Page 17 of The Cubby Hole

A secret seal.

It sank into the hole in my heart, breeding memories and drowning regrets.

He reached for one of the towels and scrubbed the evidence out of my chest hair before it could dry, then he fell forward, tucking his face against my neck.

We both murmured in disappointment when I finally softened enough to slip out of him.

I wrapped my arms around him, trailing my thumb down his spine.

I had loved him so much for so long.

I’d continued loving him, more than I’d admitted, long after I’d convinced myself I’d stopped.

Maybe the guys I’d tried to love after him had sensed that and run from me.

A hot tear slid from the corner of my eye, tickling the hair above my ear.

Ben rose to study my face, his forehead creased with concern. “You’re crying.” His pretty blues held a quiet panic.

I shook my head, not to deny my tears but to dismiss any worries he might have about the reason for them. “I’m a little drunk. And emotional. I’m good. I promise. It’s all good.”

Ben sighed. “Babe,” he whispered.

We weren’t those exes who’d gone on casually using endearments after we’d become friends again, lazily shifting the meaning to something platonic like girlfriends saying love ya.

Him calling me babe meant this wasn’t a drunken hookup, or a moment of temporary insanity, or fucking for old time’s sake.

This time, it was full circle.

I waited for him to say more, to grant me some confirmation of what was happening, but he only grinned at me like he knew a really juicy secret.

“Okay, baby,” I said, releasing the word from cold storage. “I’m gonna need more than your pretty blues and whatever telepathy you think I’m capable of. I need you to tell me what’s going through your mind right now.” I didn’t doubt the feelings between us, but I’d had a string of failed relationships—ours included—where I’d had to bulldoze communication and drag hope out of men who never seemed to have any to offer me. “I need you to spell it out.”

Ben shrugged. “I think it’s… time.”

I raised an eyebrow. “For?”

He squirmed. “For us to, you know… be together again.”

I did try to keep it together for his sake since my displays of emotion were known to embarrass him, but my throat was aching from trying not to cry. He’d just have to bear with me this time. I could feel my face contorting into a silent, hideous wail, and then I started fucking blubbering.

I kept trying to assure him it was joy and relief, but my words came out a garbled mess.

He offered me the other towel.

“Sorry,” I managed.

“It’s okay.” Ben ran his thumb under my eye and along my cheek. “You wanna maybe… move to the bedroom and cuddle? Without so much talking and crying.”

“Dude!” I slapped his hand away with the end of the towel. I couldn’t help but laugh at him for thinking he could get away with that. “We cannot not talk about this.”

He groaned and sighed. “Fine. How ’bout a shower first?”

I nodded. In spite of the aftermath of sex hormones and emotions coursing through me—maybe because of them—the traces of chlorine and my fading whiskey buzz were threatening to give me a headache. And I was eager to catch up on openly touching him again.

“Give me one sec.” Ben leapt up to start the shower in the bathroom, closing the door to seal in the warmth before returning to lead me by the hand.

The hot spray felt amazing, and there wasn’t a word big enough for the feeling of his muscular arms surrounding me, slick and strong. I submitted to being thoroughly soaped, rinsed, and locked in a kiss that went on and on, ravenous but soft.