Cameron looks at me with a blank face. Then he busts out laughing. "That would only happen to you."

"Shut up," I say dryly. "It's not funny."

"It's hilarious." His face gets serious. "How bad of a reaction? Do you need to see a doctor or anything?"

"Nah," I say and take another drink of coffee. "The redness is almost gone, thank G.o.d. I'm just so f.u.c.king tired."

He gives me a watch-your-mouth-at-the-office glare. "Why didn't you call in sick? You look terrible."

"Thanks, and I'm not sick. I didn't even think of it, really." I sigh, feeling the drugs pull me back. "I should have."

He crosses his arms. "You know, you've never taken a sick day since you've been here. You won't be behind if you take the rest of the day off."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously. You can do some work from home anyway, right?"

"I can, and I don't have much to do with this current site anyway. The client is out of town for the holiday so we can't go over anything I've done for approval."

"Then go home. Get some rest and ice your cooter."

"Don't say it so loud."

He's laughing again. "Sorry. Really, I am. Now go, get some sleep and have a good weekend."

"You too."

"Oh, I will. Adam's sister's husband's family has a house in the Hamptons. We're flying out right after work."

"Cla.s.sy. Sounds really fun though. I'm kinda jealous," I lie. From what I know about that area-granted, it's all from TV shows and movies-is that it's too fancy for my liking. Feeling grateful for befriending my boss the week I started here, I go back to my desk, shut down my computer, and gather my things. I say bye to Mariah on my way out and consider calling Ben, but decide not to.

I don't want to tell him why I'm leaving early, and I'd really like to go home and crash for a few hours before packing and getting dressed. Deciding to forego the rest of my coffee, I get into bed right away.

Four-and-a-half hours later, I wake from my drug-induced slumber. After a long, hot shower, I feel completely better. I look better too, which is awesome.

I get my packing done in under an hour, set things up for Ser Pounce to be alone all weekend (I need to remember to shut the windows and turn the AC on before I leave so the kitty doesn't cook in case it gets hot), and call Ben. His phone rings but goes to voicemail. I leave him a message, sure he's busy painting or sculpting or talking to people who come in to buy his expensive work, and go into the kitchen.

I need to make something to bring to the cookout, and I've been too lazy to go grocery shopping this past week. Lazy, and distracted with Ben. I have a lot of apples. I could make apple pie. That's easy and tasty.

I preheat the oven and start making the crust. It has to chill for a while, and I rationalize that I should probably finish the open bottle of moscato in the fridge so it doesn't go bad by the time I get back from the weekend getaway. I pour myself a big gla.s.s and sit at the island, scrolling through Facebook and Pinterest for half an hour before getting up to slice the apples.

The oven has been on for way too long now, and the kitchen is hot. I twist my hair up and use a pen to secure it in a bun. I'm sweating by the time I get the pie in the oven. My phone rings as I go around closing windows to turn on the air.

"Hey," I say to Ben. "How are you?"

"Better now." He sounds like he's smiling. "How's work?"

"I got out early," I tell him. "On good behavior. What about you?"

"I'm finishing up at the gallery. I need to shower. I'm covered in paint."

"I think you look rather good covered in paint."

He laughs. "That's good, because I am most of the time."

"You can come over earlier if you want," I say. "I'm packed. I just need to shower again because I'm hot and sweaty."

"And why are you hot and sweaty?" he asks, voice seductive.

"I made apple pie."

A moment of silence goes by. Then Ben asks. "Is that a s.e.x reference?"

I almost choke on my wine. "I can totally see how it could be interpreted that way, but I actually made apple pie. My kitchen gets hot when I use the oven. Curse of a small house, I guess." I look at the timer. "It'll be done soon-ish. Do you want to come over and enjoy a slice of my pie? And that is a s.e.x reference. But you can eat real pie too. I made it to take with us to my parent's, but it smells too good not to eat now."

"Yes," he says right away. "Give me like an hour. I still have to pack a bag. Then I'm going to have a slice of your pie. Maybe two."

"Or three." I drink the rest of my wine. "See you soon."

"Bye, Felicity."

