The New Rule: (The Casual Rule 2) (21 page)

Which is beautiful, by the way. Just beautiful.

He walks into his kitchen, completely ignoring me and my silky bra strap. I hear the refrigerator door open and crinkling sound of a plastic bag. He must be making sandwiches or something.

I’m not going to make this easy for him. I get off the couch and join him in the kitchen. Looking like a throwback from Flashdance, I make sure my shoulder is exposed.

He completely ignores me. I look over my shoulder and note he’s making two turkey sandwiches. At least he’s going to feed me. He steps aside as I walk over to the refrigerator. I secretly scowl at him.

Jerk.

I take out a bottle of opened Sauvignon Blanc and place it on the counter. Reaching up, I grab a wine glass out of the cabinet above me. I know my skirt is going to ride up when I stretch and the garter belt clips will show.

Ben’s kryptonite is garter belts and heels. I’ve got both covered.

Quickly, I glance at him from the corner of my eye to see if he’s checking out my ass and smile to myself when I see he is. I try to reach for a second glass, but it’s too far into the cabinet for me to reach.

He sighs and moves behind me, leaning his body against mine to grab the wine glass in the cabinet. I gasp then stiffen abruptly at his brief touch. I take the wine glass out of his hand and place it next to the one I retrieved, our fingers brushing up against each other. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear I saw sparks shooting from our fingertips when we touched.

He goes back to his sandwich making without uttering a word.

I don’t know if it’s normal, but Ben and I have this curious dynamic. The more tension between us, the more turned on we get. It was like this before we ever had sex. The first time he opened his arrogant mouth, I wanted him so much, I practically married my vibrator thinking of him. By the time we had our first argument; I wanted to ride him hard. Once again, BOB saved the day.

This is going to be a long fucking night.

Feeling a small sense of satisfaction that, at the very least, he checked out my ass, I pour two glasses of wine and leave the kitchen. Placing the glasses on coasters on his coffee table, I sit on the couch.

Ben walks into the living room a few minutes later with two sandwiches on two plates. He sets the plates down on the coffee table and sits on the floor. I’m not sure if that’s a hint, but I join him.

Grabbing the remote, he turns on some cable news channel. I know he chose this channel because he knows it will bore me to death. This is part of his punishment for me doing my job. A job we both agreed we’d keep separate from our private lives. I’m pretty confident sitting on his floor, eating his food, drinking his wine, qualifies as a private life moment.

Ben sure can brood.

I’m going to make him break first. I don’t care if the words uttered from his mouth are curses at me; he’s breaking the silent treatment.

We eat our sandwiches in silence. I sneak a peek at him as he’s looking forward. God, I love his profile. It’s taking all my self-control not to trace his perfect lips with my finger and run the back of my hand against his five o’clock shadow. Look how fast his stubble has grown in… so sexy. I bet that would feel
really
nice rubbing against my skin.

 I wish he’s stop looking like… him. It gives him an unfair advantage. He always looks so damn good. Concentrate on your anger, Julia.

Okay, I have to stop stealth-gawking. I turn my head and look toward the window. There’s not much to see, just sky. When I turn my attention back to the television in front of me, I catch Ben staring at me. I recognize that look. That’s his “how long before I take her clothes off” look. Our eyes briefly meet; he catches himself and stares ahead.

We’re twenty minutes into our sandwiches and he’s still not talking. It’s time to mess around with him. Knowing Ben is one of those “coaster people”; I grab my wine glass and take a sip, placing it back down directly on the table—right next to the coaster.

Ben side-eyes the glass. That’s right Ben, it’s off the coaster. Your precious table is getting wine sweat. Just look at the tiny beads of condensation trickle down the glass and puddle on the table. That may leave a stain.

Trickle.

Trickle.

Trickle.

His jaw clenches and he inhales deeply. I know this is killing him. Yeah, I’m a spiteful bitch and this is childish, but I love needling him. All he has to do is talk to me and I’ll move the glass.

He surprises me by ignoring it and turning his attention back to the television. I’m tempted to say something, but I’m just as much of a stubborn ass as he is.

