“No, Ben. The world doesn’t revolve around you. Didn’t you learn that lesson when you were three? I’m allowed to make decisions that benefit me, just like you make decisions that benefit you.”
“My decisions benefit the rest of the free world, but who’s counting?” he jabs.
“I do miss you and one of the first things I thought of when the opportunity was presented was you,” I hiss. “But if you’re going to be such a jerk about it, I’ll cancel the thought and replace it with disdain.”
“With your boyfriend, though. Not sure how I like that.”
“You don’t have to like it, Ben. You have to live with it,” I explain.
He shakes his head. “No more boyfriend talk. I’m sorry. Rewind. Congrats on your new endeavor. The best coast is happy to have you back. So am I.”
Smiling, I lie back down next to him. Our hands touch in a lazy, comfortable way. With one finger stretched out, I point at the passing cloud cluster. “Who do you see?” I readjust my thick black sunglasses.
“Buttercup,” he says matter-of-factly.
The Princess Bride. I was obsessed with that movie and the unconventional way Westley expressed his love. Ben watched it with me more times that I’m comfortable admitting. My heart hammers out the familiar rhythm calledmy repressed feelings for Ben.“It’s not her. No points,” I whisper.
“You’re awful sure it’s not her.”
Clearing my throat, I say, “It can’t be her. It looks like the Tazmanian Devil.” He tilts his head to look at the cloud from a different angle.
“As you wish,” he says.
Narrowing my eyes, I glare at him. He smiles, acknowledging his heinous crime.
“If that’s what you want it to be, but no one is getting points for it,” Ben replies. His cell phone is pumping music out from the bottom of the blanket and the song changes to one of my favorites. I sing along in a low tone while I contemplate a million different things.
“One last cloud and then we need to get on the road. Hell hath no fury than your mom when she’s made her famous consommé and we’re late to the party,” Ben says, bouncing his foot up and down to the beat.
“Oh, God. She made consommé? How did I not know that?” I roll up to a sitting position and start gathering our stuff. The gunshots have receded from a rapid fire to a few piercing shots every few seconds. “They must have killed whatever they were killing.”
Ben laughs. “If they’re killing anything over there we’re in trouble, Harps,” he says, handing me the comic book to put into the big tote bag. We came here after a Jazzercise class. Just as he promised, he participated and didn’t laugh once. I think Ben likes Jazzercise as much as being a SEAL. I’ll never call him out on it, though.
“Do you wish you were with them?” I ask, standing to brush off sand. Taking a deep breath, I inhale the fresh, salt water air. It’s one of the purest scents on Earth. To me, it smells safe and constant. Who the hell knows what the world will look like next week or year. The ocean will smell the same, though. “Don’t you like to practice killing things?”
“I took some time off while you’re here. I never take time off.” He raises his brows and blows out a breath. “I needed this.” Looking up at me, I see the cost of his breakneck paced lifestyle. “It’s constant, you know? The second we rat out one guy, we’re focusing on the next.”
I nod, lean over to grab the corner of the blanket, and pull as hard as I can. He rolls off into the sand. “Don’t feel sorry for yourself. Consommé, remember?”
He plays at mock outrage and rolls around the sand, making a big deal out of my ceremonious dumping.
“You’re going to get your truck full of sand. You know that, right?”
He waggles his brows, folds his arms behind his head, and says, “Not if I take my clothes off before I get in.”
Folding the blanket, I stuff it under my arm. “Better get on with it then,” I quip.
“You’re so full of it,” Ben says, standing in one fluid motion. “You’d lose your mind if I took my clothes off.” With one hand he reaches to the back of his neck and pulls his T-shirt over his head.
Looking away at the safe, constant ocean, I say, “Whatever. I’m not full of anything except brains.”
He laughs, but I hear his zipper and then his pants hit the ground. “You’ve seen it all before anyway.” It’s both fact and fiction. I haven’t seen this version of Ben naked. “Look at me.” He shakes off his clothes, the fabric flapping in the wind.
I do, trying my best to seem uninterested in his sculpted body, as my gaze wanders. He has things I’ve never really thought much about. Intelligence and goals are sexy. Things that further you in life. Surveying Ben’s qualities, I realize maybe there’s something about the physicality of a man I might find attractive. Chiseled abs. Broad shoulders that curve into lean forearms and thick wrists. His boxer briefs ride low on his waist and wrap around thick thighs. “What’s the big deal?” I ask.
“You tell me,” Ben says, tucking his thumbs into the band of his underwear, teasing.
“Let’s go. You’re high on testosterone right now. It’s the only excuse I’m willing to accept. You’re not going to take those off,” I deadpan, meeting his cocky gaze.
