Mowed Over (Sonoma Book 2) Page 4

  With all of us kids out of her house and Luis' two sons out of the state, Luis and Gran have become closer than ever. And by close, I mean they've been pranking each other on the reg, and getting drunk together on Saturday nights. I’d appreciate it more if they didn’t target me for their prank calls.

  Looking out the window at the sign for Blue Ruin, it's weird to think this was my last night at the bar. I'm happy enough to leave it behind, but I've been doing it for so long that I feel a little... un-anchored. Which is silly because I have so much work between the bakery and getting the coffee going.

  A couple minutes later, I see Luis' headlights as he turns into the parking lot and parks alongside me. Not a moment too soon; I'm freezing and dying to get warm. I grab my stuff and hop into his car.

  "You're a lifesaver!" I tell him before I'm blinded by another car pulling into the parking lot with its high beams on. Jackass. The driver uses the lot to turn around and go back the way they came, and I resist the urge to flip them off for scorching my retinas.

  "Anytime," Luis says, patting me on the arm. "Jesus, you're freezing!" He turns up the heat before turning all the vents in my direction.

  "Thanks," I say with a shiver. "I'll just crash at Olive's tonight," I tell Luis. He chuckles and shakes his head.

  "Nah, I'll drop you off at your place. I'm ahead this morning and I've got 45 minutes left on the rise for the baguettes, anyway. You called at the exact right time."

  "How are the boys?" I ask as I hold my icy fingers in front of the blasting hot air.

  Luis chuckles. "Oh, you know them. Mateo is getting into trouble every time he gets shore leave, and I don't think Javier ever stops working."

  We're outside my bungalow five minutes later and Luis watches to make sure I get inside ok. After admitting to making inebriated threats to Ben's mower, I suspect no one will ever drop me off and leave without making sure I'm inside again.

  My phone vibrates in my pocket and for a second I'm worried Luis got in an accident or someone's been hurt, but when I look at the screen it just says, "Unknown Number." I growl and silence it. There is a special place in hell for telemarketers that can't even keep it to business hours.

  I peek out the window at Ben's house. He's been so quiet the last couple days. Not a power tool or weed whacker to be heard. It has been glorious, even if I am slightly disappointed to lose the eye candy. Maybe he took my threats seriously? I laugh at myself as I change into my pajamas and toss Martini the Bear on the bed. I doubt that man takes anything seriously. Least of all me.

  Chapter 8: Ben

  A sliver of sunlight is glinting off my alarm clock, blinding me. I was already awake when the sun came up. Awake, with a serious case of morning wood. Fantasizing about Lilah isn't cutting it lately. I'm a walking ball of sexual frustration at this point. It's been a week since she drunkenly threatened me in that little red dress, and I've been slowly dying every day since. If I could just see Lilah, I'd be happy. Bonus points if I can talk to her. I have a plan, but it's not a good one.

  Desperation finally overrules my common sense and just a few minutes later I'm dressed and walking toward the shed in my backyard. An angel and a demon are having a cage match on my shoulder. The demon is winning. I unlock the shed door and pull it open. Inside, my shiny black lawnmower glints in the sunshine that filters through the shed windows.

  I know I shouldn't do this, but she's been avoiding me since her drunk visit and I just know she's embarrassed. I can't get her out of my head. It plays on repeat; the red dress, the way she laughed and then turned around and threatened my lawnmower… Even in heels, she barely came up to my shoulders, but it didn't stop her from poking me in the chest ferociously. I guess I've gotten used to the way most people look at me. I hit my growth spurt in middle school and didn't stop growing until I outstripped everyone I knew. It's not just my height either. I bulked out like a linebacker the second I started lifting weights. Most people find me alarmingly large, but Lilah doesn't seem to mind at all. She just looked up at me with those stunning green eyes, trying to glare at me. Fearless.

  Maybe that's why I'm completely distracted by her. In the end, the "why" of it doesn't really matter. I just know that my need to see her again is almost all-consuming. And maybe this is a dick move, but I think it's my best option at this point. Am I being a petulant child? Maybe. Is it worth it if I get to see her again? Absolutely. Especially if she comes out wearing those little bird slippers again.