I give up. I’ve had enough. Standing, I head down the hallway to the bathroom. I look at myself in the mirror. I’m tired of playing this game. If Ben wants to continue this silent treatment, he can do it alone. I’m leaving.

I walk out of the bathroom and, per my usual routine, sneak into the Coin Shrine to peek at his laptop. I might as well know what I’m in for when he submits the next batch of chapters.

After carefully opening it, I find the document is already opened. There are just two words typed on the page.

Too much.

What the hell?

Quietly, I close the laptop and make my way back to the living room. Too much… what could that mean? Too much? Am I too much? No, he wrote this before our meeting today.

I stop midstep and watch Ben sitting alone on the floor. His elbow is leaning on the coffee table and his forehead resting in his hands. And I realize…

I’ve been playing juvenile games all night and he’s exhausted and overwhelmed. I failed him. I always look at him as being so strong… and he is. But those two simple words reveal his vulnerability; his anger was masking it. He needed me and I didn’t see it. I just didn’t see it.

Of course. His grandmother’s hospitalization, the endless travel, the deadlines and rewrites, his father, his entire shitty family, and keeping our relationship from cracking under all the pressures he’s under.

I love this man and I completely missed the fact that he’s been drowning right in front of me.

All I want to do is hold him and love him… but it’s clear to me now that what I want isn’t important. What’s important is what he needs. And the fact that he’s not speaking to me tells me that maybe, right now, what he doesn’t need is me. If he wanted me here, he’d say so.

His silence said everything. I just didn’t listen.

I walk to the table and grab the napkin next to my plate. I place my wine glass on the plate and wipe away the puddle of water. Then take the plate into the kitchen and leave it in the sink.

Embarrassed that I’m the epitome of a crappy girlfriend, I button up my blouse and walk back into the living room. I should leave. When he wants me, he knows where to find me.

What he needs is worth so much more than winning a stupid argument.

Saying nothing, I walk to the door and grab my handbag off the table near the closet. Ben’s hand comes out from nowhere and grabs my wrist. I drop the bag and look at him. Butterflies in my stomach flutter wildly as he takes a step forward, closing the gap between us. I feel the charge in the air and I know he does too.

He pushes me against the door, his hip pinning me against it. He grabs my face in his hands, our gazes meet, and in one quick swoop, our mouths crash together. His tongue sliding into my mouth: wet, warm and perfect. A moan escapes from the back of my throat. I reach up and tangle my fingers in his hair, pulling him to me. He breaks our kiss, gazing at me with a fire in his eyes, tilting my chin up toward him with his index finger.

Again, he swoops down and kisses me hard, long, passionately; unbuttoning my blouse with his free hand then sliding it off and dropping it on the floor. I grab the bottom of his shirt and pull it over his head. He takes a step back and we gaze at each other. Panting wildly. Ready to devour.

I stretch my arm across and touch his bare chest, splaying my fingers across his muscular chest then gliding my fingertips down every steely contour of his chiseled abs. He looks down at my hand then back up at me then scoops me into his arms and carries me toward his bedroom. I lace my hands around his neck and rest my head against his bare chest.

Kicking the bedroom door open with his foot, he carries me in, placing me down gently on the bed. He grabs each boot and pulls them off my feet, dropping them on the floor. Without breaking eye contact, he pulls his sweats and boxer briefs off, standing in front of me, magnificently naked and aroused.

He crawls on the bed and peels down my skirt. I reach behind my back and unsnap my bra, tossing it on the floor. I lie in front of him in just my garter belt and white silk panties. He exhales, it’s almost a groan. He unclips my garter belt, slowly rolling each stocking down my legs. I’m a tingling mess watching him undress me. He grabs my silk panties and slowly rolls them off until I’m lying in front of him naked, except for my garter belt that I already know he has no intention of removing.

I’m desperate for his touch. My heart is racing wildly. My sex is throbbing, desirous, and wet for him.

He gazes at me appreciatively, then moves my legs apart with his knee. He positions himself on top of me and in one quick movement, thrusts deep inside me, holding himself in place, looking down at me.