I hang up with a smile. My mission this weekend is to find out what exactly Ben considers me, because I really want to be his girlfriend. There's still a stupid part of me that's nagging about how he's not "my type" and is totally out of my league. Not wanting to think about it, I quickly rinse off in the shower and put on a bit of makeup. I pull on a blue cotton dress-comfy for traveling-and put a pair of Toms by the door next to my bag and my purse.

There. I'm ready. Mom will be proud of how light I packed. Though realistically, I'll be in my bathing suit most of the weekend on the boat. I don't need much. I sit in the living room, sprawled out on the couch, enjoying the cool air rushing down on me from the ceiling fan, and watch reruns of Supernatural until Ben gets here.

"You look pretty," he says when he steps inside. "I like the darker hair." My arms go around him, and I pull us together. Being away for a few days reminded me how much I love being together.

"Thanks," I say and we kiss. The timer goes off for the pie, and we both go into the kitchen to get it.

"It smells amazing," he says, arms locking around my waist. I close my eyes and lean back into him, dropping the pot holders on the counter. My mind goes to what Cameron says, that Ben sees me as a friend material only, and I get hit with sadness.

That was unexpected.

I force a smile, trying to push aside how strongly I feel for him. I don't want to be friend-zoned as a f.u.c.k buddy only. I want something more with Ben because even though he might be totally out of my league, he's my total dream guy.

"It has to cool for a while," I tell him. "It's too hot to eat."

His lips meet my neck and his teeth graze my skin. "I know something we can do to pa.s.s the time."

I shiver, whirling around in Ben's arms and linking mine around his neck. He looks into my eyes, expression full of l.u.s.t and ... something else.

I'm not sure what it is, but I am entirely sure you don't look at a friend that way.

"What do you have in mind?" I ask. I run my hands down his back and under his shirt. Just the feel of his warm skin against my palms makes me hot. Ben is spending the weekend with me.

With my family.

Meeting my parents.

My brother and his stupid fiancee.

Driving two hours and blowing off a friend's party.

f.u.c.k buddies don't do that, right? It's too much effort. He's a good-looking guy with an impressive career. He could easily get some wherever he goes. And by now I know there is more to Ben than p.u.s.s.y seeking.

He shrugs. "We could watch TV, go for a walk ... you know, exciting stuff like that." His hands travel along my front and his fingers pull on the hem of my dress. "Or we could go into the bedroom and nap."

"Yes. Nap. How responsible of us. Since we're going to drive and all. Don't want to nod off in the car."

Ben takes a step back, bringing me with him "Not, not at all." With no warning, he picks me up and tosses me over his shoulder, then runs to the bedroom. He tosses me down on the bed and pins me down with his body.

His heart is beating fast against mine and he gives me that look again, a look that says he thinks the world of me. My first thought is what the f.u.c.k is wrong with him, to look at me that way. I'm laying beneath this incredible man, this incredible man with an incredible b.o.n.e.r that's pressing into me, by the way, and I'm feeling self-conscious and shy like I did when I ran into Mindy f.u.c.king Abraham outside the Adult Toybox.

I close my eyes and push those thoughts from my head. Thoughts that I'm told I shouldn't have as an adult. I shouldn't care what other people think. I shouldn't worry about others' opinions.

But I do, even though I try so hard not to.

I open my eyes and see Ben still looking down at me like he wants to devour me. A moment of clarity hits me.

I do care about others' opinions. But that list of "others" just got a whole lot shorter.

I run my hands through Ben's hair. He matters. I feel so strongly toward him at the moment, I don't trust myself to speak. So I kiss him, locking my lips with his, sealing in any b.u.mbling emotional words that might spill from my mouth.

He pushes his tongue inside and pulls my dress up. Things get heated quickly, and before I know it, my panties are on the floor and Ben is lowering his head between my legs. He runs his hands over the smooth skin on my bikini line. No pain, no b.u.mps, and no redness. Thank the f.u.c.king lord.

I watch him work, tongue lashing in and out, harsh then soft on me, until I can't take it anymore. My eyes close and I ball the blankets in my hands as I scream, coming so hard my legs shake. Holy f.u.c.k. The more we mess around, the better he knows me and my body. And the stronger the o.r.g.a.s.ms are.

