Truly (New York 1)

“His last name is Hausman,” she said. “No.” Pause. “No.” Long pause. “No! Jeez, Allie, how dumb do you think I am?” Pause. “Yes.” Pause. “Well, yes, but it’s not—”

And then she stopped for a second, broke into a huge grin, and threw her head back and laughed.

He had to look at something else. The sight of May laughing gave him wood, and it didn’t help that he had a strong suspicion she was talking to her sister about having sex with him.

He’d heard her Please all the way home. The throaty, sexy sound of her voice when she was turned on. How soft her skin was. Her breasts, holy fuck.

Stop, he told himself, but it was useless.

“No,” she said, “it is like that, but I’m fine.” Pause. “No, I haven’t.” Pause. “Not yet.”

She wriggled out of her sweater. She crossed her foot over her knee and leaned down to tug off her boot—a position that pulled down the scooped neckline of her T-shirt and gave him an eyeful of the breasts he’d been trying not to think about. His empty hands curled into fists, and he stood staring until she looked up, raised her eyebrows, and laughed again. “Yep. That’s exactly what I meant.” Pause. “Duly noted.” Pause. “Nope. I’ve got this under control.”

She was definitely talking about having sex with him. She peeled off her socks and flexed her bare toes.

Ben walked into the bedroom, where he threw some dirty clothes in the hamper. Were the sheets clean? He tried to remember, but he couldn’t think, because she kept bending over in his head, and he wanted to peel her shirt off more than he wanted to draw breath.

He turned down the covers instead and remembered that May had slept in the bed last night, and these were the sheets he’d put on for her. They were fine.

Leave the covers folded over, or smooth them flat? What would look least presumptuous?

Why was he being such a tool?

Her voice carried down the hall. “How am I supposed to know? Don’t you think if I had any idea what to say to Mom, I would have called her myself?”

Pause.

“Well, I guess if you have to tell her something, tell her whatever seems easiest, and I’ll sort it out after I get home.”

Longer pause.

“Right. So are you guys having fun? How’s Matty?” Pause. “What do you mean, Dan’s there?”

He was halfway to the living room when he realized what he was doing and stopped short.

Leave it alone, Ben. None of your business.

May glanced at him. He grimaced and then, for lack of any better ideas, opened the fridge.

He needed to cook something.

He didn’t have any groceries.

Run. He’d go for a run. Five miles would beat some of this restlessness from him, give him his discipline back, and May could finish her phone call and deal with whatever implications arose as a result of fucking Thor having flown to fucking Michigan in pursuit of her.

And that fucking pisses you off.

But she wasn’t his to get pissed off about. He’d give her space. Run for an hour or so. Then he’d end up sweaty, and he’d have to take a shower, and what if May got sick of waiting around?

Skip the run. Just shower. Sunny day, lots of walking, he probably smelled ripe. Though if he got in the shower and started thinking about her again …

How bad would it be to beat off in the shower?

It would take the edge off. That would be good, because the edge was sharp. This conversation with her sister might shift where May was mentally. She could change her mind about the whole thing. And if she didn’t—if she was still up for it—then he could last longer if he took care of this first. Make it better for her.

Decision made, Ben ducked into the bathroom. May laughed from the other side of the closed door. He turned on the water. When he unzipped his jeans, his hand rubbed against his dick, and he groaned.

Definitely better to get the situation under control.