Bennett (On the Line 2)

I ended the cal

l and opened my privacy curtain, grinning with happiness.

“So that’s what’s got your panties in a wad,” Liam said. He was leaning against a bunk nearby. “I wondered what your fuckin’ problem’s been lately. Bennett’s got a girlfriend.”

My heart pounded in my chest. He’d been listening? Shit, had I said her name? I doubted it, since he had a shit-eating grin on his face and he didn’t look like he was about to chop my nuts off with an unsharpened knife.

“Fuck off, douche,” I said, glaring at him.

“What’s her name?”

“To you, her name’s Mom,” I said, flipping him off with both hands.

He scoffed. “You can’t piss me off tonight, dude. You just gave me enough fodder to rag on you for the next month.”

“Or you could shut your hole,” I suggested. “I’m leaving to get something to eat anyway.”

“I’ll come with you,” he said. “Oh, please let me, Bennett. Don’t say no.”

He gripped my arm dramatically.

“I fuckin’ hate you,” I said.

“I don’t care. And I’ll get her name out of you by the end of the night.”

I just shook my head and pushed my phone down farther into my pocket. There was no way he could find out it was his sister I’d just been talking to.

Charlotte

I hadn’t felt pretty in a while. The morning sickness and fatigue meant I usually wore my hair in a bun at work and sometimes even skipped makeup.

But tonight was different. I wore my favorite old jeans, a black V-neck sweater, and tall, black boots. I’d fixed my hair and put on makeup and even a spritz of perfume.

I felt good. I was finally getting past the sickness and feeling excited about the baby I was carrying. And I was going out with Bennett tonight.

It wasn’t a date. At least, I didn’t think so. It was more about us getting to know each other. It meant a lot to me that he wanted that.

“Whoa,” James said when I walked into the living room. “She broke out the hooker boots. Someone’s looking to get some, folks.”

I gave him a dirty look. “These are not hooker boots.”

“Whatevs, roomie. Bet there’ll be a sock on your door tonight.”

“No, there will not. And that doesn’t even make sense because we don’t share a bedroom.”

James grinned, undeterred. “Who you knockin’ boots with?”

“Oh, geez. The nineties called and they’d like their slang back.”

Our doorbell rang and James and I locked eyes. He was closer to the door. I rushed over, but he got to it first. I cringed at the image Bennett must be seeing—James, with a chocolate milk mustache, wearing a T-shirt that said, “Born for Porn.”

“Hey, James. Is Charlotte here?”

I stepped around the back of the door, my mouth open with surprise.

“Riley? What are you doing here?”

He wore khakis, a sweater, and loafers and carried a brown paper sack, which he raised up.