The Best You’ve Ever Had

Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

Layla

Golden sunlight filters through the gauzy curtains. I muster the strength to open my eyes, despite my splitting headache. The giant pillow I thought I was cuddling turns out to be Ben. No wonder it felt like hugging a pile of rocks. There’s not a damn soft thing about him.

I can’t help but take in the sight of him, bare chest and passed out beside me. He’s massive, long, and basically a stack of muscles upon muscles. What the hell are they feeding these firemen? Steroid-infused protein shakes? The dimples right above his ass could be used as cereal bowls, for chrissakes.

If it wasn’t for the mind-blowing orgasm he gave me last night, I would want to hate him for being so perfect. Instead, I tamp down the craving rising in my chest for more. Under no circumstances can I ever let him make me come again. As amazing, and rare, as that orgasm was we can’t make even more of a mess of our already rocky inklings of a friendship.

He rolls over with a groan, as I throw my body off of his, hoping he won’t notice that we were unashamedly spooning in bed all night. I have never spooned a human in my entire goddamn life. I’ve always preferred to have sex, politely see the person out, and go to sleep in my perfectly temperature controlled room, complete with ambient white noise and four very expensive pillows.

With one eye squinting open, he mutters, “Hey big spoon, how’d you sleep?”

“Like shit. And there was no spooning.”

“Must’ve dreamt it.” He throws an arm over his eyes to block the sunlight, and tacks on, “It was a crazy dream though. My big spoon felt odd since it was a little on the small side.”

I see his perfect, stupid white teeth smiling like this is highly entertaining to him. Half of me wants to join in the fun, while the other half is slightly mortified that I let my guard down enough to fall into this predicament. Because of this, I come up with a very responsible solution—smothering him with a pillow.

Lifting the pillow beside us, I toss it onto his face and pretend to hold it down. “That’s enough from you.”

From below it, he begins to laugh, the sound muffled through the stuffing. I lift it from his head, and he grins up at me. “The only thing that’s surprising about you trying to off me is that it hasn’t happened sooner.”

“I can’t help it. At times you make going to prison for murder look very enticing.”

I pretend as if I’m going to make another move to put it over his face again. But he grabs my wrist, those long fingers circling around so easily they overlap. “But who’s going to make you orgasm if you’re all locked up?”

“I’m sure I’ll find many willing participants in prison that would like to make an attempt. Maybe they’ll even be able to teach you a thing or two.”

This sets him off, his eyes flashing dark as he pulls me on top of him in one swift motion. “Do I need to remind you?” he asks, voice low in my ear. “That you said I was the best you’ve ever had? Or should I show you with my mouth again?”

As we lie chest-to-chest, I feel him grow thick and hard against my abdomen. I consider it for half a second…who am I kidding, I consider it for very many, painfully long seconds. Almost as painfully long as his dick.

Then I remember where we are. I remember our parents are probably getting ready for the day down the hall. And most of all, I remember that we’re us—Ben and Layla. Childhood frenemies with no chance of ever getting out of whatever is going on between us unscathed. Future holiday family dinners are about to get a whole lot more awkward for us.

His eyes lazily scan my features, as he waits for me to make a decision. He knows me, and he knows I’m analyzing every angle of this under a microscope. He sits there, patient, as he lets me consider all the possibilities.

The conclusion I come to however, is that we’re already playing a high-risk game of pretending to date each other. Sex is only going to make the stakes higher. On the surface level, I realize I can’t be physical with him again because it complicates things.

Deep down, buried under every thick and calloused layer of protective armor, I realize that a tiny part of me could easily do this everyday and never grow tired of him.

It’s the reason why I jump off the bed, and toss him his shirt. “Let’s go see if the snow has melted so we can be free of each other.”

He stands, a flicker of disappointment in his expression. As he tugs his dark shirt over his head, it’s as if the fabric has erased whatever feeling was swirling inside him. Now he’s right back to the Ben I know and am used to. The one with mischief dancing in his eyes, and a smirk pasted on his stupid gorgeous face, as he replies, “One can only hope.”

I stand staring at it. A thick pile of snow, creating a fortress of white around the house. This fucking weather was busier than Ben and I last night. While there’s a lot of it, I can at least see the tiniest possibility of digging out the driveway and car to leave. I will get through that wall of snow. And I will get away from him before my resolve breaks down further, and we do something else crazy.

When we woke up this morning, our families smiled at us over the rims of their coffee mugs, eyes brimming with all their hopes and dreams of me getting knocked up so they can finally be grandparents. I wanted to yell at them to knock it off, but we’re supposed to keep up this facade. This is what we agreed upon to make Mick happy.

With a borrowed pair of snow boots, two sizes too big, I open the garage door, snow shovel in hand. The news mentioned that the roadways were being plowed, but if they aren’t, I’ll shovel this entire fucking city myself if that’s what it takes.