  As I wheel my lawnmower out of the shed, I wonder how mad she'll be.

  Chapter 9: Lilah

  The roar of the lawnmower outside my window rips me out of another wonderfully filthy dream.

  "NO! No-no-no-no-no! Why?!" I yell as I fling the covers off.

  I'm going to kill him. I am going to kill Ben Clark with my bare hands. I can see it now: his stupidly handsome face realizing that he just fucked with the wrong girl. In my revenge fantasy, I elegantly spring from my bed, ready to take on my jackass neighbor. But reality sucks and my feet tangle in the top sheet and I fall out of bed with all the grace of a drunk panda, smacking my face on the end table as I go down.

  "Ow! Ow-fucking-ow!"

  That's just great. Add a head injury on top of the exhaustion. It's bad enough that my Jeep wouldn't start after work last night. Nothing is quite as fun as discovering a dead battery at 3 am. Now I get to deal with this jackass, a throbbing headache, and finding someone to jumpstart my car all before I even start my workday. Awesome.

  I get to my feet, a little wobbly but mostly okay. I even manage to make it to my front door without hurting myself again. Propelled mostly by rage, I stomp across my own overgrown lawn, hugging myself. It's warmed up a bit now that the sun is out, but I still should have grabbed a robe or at least put on a bra.

  "Why is he like this?" I mutter to myself before yelling, "You asshole! You said you wouldn't do this again!"

  The big ape can't hear me. His mower is running at a million decibels, and his big, stupid, muscled back is turned. I studiously ignore the way those back muscles ripple as he pushes his evil machine through the grass. That sweat dripping down his thick arms? Not distracting at all. I won't even acknowledge how those low-slung athletic shorts cling to his glorious ass and thighs. Nope. None of it.

  I make it to the edge of my property and huff, standing barefoot with my hands on my hips. Ben is just turning his mower back when he sees me. His eyes widen and he kills the engine just as I yell his name at the top of my lungs again.

  His face brightens and his mouth pulls up at one corner in the beginnings of a smirk. He's sporting a short beard along his jaw, well, something between a 5 o'clock shadow and a beard. Whatever you call it, it's sexy as hell. He has a white t-shirt tossed over one shoulder and he straightens his black-framed glasses as he walks towards me. I die a little. Why does he have to look so good and be so damn annoying?

  "Hey Lilah. What can I..." he trails off as he looks at my face and his dimples disappear. "Jesus, what happened there?" Ben reaches out to touch my forehead and I ignore the little thrill that runs up my spine.

  "YOU happened!" I snap back. "You and that stupid lawn- Ow!" His fingers graze the bump where my head connected with my end table and they come away with blood. I've been running on anger and adrenaline since I was so rudely awoken, but the sight of the blood on his fingers—my blood—and the concern on Ben's face is enough to tamp down my rage. My hand flies up to my head and I touch the enormous lump with dawning horror.

  "Lilah, are you ok? Do you have a first aid kit?" Ben asks me gently. His eyebrows are drawn together in worry, and his ever-present cocky smirk is replaced with concern.

  "I think I have some Bandaids," I reply shakily. I honestly couldn't be sure if I even have those, but even if I do, there's no way in hell I'm letting Ben into my house right now. I know for a fact that I have at least six bras and a dozen panties hanging on a drying rack in my living room. Note to self: buy a house with a decent laundry room next time.


  "How do you not have a first aid kit?" Ben asks me, his voice teasing.

  "I just moved in, jackass," I reply sarcastically. He's still smiling at me like it's adorable that I swore at him.

  "Well, come on," he says as he takes my elbow and starts leading me toward his house. The independent part of me, which is like 99%, wants to pull my arm free and scold him for leading me like a child. The other 1% is loving the way his hand feels on me. He's huge and so is his hand, a little calloused, and so warm on my skin. He's not being overly rough with me, but he's not treating me like a delicate little flower either. I can't say that I hate it. I bet he's amazing in bed. A delicious little shiver runs through me at the runaway thought, and Ben gives me a concerned look.

  "Are you cold?" he asks.

  "No. I'm fine."

