Tug-at-your-heartstrings new adult first love story.
What starts as a bet to avoid cleanup duties at her minimum wage cashier job, wins Amelie D'Amico more than she's ever hoped for.
When Ben, a cute customer who always checkouts at her register, fi...
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"Bzzz." I push Ben's doorbell for the third time, but no one comes to get me, so I text him again.
Me: i'm at your door. is your buzzer broken?
Nothing.
I pound on the door, then pound on it again. The door opens, but it's not Ben on the other side of the threshold. Instead, a descendent of Greek gods smiles at me and waves me in.
"I told the fucker someone is at the door," he tells me and then shouts into the apartment, "get your ass in here to introduce us." He turns back to me. "Amélie, right? I'm Mike." He takes the bag from my hand. "He won't stop until he gets to the save point. It's an impossibility for him. He'd rather let me fucking bleed out on the floor than lose the progress. You play?"
"Uuhh, not really."
"Wanna try?"
My head has a life of its own, as it swivels to admire his chiseled jaw, the facial hair that is more than a five o'clock shadow but less than a beard, and straight, too perfect nose.
"I'd rather watch."
"As you wish." The towering man blocks most of the light from the living-room with his broad shoulders that would've dwarfed even Xavier.
Mike's biceps and calves aren't as bulging with muscles as those of my ex. They hint at plenty of strength to stop a fight. If he had a broken nose or a busted lip, I would've thought him a professional rugby player.
"You hungry?" He points over his shoulder with his thumb. "Ben made pizza. Oh, and I brought some beer if you want—it's in the fridge."
"Sure." I opt out of what looks like a meat lover's paradise and put two slices of a cheese pizza onto my plate, open a beer, and take a bite standing right there in the kitchen.
"Better come with me. You can eat on the couch." He grabs the last beer out of the fridge. "And watch." He winks and I envy the long black lashes most women and some men would kill for that line Mike's black-brown pupilless eyes.
He leads me to what must be Ben's office. Ben's sitting on a legless black leather chair on the floor focused on the big-screen TV, controller in hands, navigating through what appears to be a dark hallway. Mike joins him on the second identical chair and motions for me to get onto the small sofa behind them. I balance my plate on my lap, switching between drags of beer and bites of what I think is an underwhelming pizza. Average at best, it's not worth the trouble of being made from scratch.
"I'm gonna find my Nonna's pizza recipe and give it to you." I address the back of two heads. "What game is it?"
This time, I get a response. "Resident Evil two remake," Mike says. "You sure you don't want to try?"
"I'm good." The girl and the guy characters on the screen are attempting to make their way through a creepy building. "Which one of you is the girl?"
"Shhhh." Ben turns my way for a second and looks right back at the screen.
"He—hates—it—when—people—talk —during—the—game." Mike increases the volume with each word. "I'm playing Claire today, but we switch around."
"Uhu." I finish chewing the last piece of pizza and place the plate on the floor, about to take another swig of beer when a zombie jumps out of nowhere. I scream and drop the beer can on the floor, which is enough for Ben to stop playing.
"Are you ok? What happened?" He comes over and crouches next to me. "Did you hurt yourself?"
"The zombie. It jumped. I was scared." I start laughing. "I was scared of the zombie." The beer on the floor is forgotten as rolls of laughter tear through me. "The zombie." Tears coming down my cheeks.
"We are done for today." Ben picks up the can and wipes off the beer from the wood floor with a napkin.
"I'm sorry"—I can breathe again—"did you get to the safe place?"
"Save point." Ben gets up. He's smiling now too. "No, I didn't, but it is fine. We have played this game so many times I know what's next. Cannot believe you got scared."
"Startled." I'm not a child to be scared. I stand up next to Ben, and he gives me what starts as a light greeting kiss and progresses into a 'let me play in your mouth' one.
"I guess it's my cue to go," Mike's voice makes Ben pull away. When I look over at Ben's friend, I chuckle at the two thumbs up he's giving Ben. "He did well, I'm proud, what can I say?" Mike's grin would've given the Cheshire cat the run for its money.
"Next time, let's hang out. Or even better—come by the dojang, and I can show you off to the rest of the crew, cause Ben sure wouldn't." He elbows Ben on his way to the door. "I'll make sure to arrange that."
"I don't know if she likes Taekwondo, but I can sign her up for a class." Ben grabs my hand, and the three of us go into the living room. After Mike says his good-byes and leaves, awkwardness joins Ben and me in his stead.
"Do you want more pizza?"
"No, I've had enough."
"Do you need anything else?"
"Some red wine, maybe?"
"I don't have any alcohol." Ben's looking at the floor five feet away from me.
"Nor coffee, nor candy, I know." I approach him, wrap my hands around his neck, and put my head on his chest. "I missed you."
"It is eleven p.m. We have been apart for approximately sixty-three hours." Ben wraps his hands around my waist. "I have missed you too."
"Good." My lips stretch back into a smile. "You better." I land a light kiss on the t-shirt above his heart.
"Do you want to test my sheets, or do you need to shower?"
That reminds me of the reason he invited me over: second and third bases. Desire stirs low in my stomach. I breathe in and the smell of his body wash mixed with oregano or basil propels the heat up to my chest.
"Straight to business, huh." I let go of him. My cheeks must be burning. "Shower first. Your bathroom or the guest one?"
"You know you are sleeping in my bed tonight, right?"
"Right." My body is on fire, and we haven't even done anything. By sleep does he mean sleep like last time or? I shouldn't get my hopes up. But even sleeping next to him is a treat.
Ben puts his hand on the back of my shoulders and nudges me toward the second room I didn't get to explore on my last visit. My skin tingles where he's touching me through the shirt. His bedroom has a low grey upholstered platform bed, two side tables, two lamps, a small bookshelf, a chair, a music stand, and a cello. He opens the door to the bathroom, flips the switch to light up a bright white room with a walk-in glass shower.
"The towel on this hook is yours. You can put it on the towel warmer after you are done. Do you need anything else?"