A girl could get used to this.

I'm panting like crazy, chest rising and falling as he move up next to me. I smile at him. "That was great, thanks. We can leave now. Totally rested."

He bites his lip and smiles back before grabbing my waist. He moves between my legs. "There's no way I'm letting you out of my sight, out of my reach, my grasp, my touch, right now."

All I can do is nod and fumble with the b.u.t.ton on his pants. Somehow I manage to get them and his boxers down. His hard c.o.c.k springs free, hitting me in the stomach when he lowers himself onto me again. He rubs against me, letting out a soft moan. I reach for him, taking his hardness in my hand, and pump my arm up and down a few times. I contort my body to be able to keep stroking him while gently biting his earlobe. He's like puddy in my hand. Well, not really, since puddy is soft and not long and thick and hard.

But he melts into me, practically squirming. Prec.u.m wets his c.o.c.k and I swirl my thumb over the tip, spreading it down. He repositions himself so his d.i.c.k rubs my c.l.i.t. The wet warmth drives me wild and I need him inside me. He holds himself up on his elbows and brushes the hair out of my eyes, then kisses me.

I getting so wound up again. I widen my legs to urge him inside. We're kissing again, and the pa.s.sion is like something from a romance novel. This is really happening, right? He reaches down and strokes me for a few seconds before sliding his hand beneath my head, bringing my mouth even closer to his.

"I need you," I whisper. "Now."

The tip of his d.i.c.k is almost inside me. "Left condoms..." he stops to kiss me. "...In wallet in car."

"Well, f.u.c.k," I pant. "Just pull out again."

"Are you-" he cuts off with I lift my hips. "Sure?"

No, I'm not, but right now I'm not thinking logically. Again. Twice in a row...come on Felicity. You know better than that.

"I have some," I say. They're probably expired, but it's better than nothing, right? Ben moves off me and I madly dig through the top drawer of my nightstand to find the crushed box shoved in the back. He puts it on with haste and we pick right back up where we left off.

I come three times before we're through.

Once we've cleaned up, we settle back into bed together. I rest my head on Ben's chest and he lazily runs his fingers through my hair. I don't care what anyone says. Life seems pretty f.u.c.king perfect right now.

My phone vibrates on the nightstand next to us.

"Want me to get that for you?" he asks.

"Mhh," I mumble, feeling sleepy. "It's a text message. It's probably my mom, asking if I've left yet. She still worries about me driving and needs to know when I leave so she can time s.h.i.t out. Does it say 'mom' on the message?"

He grabs the phone. "Uh, no. It's your friend Erin ... and she wants to know if you're still experiencing severe a.n.a.l itching and if your rash is gone."

I pull away from him, completely horrified and embarra.s.sed. It's a joke. I can say it's a joke. Right? Oh G.o.d. f.u.c.k.

"Do you have something?" he asks slowly, face paling. "I think I should know if you do. I mean, I've spent quite a bit of time down there." He grimaces. "Just tell me if you do. I know we never brought it up, and maybe that was my bad, but-"

"I don't have anything," I interrupt, burying my face in my hands. "I promise, I'm clean."

"Then what is your friend talking about?"

I can't look at Ben. Not now. Not ever. Oh my G.o.d I want to die.

"Felicity?"

"I got a wax to surprise you and had a reaction to the lotion they put on me after. I have stupid sensitive skin and scented lotion makes me break out in a rash." My voice is m.u.f.fled by my hands. I turn away dramatically and put a pillow over my head. "I didn't want to tell you because it's embarra.s.sing!"

A few seconds tick by. Then Ben laughs. "I did notice how smooth you are. And you could have told me. I didn't hurt you, did I?"

"No," I say, still hidden under the pillow.

Ben is laughing again. He takes my arm and gently pulls me. "Don't be embarra.s.sed."

"Too late! I am."

"Come on, it's not that big of a deal. Don't be a baby."

"I am a baby," I lament. He's still laughing. "It f.u.c.king hurt!"

"The waxing or the rash?"

"Both, but I think the rash was worse. It's gone now. I took Benadryl and it went away."

"Sorry I'm laughing."