No Strings

“No, only two.” I’d hardly call that quite a few.

He takes a step back, and his eyes meet mine. I’m waiting to see what he’s going to say, but instead, he simply swallows thickly and nods. “I better get started on the pancakes.”

He walks away, taking his warmth with him, and I’m left standing here wondering what the hell just happened.

Chapter Sixteen

Benjamin

Savannah has two men courting her… Two. Not three. Two. Because I’m not courting her. And I need to remember that. Because she obviously has. And that’s the way it should be. I’m not the settling down, commitment type. Commitment leads to expectations, like babies and families, and with those expectations come the inevitable disappointment—I witnessed it firsthand with my parents. The fact that Savannah gets it and accepts it and knows I’m not trying to court her should make me happy.

So then why the hell am I so goddamned jealous of the fact that when I mentioned she has several men vying for her attention, she didn’t include me in that scenario?

I whisk the pancake batter a bit too hard, trying to get myself under control. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Savannah standing there, watching and assessing, wondering why I went from being all over her to giving her the cold shoulder. She wants to ask but doesn’t want to cross over that stupid invisible line that we have to stay behind.

No, it’s not stupid.

It’s smart.

It keeps us in our place.

Reminds us what we’re doing… and not doing.

“Do you want any help?” she finally asks softly, making me feel like an asshole for the way I reacted.

“If you want to make the eggs, I won’t stop you.” I make sure my voice is playful so she understands I’m not being cold to her. She did nothing wrong and doesn’t deserve my shit just because I’m stuck in my own head. When she visibly sighs and smiles, I know it’s worked.

We work side by side getting breakfast ready, neither of us saying a word, and when I can’t take the silence anymore, I turn on some music—a country playlist since it’s Savannah’s favorite. A song comes on that Savannah must really like because she starts to sing along, knowing all the words, shaking her ass and using the spatula as a mic.

“I wouldn’t quit your day job,” I joke, bumping her hip with mine.

“Hey!” She pouts. “I’m a good singer.”

“Maybe to the tone-deaf…”

She glares my way, then grabs a pancake from the pile on the plate without a second’s hesitation and throws it at me. It smacks the side of my face, then falls to the floor with a plop. I glance at her, shocked as hell that she just hit me with a hot pancake. She tries to hide her smile by grabbing another one and taking a bite of it. “Mmm.” She moans dramatically. “These are yummy.”

“I wouldn’t know,” I say dryly.

Her attempt at tampering down her smile fails when an adorable giggle bubbles out of her.

“You think that’s funny, huh?” She’s so busy laughing that she doesn’t see me grab the bottle on the counter and quickly shake it before I aim it at her. “How about some whipped cream to go with your pancake?”

Her eyes go wide, her head already shaking back and forth, but it’s too late. I press down on the top, and white shit shoots out all over her face.

“Oh my God!” She shrieks, coming after me to steal the can. I turn away from her, and she jumps on my back. “You’re so dead!” she yells through her laughter.

I carry her on my back over to the living room, then shake her off so she falls onto the couch. She hits the cushion, her face dripping with white cream, and before I can back away, she grabs me by my neck, pulling me to her. I’m not sure what she’s going to do, but when she rubs her face all over mine, transferring the cream onto me, I crack up laughing.

When she finally stops, our eyes meet, and I drink her in. She should look ridiculous with white stuff dripping all over her nose and mouth, yet she looks gorgeous. Her eyes are filled with mirth, and her cheeks are stained pink from laughing.

I plant my hands on either side of her head and press my lips to hers. The kiss is meant to be chaste, but it quickly turns heated. Our tongues tangle with each other, tasting, coaxing… until I hear the sound of Brody’s voice getting closer.

“Mmm,” I murmur against her lips, repeating the same sound she made a few minutes ago. “Delicious.”

I push off the couch and step back just in time because a second later, Brody enters the living room, his phone still pressed up against his ear. He stops in his place, looking at us like we’ve lost our minds. “What’s all over your faces?” he asks, his nose scrunched up in disgust.