Dirty Little Lies (Dirty Little #2) (19 page)

Mia takes my phone and happily taps away at the keys.

I smile as I watch her, thinking about how life is full of happy little coincidences. I probably never would’ve met this woman if I hadn’t let Ben back into my life.

Pushing one door open opens so many more. I’m ready to walk through them all.
 

After everything with Preston Pollard settles down, Ben and I drift into an easy rhythm together. When Stuart and his team complete a full sweep of my place and find nothing amiss, Ben and I start splitting our time between our places.
 

Some mornings I wake up in Ben’s arms in my own bed, and some mornings we wake up together in his.
 

The two of us are both slammed at work. Development continues on RV-7, keeping Ben and Mia at the office until way past dark most nights. Clothing, jewelry, and accessory designers continue flocking to my site, wanting to take advantage of its growing popularity to get a wider audience for their products.
 

Felicity and I work together more and more often; we become a pretty good team.
 

With the overwhelming demand of our jobs, it would be easy for Ben and I to drift apart, to lose sight of each other, to put our relationship on the back burner.
 

Somehow, it only brings us closer together. We carve out time in our day to make each other a priority. Sometimes I bring lunch to Ben between meetings, and sometimes he meets me on set at a shoot to share some takeout. Ben sneaks away during his late-night programming sessions for a quickie in his office.
 

It’s not ideal, but it’s exciting.
 

Every night, we manage to find our way back to each other.
 

We only get the chance to spend one or two full days together a handful of times in the months since we got back together, until Ben and I decide to make it a point to have one day every weekend to ourselves, no interruptions. It takes some doing, but it’s worth it.
 

Sometimes we dress to the nines and go out on a date. Ben is still pretty good at the wooing. Even though he has me, he doesn’t stop trying to hold on. Sometimes we stay at home, never leaving the bed, getting lost in each other over and over again.
 

Tonight, we’re in our pajamas, cuddling together as the credits for a movie we just watched together roll across the screen.
 

“I thought you were kidding when you told me you learned how to lay tile,” I tell Ben, because he’s just revealed some plans to me about wanting to redo his kitchen floor that took me by surprise.

“Why would I kid about that?”
 

“I don’t know,” I reply, laughing. “I thought it was a metaphor or something.”
 

“When have I ever gone that far for a metaphor?” He looks so amused, I just want to kiss the look right off his face.
 

“It’s just that when some rich guy tells you that they took a tile laying class at a hardware store, it’s like…I don’t know, you assume that it’s fiction, or him trying to get in touch with his everyman. A version of a mid-life crisis if you will.”

After catching the look on Ben’s face when the words “mid-life crisis” come out of my mouth, I make sure to backtrack as quickly as possible. “Not that you’re middle-aged. You’re not even thirty,” I reply, stating the obvious.
 

“But I
am
some rich guy?” Ben says, laughing, pretending to be offended.
 

I lean over and playfully kiss his cheek. “You’re
my
rich guy.”
 

He squeezes me tightly. “Your rich guy who can actually lay tile and wants your opinion on something.”
 

“My rich guy who’s going to lay tile after he finishes rehab on that hand, right?”
 

The cast is long gone, and Ben is probably tired of me bugging him about keeping up with his physical therapy appointments, but his hands are talented, and I want him in tip-top shape. I’m annoying him, though. The look he gives me tells me as much.
 

“Ask away,” I say lightheartedly, dropping the PT talk. “I’m ready to opine.”
 

“Do you like the slate or the grey for the kitchen?” Ben asks, motioning toward the two different tile samples that are sitting on his coffee table.
 

“They both look grey to me,” I say, snuggling against his chest. His arms are wrapped around me, and I’m warm and comfortable. Perfect.
 

“This one is more blue.” He lifts his bare foot up, tapping on the edge of the tile on the left with his big toe. “The other one is more grey.”
 

“Which is why it’s called grey, I guess.”
 

Ben tickles my side a little, and I lean into him to get away from it. Judging by the way he nestles his face into my hair, I’m guessing he doesn’t mind that too much.
 

“I like the slate, I guess.”
 

“Don’t sound too enthusiastic about it,” he teases.
 

I shrug. “They just…”

“Don’t say they both look grey.”
 

I tilt my head up and kiss his chin. “Okay, I won’t. I shouldn’t have to point it out, because that’s grey on grey, babe.”
 

Ben rolls his eyes. “You’re lucky that I love you,” he says.
 

The words just tumble out, and steal all the breath out of me.
 

It’s not the first time I’ve heard that this time around, but it is the first time that he said it without any explanation. When we first got back together, he let me know that his love for me never went away, so I knew it was there, but this time he’s saying it because he just wants me to know.
 

No agenda, just love.
 

He catches himself almost instantly, realizes exactly what he’s said. His eyes widen for just a moment, like he surprised himself. Then he gives me that look that he has so often, the one that makes me feel precious and safe and like I’m the only woman in the world.
 

He leans in, tangles his fingers in my hair, and says it again. Right against my lips. Then he kisses me, and puts every single ounce of that emotion into it.
 

I
feel
it crackling and sparkling all the way down to my toes.
 

