The Promise (The 'Burg #5)(9)

I stared at it, feeling his words gather in my belly, and the way they did, I liked the feeling.

Then I glared at it, wishing I had something to throw, even if he was long gone and I wouldn’t hit him.

The only things I had were magazines and a remote, and if I threw any of them, I’d have to haul myself out of bed and go get them.

So, instead, I took the only option open to me.

I snatched up Ben’s universal remote, pointed it at the TV, and commenced f**king with all of his settings so it would take him at least an hour to sort that shit out.

Done with that, I filled his Netflix favorites queue with programs that would make Homeland Security put him on a watch list.

While I waited for his return, I selected the most non-Benny television show Netflix had to offer (Dr. Who, precisely), let it play in the background, and flipped through my People.

While doing so, I fell dead asleep.

Genuinely.

Chapter Two

Shakespeare

I woke up feeling a t-shirt-covered chest under my cheek and hand, an arm angled down my back, hand resting on my hip, and I heard baseball on the TV.

I opened my eyes and saw I was right, white tee stretched across a broad chest, a chest my hand was resting on.

I instantly rolled to my back. The arm around me let me, but the tee came with me and then Benny was up on an elbow in the bed, forearm under me, upper body looming over me. Now I could see tee spread across a broad chest and shoulders, a handsome face with the beginnings of a sexy five o’clock shadow, tousled dark hair, and gentle dark brown eyes.

“Sleep good?” he asked quietly.

“Why are you in bed with me?” I asked back, not quietly.

One side of his lips hitched up slightly and he repeated, “Sleep good?”

I decided to dispense with the back and forth and snapped, “Yes,” then did my own repeating. “Why are you in bed with me?”

“Watchin’ the game,” he replied.

“Don’t you have a TV in your living room?”

“I do, but got home, started up here to check on you, heard somethin’ that freaked me out. Thought you were takin’ a chainsaw to my bed. Got in here, saw it was you out and snorin’.”

I closed my eyes.

I opened them when Ben kept speaking.

“Looked at the TV, heard the TV, knew it was f**ked up. Babe, you messed with my contrast?”

I fought my smirk by glaring at him.

He ignored my glare and continued, “A man’s TV has gotta be the way he wants it to be. So I decided to sort that shit without delay. Took a while so I figured I should be comfortable doing it, and bein’ comfortable meant movin’ you so you’d stop makin’ that God-awful noise.”

I said not a word, but what I thought was that my TV ploy was an epic fail.

Benny did say a word, more than one. “Jesus, Frankie, you even f**ked with the receiver.”

“No one has surround sound in their bedroom, Ben,” I informed him.

“I do,” he informed me.

“Why?” I asked.

He leaned slightly into me and I tensed because Benny close was bad. Benny very close was very bad.

“Tell me this, cara,” he started. “Why does a woman ask ‘why’ about shit a man does? I’m not askin’ just to ask. I honestly wanna know the answer to that. He does what he does. If it doesn’t hurt anybody, why does there have to be a ‘why?’”

It was more than a little annoying that he had a point.

“We want to understand you,” I explained.

“Half the shit any woman I know does I do not get. Not even a little bit. And I do not care that I don’t get it. She does what she does. She doesn’t get in my face doin’ it, who gives a f**k?”

“So you’re sayin’ you don’t give a f**k about how women think?” I asked.

“I’m sayin’ I don’t need to know how you think,” he replied.

“Is this why you’re thirty-five and single?” I went on snottily.

“No,” he returned immediately. “I’m thirty-five and single because I am not gonna settle for somethin’ that doesn’t feel right, doesn’t feel good, doesn’t bring me joy, doesn’t have my back, doesn’t know how to cook, keep house, listen, laugh, make me laugh, give great head, or ask me why I do shit.”

“I’m not sure that woman exists,” I shared, and something changed in his eyes that I could probably read if I tried. But I didn’t try.

“I’ll find her,” he replied.

“I’m thinkin’ you won’t,” I told him, no longer being a bitch. I really didn’t think he would. The giving-great-head part especially. It was my experience, both personally and anecdotally, that most women found that a chore. It had to be done occasionally, but you went through the motions to do it.

He leaned in even closer. “Then I’ll train her.”

I felt my eyes get squinty. “We’re not dogs, Ben.”

“A woman gets in a relationship, you’re tellin’ me she doesn’t do her thing to train her man?” he shot back.

She did. Absolutely. She started building her lesson plans the day after a first good date.

On that thought, I decided a change in subject was in order so I brought us back to priority one.