The garage door slams shut, snapping me out of my thoughts. Ben stands there, looking far too smug and amused for the situation and hour.

Leaning casually against the door jamb, he grins. “Someone’s eager to get out of here. Already sick of me?”

I don’t even bother to turn and face him. God knows I’ll just want to sucker punch him, then jump his bones and demand another one of those earth-shattering orgasms no one else has ever given me. So instead, I decide to flip him off over my shoulder. Behind me, his laugh rumbles. He knows damn well what he’s up to.

Shuffling to the wall of snow in my too-big boots, I start clearing the driveway. I scoop shovel after shovel of this awful snow until every muscle in my body burns with the same intensity as my hatred for this horrible time of year. If I were back in my apartment in the city, I’d be curled up on my couch with a mocha, watching the snowscape from the comfort of my cozy living room.

But I’m stuck here—mind-boggled, horny, and frustrated that despite all those hours at the gym, I can’t even shovel snow for more than a few minutes.

Hearing the rough scrape of another shovel against the cement, I turn to see him on the other side of the driveway, clearing snow to create a path. My heart warms at the sight of him helping, but I quickly smother that feeling like the spark of a disastrous wildfire. Clearly, he’s not doing this for me, he’s doing it to get me the hell away from him.

Without a word, I get back to work. The sound of metal grating on cement and wet snow echoes between us as we dig from opposite sides. We’ve been at it for a while, shoveling in silence, when suddenly I feel the wet smack of snow hit me straight on the ass. I straighten up, pivoting to see where it came from, only to be ambushed by another snowball that hits my shoulder.

He laughs under his breath like this is the funniest thing ever, but he has no idea the hell he’s unleashed.

“You motherfucker,” I yell, grabbing a handful of my own snow.

Cupping the freezing powder between my hands, I pat it into a round ball and walk closer to him for accuracy’s sake. I launch it directly at his stomach. Those damn abs deserve to be punished for being far too perfect. A bit of frostbite might even the playing field.

His smile grows wider when the snow breaks apart upon contact with his body. “What? Afraid you’ll lose?” He’s enjoying the fact I’m joining in his little games far too much. He knows better than anyone that I’m evil with an overzealous need to win.

Flinging another freshly made snowball at him, I huff out, “Over. My. Dead. Body.”

My next two snowballs miss their mark, flying past and crashing into the trees behind him. But my last throw couldn’t be better—it nails him right between the eyes.

I freeze in shock, not intending to hit him in the face, but feeling a twinge of pride nonetheless. He did bring this upon himself, after all. As he blinks through the specks of powder clinging to his face, I keel over in laughter. My stomach aches from laughing so hard at the sight of him, his eyelashes dusted with fine snow and shock written all over his expression.

As suddenly as this all began, he scoops me off the ground and throws me over his shoulder. “You think that’s funny, huh?”

I punch him in the back. “Let me down. I need to get back to work.”

“You’re stuck here now. Sorry.” He walks into the garage, holding me by the knees with one hand, using his other to hang his shovel back up.

“Don’t make me choose violence today.”

He releases my knees, and I slowly slide down the front of his body. His eyes lock onto my lips, lingering there as if he can’t help himself. “Pretty sure you wake up and choose violence every day.”

His hands remain anchored on my hips, our bodies pressed together as if the snowstorm has frozen us in place. His large hands splay across almost my entire back, and his thumb traces the curve of my hip, making me arch into him without a second thought. We stand there, two warm bodies tangled together, chests rising and falling as if we’re fighting for our last breaths. Challenging, unyielding, and charged with needing more.

I can finally admit it to myself—I want him. And I want him a damn lot.

That’s why I don’t push him away when I feel the tips of his fingers slipping under the hem of my shirt. One hand trails up the arch of my back, skin against skin, sending goosebumps rising—a mix of the frigid air and his touch. Bowing his head to my level, his mouth brushes against the curve of my neck, dragging a lazy path to my ear as he breathes me in. “I can’t stop thinking about last night.”

I’m silent. To some, it might seem strange to be quiet when the world’s most attractive man has his hands all over you, confessing he’s been thinking about that time he ate you out. But my mind is in overdrive, caught in a battle over the right course of action. The problem is, I’m starting to care less about what my brain thinks and more about what my heart wants. And my heart, inconveniently, is really damn horny for him.

Opting out of replying, I reach down, my fingers tracing the thick outline of his erection before I cup him, stroking him up and down through his pants. Air hisses between his teeth as he pushes into my palm, encouraging me to go on. When I squeeze him again, his hand grabs my wrist, stopping me from moving.

“You’re either going to make me come all over myself, or I’m going to bend you over out here in the freezing cold.”

I glance up, meeting his eye with a smirk on my lips, as my hand goes right back to work. Challenge accepted. I didn’t get to touch him like this last night. No wonder the man is cocky, he has a dick the size of Florida.