  Although I'm seriously questioning my sanity right now. If true crime podcasts have taught me anything, you never hitchhike, and you never go into some guy's house when you barely know him. I can see nosy old Mr. Miller watching us while he waters his flower beds, so at least there will be a witness if I disappear.

  "Um, you're not a serial killer, right? Like, you're not going to tie me up in your basement or anything?"

  Ben raises an eyebrow. "Not without your consent," he replies.

  I bark out a decidedly unladylike laugh.

  Joke or not, the thought of him tying me to his bed and fucking me senseless has a certain appeal. Not that I'd ever admit that out loud.

  "Consent not given," I tell him as he opens the front door for me.

  Ben quirks an eyebrow up at me. "Fair enough. Bondage not your thing?" he asks. I can feel my face flush. I'm suddenly very aware that he's still touching my arm.

  "I wouldn't know. And who says things like that?" I give him a defiant look even though I know my face is beet red.

  Ben grins down at me as he leads me to his couch. "Sorry, I didn't mean to make you blush. Here, sit down." He holds up a hand. "Stay."

  I roll my eyes and glare at him as he chuckles and walks down the hallway toward the master bedroom. His house is the mirror image of mine; a one-story bungalow with narrow hallways, small bedrooms, and not nearly enough natural light. Through the gap in the doorway I can see a large four poster bed with rumpled covers and pillows tossed all over the place. I have to forcefully push the mental image of him sprawled across that bed out of my head.

  Instead, I focus on the living room, anything to avoid looking at his bed again. Photographs cover the walls of his house. Some look like his family, combinations of Ben with his mom, dad, and a sister. But most of the photos are landscapes and nature shots. Deserts, enormous agave, mountains, and Aspen trees. They're beautiful and I wonder where he bought them.

  I'm distracted when Ben reemerges with a huge first aid bag. And maybe it's the wrong moment to notice, but even the way he walks is a turn on. His stride is masculine and purposeful. Kind of like everything else about him. I feel like a tiny clumsy hobbit next to him.

  Ben sets the bag on the coffee table before pulling the entire thing closer. When he sits next to me, the couch dips and I slide towards him. His thigh presses against mine and he's alarmingly close. Maybe I should scoot away? Yes, I definitely should. But I really don't want to.

  So… I let him crowd me and I pretend like I don’t notice that he didn’t put a shirt on when he disappeared to get the bag. His tan skin is still glistening and bare. Sitting this close I can see the dusting of light brown hair on his chest and the sheen of sweat that really shouldn't be sexy, but he's got this Henry Cavill thing going on and all I can think of is Clark Kent running shirtless in the rain.

  Aaaand I'm staring. My eyes shoot up when I realize what I'm doing, and I must have a guilty look on my face because Ben looks smug as hell. Did I just softly sigh while inappropriately fantasizing about a man sitting right next to me? I must have hit my head harder than I thought, because I am clearly concussed.

  "Shit. Sorry," I mutter.

  "Why?" Ben laughs. "Look all you want. I don't mind." He's still chuckling as he pulls little packets, gauze, and tape out of his bag. He puts on a pair of gloves and opens an antibacterial cleansing cloth. "Look, this might sting but you need to hold still." I nod as he leans in even closer and touches it to my forehead. He's not wrong, it does sting a bit as he gently wipes my forehead clean of blood, but I don't care. His face is inches from mine and sweet baby Jesus, I can smell him. He smells like fresh soap and sweat and when he breathes, his breath is vaguely minty. Meanwhile, I rolled out of bed, literally, and stomped over here unbrushed, unshowered, and only half dressed. Nice.

  Ben pulls his head back a bit to look at my face as he works on me.

  "Are you ok? Does that hurt?" he asks.

  "Oh, no. I mean, yes a little but it doesn't bother me," I reply. "I mean, I have a high pain tolerance. I'm not going to be a baby about a little antiseptic." He smiles at me as I babble. His eyes have that calculating intensity again, but they never lose the sweet-looking crinkles at the corners. I snap my mouth shut and resist the urge to fix my hair. I don't think I even want to know how bad it is.

  Ben squeezes antibiotic ointment onto a Q-Tip and then his big hand is cupping my jaw, holding me still while he spreads the ointment on my forehead. I watch his eyes as he focuses on his work. This feels weirdly intimate and I hate to admit that I'm disappointed when he lets my face go, but I hold still as he tapes a piece of gauze to my face.

