Truly (New York 1)

Ben stepped under the spray, closed his hand into a fist, and started to stroke.

* * *

The shower was still running when she got off the phone with Allie.

May gulped half a glass of water and lay down on the couch, propping two pillows behind her head.

Her stomach was too full from the endless German gorge-fest, her feet hurt like crazy, and she’d never been so tired in her life. But her skin was all abuzz, her mind racing fast fast fast. She’d just told her sister she was going to sleep with Ben, so now she had to do it.

Not that she wouldn’t have if Allie hadn’t called. Or like Allie knowing really tied her hands. Tied was the opposite of what she felt.

She felt as though she’d cut a tether and drifted loose from the ground, and now she was high and scared, but giddy with it.

Are you sure this is a good idea? Allie had asked, and May had admitted the truth.

No.

No, she wasn’t sure. For a hundred different reasons, she wasn’t sure.

For one reason in particular.

Dan was at the cabin. That was why he hadn’t called. She’d said she would be there, and he’d gone straight after her.

She’d allowed herself to think that what Dan did wasn’t her affair anymore. When he hadn’t called, she’d thought maybe her note had come as a relief to him. That she hadn’t broken his heart when she walked out.

But if he was in Michigan, he had to be risking the displeasure of his coaches, not to mention the general manager. He wouldn’t do that lightly. He’d only do it because he wanted her back badly enough to risk the thing that mattered most to him.

Allie said he was planning to head home in the morning. He had a game on Thursday—the season kickoff game in New Jersey, where the Jets, as last year’s Super Bowl champions, had the pleasure of hosting the Packers. But he’d promised Matt he would be back in Wisconsin on Saturday for the wedding.

Allie said to expect him to call, because she’d caved and given him Ben’s cell number.

May knew she should probably call him first. But she couldn’t do it now. He didn’t have cell service. And tomorrow she’d be traveling, and so would he.

When she got home, then. She’d call him as soon as she got home. Tomorrow night, if it wasn’t too late. Or Wednesday morning.

No, not Wednesday. He had a game Thursday. She didn’t want him to be upset before the game.

Tomorrow night, or else after the game on Thursday. Friday morning at the latest. She’d explain and apologize, but make it clear that her mind was made up.

And then she made a disgusted face at the plasterwork ceiling, because she’d just rationalized her way into deciding not to call Dan for four more days.

You suck, May-o.

The truth was, Dan felt like somethi

ng that had happened to her a thousand years ago, in another life, and no amount of guilt would keep her from having sex with Ben when this was her chance. Their night. The whole day had been a form of foreplay. Sex was a foregone conclusion.

What really troubled her was that she liked him too much. She felt too much, and that couldn’t be a good idea, going into this.

But she had made up her mind: more messy reality, less unattainable perfection. That was how she planned to approach the future. Fantasizing and daydreaming hadn’t made her happy. She’d take beauty now where she found it. She wanted Ben, even if she feared that whatever pleasure he gave her would be brittle.

Even if it cut her.

The shower stopped.

He would be naked in there. He would come out with a towel draped over his hips, and she would see him.

She wanted that. She wanted him poised above her on the bed she’d slept in. Wanted him naked and worked up, panting and rough. Crazy with it.