I gaze back up at him, expecting him to move at a punishing rate, the way our make-up sessions usually go, but he doesn’t. He moves slowly, deliberately, a man making passionate love to a woman. He stills momentarily, holding himself steady inside me, never breaking eye contact.

In this moment, I see everything I missed earlier; his worries, his weaknesses, and his undying love. No words are spoken, none are needed… the message is clear. My eyes mist up as I feel his love wash over me… so profound and utterly beautiful… it overwhelms me.

All I want is to love this man. Just love him.

This has nothing to do with sex. Ben doesn’t just want me. He needs me. He needs this. He needs us. What we are, what we mean to each other is what soothes him.

I let go of my pointless anger and give myself to him. My heart. My body. My soul.

He begins to move, worshipping me with each thrust deeper… over and over again. My heart races and I melt into the exquisite feel of every thick rock-hard inch of him inside me.

His tongue slides into my mouth, twined with mine; warm, velvety, and luscious. His kisses, his soft touches, this naked flesh on naked flesh… I feel desired. And I relish in it. I wrap my arms around him and rake my nails down his back, inciting a salacious moan from him.

He shifts his position slightly, hitting just the right spot to send me over the edge. My back arches up, meeting his thrusts until I have nothing left to give and surrender to wave after wave of pure bliss.

Ben finds his own release, tilting his head back as he hisses through his clenched teeth. He stills, gazing down at me. At first he looks serious, then his expression softens and he smiles.

He doesn’t say a word, he doesn’t need to. His eyes tell me everything. God, I love this man. He kisses my lips gently and moves to the side of me.

I turn to my side and face him while he steadies his breath. Gently, I trace his jawline with my fingertip. He gazes at me with a loving expression that pulls on my heartstrings.

And I know we’re okay.

He grabs hold of my finger, bringing it to his lips and kisses it. Rolling out of bed, he grabs his boxer briefs. I frown, trying to figure out what he’s doing. I thought this was us making up. But he’s leaving. If he were just using the bathroom, he wouldn’t bother with clothes.

He walks to the bedroom door, turning back to me and holds up a finger, gesturing he wants me to wait here.

O-kay?

I lie back down staring up at the ceiling with my brows crinkled, a little confused. The apartment is quiet until I hear a faint clicking noise, like the sound of the pilot light on his stove.

What the hell is he doing?

Two minutes later he walks into the bedroom with one hand behind his back.

He kneels down on the bed and shows me what he’s hiding.

I cover my mouth and laugh. It’s a toasted marshmallow on a wooden skewer. He actually toasted a marshmallow on his stovetop for me because he knows I love them.

This is his apology.

And it’s perfect.

Chapter 11

Ben’s grandmother has been in the hospital for a little over a week. He tries to sound upbeat when he talks about her, but I know it’s killing him on the inside. I want to help, find the right words, do the right thing, but I’m afraid I’ll say something wrong and make things worse.

This frail woman is his hero. I can’t imagine what he’d do if… I can’t even think about the if.

“How is she doing?” I ask, stroking his arm.

“I think she’s doing better. The color in her cheeks was coming back a little. She’s tired, but that’s to be expected,” he says.

“Are you sure I should go in? I don’t want to disturb her or the rest of your family if they’re here too.”

He frowns, confused by my question. “Yes. I want you there. She’ll be happy to see you.”

“Okay.”

I really don’t want to go in. It’s not that I don’t like his grandmother. I adore her. I’m not good at these types of situations: visiting people who are dying… or may be dying. Whatever. I don’t know what the right thing to say is. But Ben needs me here. So here is where I am.

“Ready?” Ben asks, his palm pressed against the door to her hospital room.

I nod, rubbing the back of his shoulder gently with an “everything is going to be fine” smile plastered on my face.

We walk into her private room. An unpleasant blend of hospital disinfectant and an overpowering floral scent is wafting in the air. I hate that smell. It reminds me of illness and death. I glance around the perimeter of the room. There are gorgeous wall to wall floral bouquets and one large balloon bouquet, yet the room still feels sterile.

I look at Ben’s grandmother, asleep in her bed and seated right next to her is my least favorite person in the world.