  "There. No more gaping head wound." He sits back with a smile and cracks a disposable ice pack, holding it to my forehead. "Hold that there for 15 minutes." He collects the trash from fixing me up and as he stands, he says, "Tell me again how all of this was my fault?"

  I suddenly remember my anger and follow him into the kitchen, ice pressed against my face and my free hand on my hip.

  "Tell me the honest truth: are you mowing this early just to fuck with me?" I ask.

  He crosses his arms across his chest and leans back against the kitchen counter as he tosses the wrappers in the trash can. He looks down, trying to hide a grin, and his sandy brown curls fall over his forehead.

  "Yes."

  I'm seeing red. I don't care how fucking hot he is or how good he smells. I don't even care that I like the way he touches me. I hate his smug ass.

  Chapter 10: Ben

  Honesty is the best policy, right? Usually I'd say so, but Lilah is glaring at me like I kicked a puppy. Color rises in her cheeks and her wide green eyes flash with anger.

  "Why?!" Her pretty mouth hangs open as she searches my face for a reasonable explanation. She propels herself away from the counter she was leaning on and pokes me in the chest, and despite her anger, she's rather gentle with the poking. She smells like cinnamon and fresh laundry.

  "Are you trying to get back at me for something?" she sputters.

  I grab her wrist to stop her from poking me again, or maybe it's just because I want to touch her. I let my thumb skim along the side of her hand, feeling her smooth softness. I bet she’s like that all over. She scowls at me with renewed anger. The morning light is pouring through the window, illuminating her like a tiny, beautiful, fiercely angry angel.

  "Calm down, Princess. I wasn't trying to be a dick."

  "So, what? It's just a fun little game for you? Riling up the neighbors? Waking us up at all hours? Yeah, doesn't sound like a dick move at all."

  "Jesus, you're one to talk," I say with a smile. I can feel her heartbeat in her wrist, the pulse growing stronger and faster with every sentence we exchange. "After turning up on my doorstep at 2 am just to yell at me?"

  "That- that was different!"

  "Why? Because you were drunk and wanted to see me?"

  "I did NOT want to see you. I just wanted you to be a decent person, but clearly that was too much to ask."

  There's a pull between us, like a rubber band drawing her closer every second until we're toe to toe. Our height differences force her to crane her neck up so she can glare at me. This close
up, I can see the tiny freckle under her left eye and the flutter of her lashes as she blinks angrily at me. It's impossible not to smile at her. I've never smiled this much in my whole damn life, but my face hurts when I'm around her.

  "You're fucking adorable when you're mad," I tell her.

  "I am not!" she says indignantly.

  "Yeah, you really are..."

  She stares at me, eyes narrowed for two lengthy breaths. There is electricity between us, and I know I'm not the only one who's feeling it. Without warning, Lilah's arm shoots out, her warm little hand grabbing the back of my neck as she pulls me down. Her soft lips press against mine, kissing me fiercely. For a second, I'm so shocked I don't move. She takes my stillness the wrong way, pulling back and looking appalled at herself as she whispers. "Oh, my god. I'm so sor--"

  I cut her off, cupping her face in my hands and kissing her back, swallowing the apology that I have zero interest in hearing. Her hands, pressed to my bare chest, are so warm. I want to feel all of her pressing against me, skin to skin. I'm not the only one who needs more because Lilah is leaning into me, her hips and stomach pressing against me. I sure as fuck can't stop my body from responding to the feel of her.

  Running a hand through the soft hair at the back of her head, I wrap the other around her waist, pulling her closer, my hard-on pressing into her belly. Her lips part against mine and I feel the barest touch of her tongue against my lips, an invitation if there ever was one. I tighten my grip in her hair, taking control as my tongue slicks against hers.

  Lilah moans, the sound muffled against my lips as she wraps her arms around my neck. She rocks her hips against me, teetering on her tiptoes. Jesus, she's so short. She's like a curvy little doll, and it makes me feel like a giant next to her. Gripping her ass, I straighten up and pop her on the kitchen counter, our lips never breaking contact.