Page 44 of A Stealthy Situation

Just text me when you’re done.

Well, that’s one problem solved.

“Here.” Benny dumps a whole handful of measuring spoons in front of me.

I glance from them to him and back again. “I only needed two.”

He shrugs and moves to the fridge. “I’ll cut the vegetables. You handle the chicken.”

That sounds fair. “You sure you can be trusted with a knife? I swear you wanted to kill me a couple of times today.”

His grin is evil. “You’ll have to trust me and see.”

“That’s how people die in horror movies.”

He carries the potatoes over and dumps them on the counter. “Nah, just these guys.” He lifts the first one. “Don’t kill me. I just want to provide for my family.” And a second. “Family? What family? No one even likes you, Bill.” Benny grabs a knife from the drawer and lets out an evil cackle. “You’re at my mercy now.”

He hacks into the vegetables, and I watch the side of his face, wondering how, how this is the man I’m fancying.

“Those voices are really doing it for me,” I tease, hating that I think it’s kinda cute.

“I’m tired and hungry, and I’ll fake punish our meal if I want to.”

“Oohhh, degradation kink and a punishment kink. Learning new things about you every day.”

“You could learn—” His mouth slams shut.

I ignore the chicken and turn to him. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“Nah, you were about to say something.”

Benny moves on to punishing the carrots instead. “Just something dumb. Figured it was probably inappropriate.”

“Can’t I decide that?”

He sets the knife down and turns to look at me, and just like every other time, those eyes do me in. “You already did.”

“What do you mean?”

“Today, when I said you turned me down and you started getting all weird about it. I crossed a line, so I’m sorry, and I’m just trying to be a good friend and remember what those lines are.”

Wait. He thinks I got weird over what he said? Considering I never actually clarified anything, how dare he misunderstand me? I want to beat myself with the paprika shaker.

The tension wasn’t from him.

The tension was from me wanting to tell him the shit going through my head. Sure, I turned him down, but I’m actually not so sure I meant it. I’m also not sure I didn’t. The confusion is real.

But as he stands there, not even a foot away, the words that make no sense to me just … drift away. Does any of it actually matter? Words are useless. Feelings are everything. And I’m having a hell of a lot of them now.

The urge to rub the dirt from his cheek with my thumb.

The curiosity of how his body would feel against mine.

The intense want to know what he tastes like.

My hands itch to touch, to feel his hair and grab his hip, and finally settle that burning in my gut.

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