Totally and Completely Fine(22)

I laughed. “Still not selling me on it.”

Ben smiled, and I turned away, looking at his space.

I’d visited Gabe on various sets and was able to witness how his trailers got progressively larger and fancier as his name moved higher up on the call sheet. When we’d gone to see his current one it was decked out with all sorts of creature comforts—mostly comforts for the actual creature who accompanied him. But Teddy’s items notwithstanding, Gabe’s trailer felt like his, the way his rental house felt like his.

Likewise, Ben’s trailer felt like his rental.

It was a decent size, but it seemed even larger because it was so empty. It was extremely clean and very sparse. The only sign of life was the various photos tacked up along the kitchen cabinets and fridge.

I took a tour while Ben stood aside, leaning against the wall, patient and gorgeous.

There was a photo of him in what looked like a parachute or skydiving gear, standing on the ground, hair windblown, grin as big as the sky. Another of him in the passenger seat of a race car, throwing the camera a thumbs-up. And, like a true Hawaiian, there was a picture of him on the beach, wet suit unzipped to his waist, standing next to a surfboard and three other surfers.

They were all in focus, with perfect lighting and depth of field. iPhone photos.

Then there was the sprinkling of older photos on the fridge—ones that were blurry with a distant, waterlogged look—mostly of a young woman with long black hair. She had Ben’s smile. From her clothes and general style, it was clear most were from before Ben—and I—were even born. There was one of her in a wedding dress, a simple courthouse-style sheath where the slightest curve of her belly was visible. There was a hand on her shoulder, but the picture had been ripped in half, so the hand belonged to no one.

Beneath it was the same woman holding a baby. Ben.

He was crying, but she looked happy, her arms wrapped around him, keeping him close to her chest like she was afraid he might fall from her grip.

My hand reached out toward that one, but Ben cleared his throat before I could connect with the shiny surface.

I jerked back.

“Can I get you something?” he asked. “Water?”

I shook my head and took the hint, stepping away from the photos. Away from the kitchenette.

I directed my attention elsewhere.

On the table was a bike helmet, next to a large wrench.

I looked at it and then at him, eyebrow raised.

He picked up the wrench, testing the weight in his hand, as if he’d forgotten.

“The shower was leaky,” he said.

“Aren’t you supposed to call someone about that?”

He shrugged. “Just needed to borrow some tools,” he said. “Now I have to remember to give this back to Amira tomorrow.”

I didn’t think he could be more attractive to me, but between quoting Yeats and admitting he was handy around the house, I could barely keep my head above the rising desire I felt. Then I added the memory of him on set today—water sliding down his neck, his chest, his stomach…

I went under.

“I don’t know why you’re giving me that look,” Ben said. “But let me tell you, I like it.”

“Just thinking about some things,” I said.

“Oh yeah?” He came over and put his hands on my hips. I loved the way his palms felt—warm and sturdy. “Anything you’d like to share with the class?”

I looked up at him. He twinkled down at me.

“Just how good you look when you’re all wet,” I said.

It seemed I had only two speeds with Ben. Uncontrollable babbling or aggressive come-ons. The latter was much better for the task at hand.

His hands slid upward, notching into the curve of my body just below my breasts. His thumbs came around to stroke my ribs, which was not a spot I’d thought of as sensitive. But it seemed that Ben knew exactly where I needed to be touched.

“That’s funny,” he said. “Because I was just wondering how quickly I could make you all wet.”

My breath left me. His eyes were right there, and they were so intense. So beautiful. Focused.

I leaned toward him so I could whisper in his ear.

“Let’s find out,” I said.

He turned his head, his lips meeting mine.

It was as if the time between now and our last kiss had been nothing more than a tick of the clock. I melted into him, and his arms were around me, corseting my torso with heat.

My purse—and my phone—were somewhere out of reach.

I told myself it was okay. That I could have this moment. That I could disappear into my own needs—into myself—for a little while. That I was allowed it.

I was so focused on his kiss that I hadn’t even noticed him walking backward. I let out a muffled squeak against his lips as I was pulled down, straddling his lap as he leaned back against the kitchenette bench.

I sent a word of thanks to my earlier self who had decided to wear a dress as I sunk down onto his lap. I also spared some praise for whoever was the inventor of sweatpants. They had just become my favorite type of pants.

Ben let out a groan, his mouth against my throat. I slid my hands over his shoulders, tracing the tattoo once more before I reached for the hem of his shirt.

He had another tattoo on his pec. This one was far simpler—a clean-lined heart with Mom in the center. I traced it.