured around me, I step into the closet and flick on the light, searching the racks. I settle on a pair of black jeans, a short-sleeve black shirt that dips low with several cutouts, and since it’s chilly out, I top it with a black leather jacket. I try to mix up my wardrobe, but I have to admit that most of the things I own are black. It’s my go-to.

When I enter the bedroom, Ben is just coming back in.

“I’m going to see if I can get some more sleep,” he says with a yawn.

I nod. “Good idea.” I grab my phone off the table and see a text from Casey. Ben is slipping beneath the sheets when I say, “Hey, Casey wants us all to meet up for lunch at the café. You wanna go?”

He yawns again. “I can do that. I don’t go back into work until tomorrow night.”

“Please tell me you have a shorter shift?” I ask him.

He nods. “It’s twelve-hours.”

“Better than twenty-four,” I mumble. I understand the need for such long shifts, but it really sucks and I hate the toll it puts on him. “Have a good nap.”

I ease out of the room and close the door—not before I see Winnie jump on the bed beside Ben and snuggle close. She’s such a whore.

I busy myself with cleaning the house and work. Always work. I’m not complaining, though. A year ago I would’ve never imagined I’d have so much interest in my little planning business. Especially in such a small town. But word gets out and that’s been my best ally. It’s not like I have a lot of money to spend on marketing.

Ben comes downstairs a few hours later. His blond hair is ruffled around his head and he’s still shirtless. I’m pretty sure he’s trying to kill me—only so he can restart my heart.

“How was your nap?” I ask him, turning down the volume on the TV.

“Good,” he says and opens the refrigerator door, bending to grab a bottle of water. “What time are we meeting them for lunch?”

I push the round button on my phone so it lights up. “We have an hour.”

He finishes his sip of water and lowers the bottle. “You know what we could do in an hour?” He waggles his brows.

I roll my eyes. “I think I have an idea.”

He sets his bottle of water on the counter and runs over, jumping into the air to make it over the back of the couch.

“Ben.” I laugh when he practically lands on top of me.

He rights himself and drapes an arm over the back of the couch. “Blaire,” he says with the same infliction I used for his name. He leans over and kisses me. I’m slow to return the gesture, but he soon coaxes one from me.

My hand rests on his shoulder and I duck my head. His lips move to my forehead. “Blaire?” He questions, his hands sliding up my back. “Talk to me.”

“I’m scared.”

He knows immediately what I’m talking about. “It’s only two tests Blaire. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“We have sex all the time,” I counter. “With that much sex it seems unlikely that we wouldn’t get pregnant.”

He chuckles and takes my face between his large hands. “True,” he agrees, “but we’re also both stressed with our jobs and stress is known to affect fertility, and now you’re stressing about this…” he trails off, letting me fill in the blanks.