There was a knock at the door, and I groaned inwardly as James went to answer it. I glanced around the corner as he opened the door for Bennett.
“Wassup, Baby Daddy?” He grinned and put out his fist for a bump. “You plannin’ to tap dat ass tonight?”
“Be respectful of Charlotte or we’re gonna have a problem,” Bennett said with a growl. “And you can call me Bennett.”
James dropped his fist. “Whatevs, bro.”
“Get the fuck out of here.”
James turned to me with a dirty look before dropping his head and walking out the door.
“That guy’s a fuckin’ idiot,” Bennett said. “I don’t know how you can stand living with him.”
“I wear headphones a lot.”
He set the bag he was carrying on the kitchen counter and reached inside.
“Brought you something,” he said, taking out a round cake from a bakery. It was decorated with white frosting and edged half in pink and half in blue. A “2” was also half pink and half blue.
“Looks good,” I said, smiling up at him.
“Thought we’d celebrate your second trimester.”
He smelled really good—that combination of leather and light cologne I remembered from our one night together. And as always, he looked good, the definition of his muscles showing through the long-sleeved T-shirt he wore. It was making me envision other ways we could celebrate. Ways that didn’t involve cake. Unless . . .
I could lick that frosting off your chest, I wanted to say. Maybe put some on my inner thighs for you?
I’d noticed some changes with the end of the first trimester of my pregnancy. The sickness had vanished, but now I was in a constant state of horniness. I’d had to resort to self-love, which creeped me out with James in the next room. I was always completely silent, and I always fantasized about Bennett.
“You okay?” he asked.
My cheeks warmed and I forced myself to look away from him.
“Yeah, I’m good. Just fantasizing about that cake.”
“Well, let’s grub and then we can do more than fantasize. Smells like you cooked something good.”
Smelled like leather and cologne to me. I leaned a little closer and breathed him in.
“You smelling me?” he asked, puzzled.
“Yeah, it’s . . . I’m just trying to place that cologne.”
“It’s Dolce and Gabbana The One. Like it?”
“I love it,” I admitted.
Our eyes met for a couple seconds. Bennett leaned a hip against the counter, and I imagined what it would feel like to be pinned against that counter by his hips, his body pressed against mine.
“I made chicken fajitas,” I said, clearing my throat. “It’s ready so I’ll get some plates.”
“Thanks for cooking dinner.”
“Sure. It was nice to have an excuse not to work late for once.”
His gaze followed me as I took plates from a cabinet, got out two forks, and went to the fridge for cheese and sour cream. I liked the way it felt to be looked over by him.
“What would you think about coming to my game Friday night?” he asked. “I can get you good seats. Bring a friend if you want. We could hang out after.”