The Magnolia Chronicles: Adventures in Modern Dating(61)

And that was the tough reality of dating two men. Two men who didn't play well with others. Two men who limited their sharing to cookies and beer. Two men who wanted to love me more than I knew how to accept.

I squeezed his arm one more time. "I'm going to go. If it's sunny tomorrow afternoon, we'll work on pouring the patio cement before I head down to New Bedford for dinner with my family."

I paused, debated whether I should say anything else. It wasn't the right move but I wanted to invite Ben to my parents' house. That urge wasn't a product of wanting to do a meet-the-parents dance but of wanting to give him a family. He needed that. It would complicate the shit out of my life but he needed some extra-strength mothering.

"Fuck the patio," he replied. "I hate this fucking project. It's nowhere near finished, it's costing a fucking fortune, and it's a shitty way to spend a summer. No offense, but this is fucking horrible."

I hummed to myself, nodding as I folded those comments into his overall mood. He wasn't insulting me or any of the free labor I'd offered. He was working out some issues. I was sticking with that story—and withholding the dinner invite. Maybe next weekend. "My mom dropped off a ton of food while I was at work on Thursday. Truly, a ton. There's a big dish of chicken salad in my fridge if you're hungry. I have lunch meetings all week so I know it will go to waste."

"I do like her chicken salad," he muttered, still staring at those damn trees. Why wouldn't he look at me? Why wouldn't he just tell me what was at the heart of this?

"Then come get it," I said. "I hate wasting food and I don't have time to drop any of this off at the Walsh Associates offices so you should take some of it."

He jerked a shoulder up. "Maybe."

"Okay. I'm going now." I pushed up on my toes to plant a kiss on his cheek. "The back door is open if you want to grab that salad."

I stepped back, expecting a colorful comment about back doors and grabbing and…I didn't know, salad? But he continued staring at the trees. He didn't take the opening I'd offered.

My chest ached as I walked across the street to my house. It was a real, true pain, one I'd experienced before but never in this way. Men had left me hurting plenty of times but I didn't think I'd ever been the one to leave someone raw and fragile and angry.

I tried to put it out of my mind as I stepped into the shower and washed off the day's work. I had several hours before the engagement party but I required extra time to sort out my hair and cram myself into Spanx and—

The shower curtain clattered against the rod and Ben was standing there, the fabric bunched in his fist, a scowl on his lips, his body as bare as the day he was born. "Scoot over," he ordered as he stepped under the spray and yanked the curtain back into place.

"All right," I murmured, mostly to myself.

A minute passed without a word from Ben. Not a grunt or growl. Then another minute. He didn't touch me either. But I felt him. Frustration—and hurt? I wasn't sure—radiated off him in waves. He couldn't hide any of it. We stood there, two separate souls sharing a shower while a fuckton of emotions choked the air between us.

Finally, I started, "Ben—"

"No." He shook his head, drove his fingers into my damp hair. Droplets streaked down his cheeks, over his chin. They weren't from the water. "No."

"Ben. Listen. I want—"

"No," he repeated, bringing his hands to my waist and backing me up against the wall. Goose bumps spread over my skin. The tile was cold despite the steam rising around us. "No."

He pressed his forehead against mine, closed his eyes while tears poured out. He stayed there, his thumbs on my pelvis and his fingertips digging into my ass cheeks, his breath on my cheek and his cock hot and hard on my belly.

He needed to hold me. He also needed to hate me.

"Ben, I want—"

He stole my words with a kiss, a thrust, a sob. He reached for my thigh, brought it to his waist. I was open to him now, in every way I could be. And he knew it because he looked me in the eye for the first time since I'd called out his moody cement tossing. He looked me in the eye while he pushed two fingers inside me, while I curled my hand around his cock. He stared at me, watching while I rocked and writhed against him, while I stroked him, while I begged for more, while we reached the edge and fell over together.

And then, when I was dizzy and warm and boneless, he pressed his lips to my neck and whispered, "Don't go. Please, Magnolia. Don't go tonight."





Chapter Twenty-Seven





My date was exceedingly stubborn.

I dragged a wide-toothed comb through my wet hair and caught a glimpse of Ben in my bedroom mirror. He had the balls to stand there with his arms crossed over his chest and a dark pink towel wrapped low on his waist, scowling. Scowling. At me. As if I was the one being unreasonable here.

"I'm just saying, you don't have to go."

And he just kept saying it. This had to be the third or fourth utterance. Thankfully, he wasn't busy thrumming my clit this time. That made it much harder to say anything but "Yesssssss."

"As I've told you, I do. I have to go," I replied, sparing him a glance in the mirror.

"As I've told you, that's not accurate," he argued. "You can get out of it. You can stay here." He ran his hand through his wet hair. "You can stay with me."