“I am lucky,” I say, and Ben looks like he doesn’t believe it. That night out on the balcony really rattled him, and it seems like he’s still struggling to see the good in himself sometimes.
 

I feel lucky to be loved by this Ben. He’s charming and thoughtful, and he cares about me and my sister. He’s everything that I want in a boyfriend, flaws and all.
 

He’s all that I hoped for, and thought I would never have.
 

“And I love you,” I continue, because the feeling is so strong right now that I can’t
not
say it. I’ve been feeling it for a while now, sooner than I thought was wise, given our history.
 

But that love I feel is filling up every part of my life now: making me excited to open my eyes in the morning, making me look forward to stolen moments and quiet kisses. That love makes me feel at home here in his arms, and it’s only right that I should tell him that.
 

Ben tugs on my waist, the words spurring on something inside of him, so I lift myself up until I’m straddling his lap.

He reaches up and cradles my face in his hands. He’s looking up at me, full of wonder, and I’m beaming back at him like he’s the sun.
 

“Say it again.” His voice is completely wrecked. “Please.”
 

I scrub my hand lightly across his stubble, letting the pad of my thumb trace the curve of his lower lip.

“I love you, Ben.”
 

He turns his head, and kisses my palm, his eyelids fluttering shut. He seems completely overcome with emotion, which is something that I so rarely see. It looks good on him.
 

“You okay?” I ask.
 

He nods. “Yeah, I just…I didn’t think I’d ever hear that again.”
 

I give him a kiss, long, and slow, and deep. “I’m happy to tell you any time you like. But remember our deal?”
 

Seems like a little love fog has made him completely forget about the fact that I forbade him from ever bringing up the past again. I don’t want what’s supposed to be an incredible sentiment to get swept away in a sea of self-doubt and deprecation.
 

“No bringing up the past,” he says dutifully, with a gorgeous grin, like he’s so proud of himself for remembering.
 

It’s so cute I have to kiss him. Positive reinforcement, and all that.
 

“Absolutely not.”
 

“Since talk of the past is forbidden, how about I bring up the future?”
 

My heart skips a beat, just hearing that f-word, but I’m quick to answer, because I don’t want him to think that I’m freaking out or anything.

“What about it?” I ask.
 

“Before I get started with a big project that will take up some of our time together, and probably require you to come with me to the hardware store to pick up things like cement and tile spacers.” I groan, but he ignores me. “I wanted to know what you thought about something.”
 

“As long as you’re not going to ask me to choose between two grey tiles, I’ll tell you anything you want.”
 

He smiles, but it’s apprehensive, and he trails his fingers up and down my side, like he’s trying to work up the courage to ask me something. I’m pretty sure I know where he’s headed, but I’m going to let him get there on his own.
 

“We haven’t spent a night apart since…”
 

That night on the balcony. I know. “Yeah,” I breathe.
 

“I like that you’re the first thing I see in the morning when I wake up,” he admits, fingers still trailing across my skin. “And the last thing I see at night.”
 

“I like that too.” Nervous Ben Williams is a sight to see, and I can’t help but grin, even though he’s suffering.
 

“I was wondering what you think of moving in together. Making the waking up and going to sleep together more of a permanent thing.”
 

“I like permanent things,” I tell him, and he visibly relaxes at that. “Where would you like to fall asleep and wake up with me?”
 

He shrugs. “We could find a new place together. You could move in here, or I could move in with you. Honestly, I really don’t care where we are as long as you’re with me.”
 

Completely on its own, my mouth lets out this strangled, high pitched noise.
 

“What?” he asks, smiling.
 

“You’ve become such a sap in your old age.”
 

Ben tilts his head up and kisses me. “You like it.”
 

“No,” I correct. “I love it.”
 

Truth is, I love my place, but with my work bringing me downtown more often, it would be more convenient to be closer. Ben’s neighborhood is great, but his apartment isn’t a place I would choose for myself, and I could see the two of us running out of space with all of our stuff.
 

“What do you think?” he asks, sounding a little anxious, probably because I haven’t answered him yet.
 

“This time around, we’re all about the clean slates. So if we’re going to move in together, then I think it should be a new place that we pick out together.”
 

“Yeah?”
 

I nod. I’m absolutely sure about this. “Yeah.”
 

He picks me up, bumping his shins against the tiles on the coffee table, sending them toppling down to the floor. I hang onto him tight, pressing my body against his.
 

He kisses me through his smile, and when I lean back to get a look at his face, I say, “What are we doing?”
 

Even though he’s laughing, I can feel him hard and insistent against my thigh. I give my hips a little thrust, which makes him groan.
 

“There are still a few places we haven’t had sex,” he tells me matter-of-factly.
 

“You’re supposed to christen the rooms when you first move in.”
 

He takes my earlobe between his teeth, giving it a gentle tug. “It’s never too late.”
 

It takes a while—so long, in fact, that I’m pretty sure our real estate agent is only hanging on for her potential commission—but Ben and I finally find a place in the perfect location. It’s a remodeled loft in a lovely old building that’s halfway between his office and the studio that Felicity and I like to schedule shoots in.