“Okay, okay, listen,” he says, setting his hands on my shoulders. “I get maybe how you could feel that way on a first date, or the first time you sleep with some dude destined to be the future Mr. Blanton. But, Parks, it’s me. That’s the whole reason we have this arrangement, right? So we don’t have to worry about things like food babies, or rumbling, or farting in bed—”
I hold up a finger. “There will be no farting in bed. Clear?”
He continues as though I haven’t spoken. “Since it’s just me, you won’t have to worry if you’re at just the right angle that makes your stomach look flattest—and don’t lie, I know you girls do that—and I don’t have to worry about what you’ll think of my size. Just kidding on that last one, I know it’s hugely impressive, and—”
I laugh, pushing him backward. “Okay, fine. You win. You promise not to notice my food baby, and I’ll promise not to laugh at your tiny thingy.”
His smile drops in mock seriousness. “You take that back.”
I shrug. “Sorry. I have my theories, and—”
Ben’s fingers wrap around my wrist, and before I know what’s happening he’s tugging me out of the kitchen toward the stairs.
“Where are we going?”
“Where do you think?” he answers.
“But it’s not eight o’clock yet.”
“Close enough, Parks. Close enough.”
Well.
Okay, then.
Chapter 12
Ben
“You first,” I command.
Parker’s hands land on her hips. “No way. You first.”
I grin, because I’m already in motion before she’s finished speaking, one hand reaching behind my head to grab a fistful of shirt, yanking it up and off.
I toss it aside.
Parker’s eyes narrow at my now shirtless abs. “You knew I was going to say that.”
“Guilty.”
“Now your turn,” I coax.
She doesn’t move, and we stand facing off in her bedroom.
“The door’s open,” she says prissily.
“Nobody else is here,” I say, with what I think is admirable patience. “Just us.”
“But—”
I anticipate this, too, once again moving quickly, but this time reaching for her shirt, which, thankfully, is a stretchy, striped affair that allows for fast, uncomplicated removal.
“Ben!” she shrieks.
I toss her shirt into a pile with mine. Success.
Only this time, I’m not quite as cocky.