Page 31 of Just a Plot Twist
I must nip this in the bud ASAP, regardless of the fact that he smells amazing and is nice and strong enough to carry my broken-down self to safety. When he looks at me, his dark eyes hold the most tantalizing secrets. His jaw is chiseled from stone. He has sinews and veins in his forearms that are forevermore ingrained inside me.
Except, right now, his hand stretches out to me, like he’s reaching for my…shirt?
“What are you doing?” I cover the collar of my blouse with my hand and then take a wobbly step backward. He steps forward, snakes an arm around my back to steady me, and then meets my shocked gaze.
“Claire, you’re hanging out of your top like biscuits from a can,” Grandma whispers. It’s like she’s truly in pain, with her brows jammed over her eyes and her mouth in a sneer. Then she levels her gaze at Benson again.
I glance down at my chest.
It’s on display. Nearly all of me is, really. I’m Megan Fox on the red carpet, with my neckline plunging almost to my belly button.
If only I were that beautiful.
I look ridiculous. My bra? Basic white and in poor condition. My skin? Also pasty white and in poor condition.
And now it’s clear. Mygrandmotherthinks Benson and I were in the beginning stages of a, a…compromising situation here.
Which wouldn’t make sense, considering I’m at work. But all signs point to something very untoward…
“No,” Benson and I say at the same time. I wrap the two sides of my blouse together so tightly they’re overlapping.
He shoots out a palm in a stop gesture. “We weren’t—”
Grandpa and Grandma are in shock. Scandalized.
Furiously, I attempt to button up, but my fingers stumble, and I realize partway through that I’ve buttoned it wrong. I groan, unbutton the ones I’d already attempted, and begin again.
“You’re all making me nervous. I can’t even button up properly.” I turn my body to face the wall, still buttoning when I add, “Sorry to scandalize you all with a bit of cleavage here…” I toss Benson a look over my shoulder. Why didn’t he say anything?
Grandma clicks her tongue. “It wasn’t just a bit.”
“Well, it’s hard keeping myself together while I’m hobbling around on crutches!”
I turn back around. Out of sheer embarrassment, I rest my gaze on the flowers. Benson does the same. I can’t help but take a whiff of the hyacinth scent.
“And what are these?” Grandma stares at the flowers shrewdly before bouncing her gaze between us.
I finger my blouse, hoping the buttons are right, and clear my throat. “Benson brought them.”
He makes a sound, like he’s about to protest.
What’s that all about?
“Well, actually, he had them sent to me,” I amend. Geez, stickler for the truth, huh? “Because he was there when I got hurt, so that was the nice thing to do, right? They look like the bouquet you gave me after the school play.”
“Are you going to introduce us properly?” Grandma asks.
“Oh. This is Benson.” I don’t mention he’s a brother to the Tate boys. That’s unnecessary info right now. “And Benson, this is Vernon and Patricia Hanson, my grandparents.” I supply a nervous grin. “But they raised me, so they’re like my parents!”
“We don’t want to…interrupt anything,” Grandpa says, his mouth turning down into a frown.
Again with the dagger eyes from Grandma. “We’re dropping off some essential oils for muscle healing.” She sets a small, clear vinyl bag on my desk. “Use them multiple times a day and you’ll be off those crutches in time for the big anniversary extravaganza.”
“Thanks.”
“And the dress I got you, is it in order?” She tilts her head to one side, appraising me like I’m cattle at the county fair. “Does it fit you properly? I’ll be introducing you to everyone and so…” She pauses, taking me in. “You’d mentioned getting a haircut.” She frowns but waves me away. “I trust you’ll fix it in time, whatever you end up doing with it.”
I palm my hair and bite my lip. “Of course I will.”