And despite his warning, he doesn’t back down. We’re playing a dangerous game, toeing this line of having fun and going too far. The temptation is so great that for once in my life I don’t have the willpower to stop it. I crave his touch as instinctively as I crave oxygen, his hands becoming the very air I need to breathe every second longer they’re on me.

Still tucked into his body, he takes several large steps forward while I travel back, until my back is pressed up against the tall tool cabinet in the corner of the immaculate garage. The red metal is ice cold against my skin, but I don’t care. I want to see what he’ll do next. He’s unpredictable in a world full of predictability.

Right on cue, his other hand slips under the cream knit fabric of my shirt, as he shoves down the cup of my bra and takes a rough handful of my breast. Squeezing my pebbled nipple between his two fingers, I bury my face into his chest with a muffled exhale.

Tweaking my nipple again as I arch against the wall, his pelvis pins me against him and the cabinet. He drops his forehead to mine as he watches how I react to his touch. “God, I love seeing you like this.”

“Like what?” I breathe.

“Like you don’t want me to stop touching you.”

I’m currently incapacitated from forming an intelligible response, as he continues to play with each breast, giving each nipple ample attention. It sparks a want so deep that it sits heavy and bright.

He lowers his head, lips grazing my neck, teasing the sensitive skin with the warmth of his breath and stubble. Reaching for the waistband of his pants, my finger traces the top of the material before sliding down. His skin is warm, seemingly burning against my freezing hands. The muscles of his abs flex as I reach in, ready to finally wrap my hand around him for the first time, and feel the weight of how much he really wants me. Which is a fucking lot considering how aggressively his dick is straining against his pants right now.

The sound of the brass garage door knob jiggling startles us, causing him to jump off me and slam into a lawn mower nearby. I quickly adjust my shirt and raise my hands as if I’m under arrest, caught red-handed for nearly hooking up with my frenemy twice now.

Dante walks in, mid-whistle, and stops short when he sees us. As if Ben and I share a brain, we both lean back against the nearby tool chests, trying to look calm and casual, like hanging out in this glacial garage with a half-shoveled driveway is perfectly normal.

Taking a look at us, to the driveway, and back, Dante lets out an amused laugh. “And here we thought you two were faking it.”

Ben and I glance at each other with wide eyes, silently signaling what the hell we’re supposed to say back to a comment like that.

“Faking it?” Ben asks, closing the distance between us and wrapping his arm around my shivering shoulders. The heat of his body is like a warm, safe cocoon. Breathing in the clean pine scent of him, it hits me that the line between reality and faking is quickly becoming so blurred that it’s imperceptible.

“Yeah, you know, you two have always fought like cats and dogs, so it was a little hard to believe. But clearly you two have something going on. Guess we were all wrong.” He pats the wallet in his back pocket. “Shit, guess I owe Mom twenty bucks now.”

“You all placed bets on if we were legit or not?” I ask, smiling with a mixture of shock and amusement.

“Of course we did. Not much else to do around here, being snowed in and all.” Dante throws a dirty towel in the washing machine that’s adjacent to the door. “You two do know you don’t need to shovel. I bought a new heavy-duty snowblower that’ll finish the job in half the time, if you’re trying to get out of here.” He gestures to his son, suddenly remembering something. “Hey, if you’re heading out though, think you could pick up Mick’s prescription at the pharmacy? You could drop it off on the way to your Christmas party tomorrow.”

I feel the way Ben’s muscles seize up when his dad mentions the party, like his whole body has hit the brakes. “Yeah, I can. But I wasn’t planning on going to the party. With all the stuff with Mick going on, I thought I’d skip it this year.”

A look of encompassing sadness crashes over Dante. “Your grandpa wants you to still live life and have fun. You’re not chained here everyday. This could be days or months. No one knows. The one thing I do know is that he doesn’t want you missing out on things because of him.”

“I don’t know.” Conflicted, he won’t meet his dad’s eye. “It still feels wrong.”

“Honestly, he could use the rest. The last couple days have been a lot for him.” Dante glances right at me, a silent plea on his face to help them both out.

I feel every hope I had of getting away from Ben swirling down the drain at record speed. That’s what I get for thinking I could escape this. No one knows better than me that life has a cruel way of snatching back nearly everything you thought you had. But damn it, I can’t be selfish like I usually am. Not when the weight of Dante’s pleading stare is pinning me down.

I look up at Ben from under the crook of his arm. “Your dad is right. You should go and let Mick rest. I can go with you, if you want.”

Dante smiles with relief, as Ben’s head snaps to look at me in surprise. He thought I’d be up to my usual antics of not wanting to be near him—and thus, being on his side of not going. But of course, we don’t operate that way. Of course, I’m going to do the exact opposite of what he wants. Most importantly, this is what’s best for everyone, which is why I’m here in the first place.