Page 87 of All This Time

Damn him. He’s right. In fact, all I’ve thought about today is his comment about knowing how flexible I am is giving him ideas for when he touches me again.

I snap a picture of my burger and fries instead.

Me:There. Happy? This burger is about to be consumed.

Fletcher:Good girl. I can’t wait to reward you later.

Heat builds between my legs, but before I can respond, Tori ends her phone call.

“Elliot is working on his case right now, but he made us dinner reservations at this restaurant that I’ve been dying to try.” She reaches for a fry on her plate and pops it into her mouth.

“How sweet.”

She sighs. “He really is. He’s always trying to make me happy, always asking what I need or want, always taking care of me in a way I didn’t realize I wanted. I mean, a girl can’t really ask for much more, can she?”

“No, she can’t,” I say. But even as the words leave my lips I can’t help but wonder—will I ever find that too?

***

“You didn’t have to do this, you know.” Gesturing to the pizza boxes on my kitchen counter that are half empty now, I wipe my mouth with my napkin and then toss it onto my paper plate.

“What? Bring food?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Do you not believe in dinner or something? Is that a new belief of yours you’ve developed since high school?” Fletcher grabs our plates and napkins, taking them to the trashcan. When he turns back around and leans against the kitchen counter facing my dining room table, he crosses his arms over his chest.

I mirror his position, leaning back in my chair. “Is only responding with sarcasm a thing thatyou’vedeveloped since high school?”

Fletcher’s chest bounces as he silently laughs. “It was pizza, Laney. I was starving, and I can’t think on an empty stomach. Sorry I was concerned about yours as well.”

I roll my eyes, but inside my mind is at war.

When Fletcher arrived tonight, I had this fantasy of what would happen.

I would open the door, he’d take one look at me, and then pin me up against the wall, slamming his mouth to mine. He’d make me come on his hand again, and then on his tongue. And maybe, depending on how riled up I was, I’d let him take me to bed.

But that didn’t happen. Not even close.

Instead, I opened the door to find Fletcher freshly showered, holding two pizza boxes, and a single serving of the red velvet cake from Bites & Bliss.

And he didn’t bring just any pizza.

He brought my favorite: chicken alfredo with mushrooms and spinach, no onions.

Now I’m confused because two people in a friends-with-benefits situation shouldn’t do things like that for each other, right?

“So, are you ready to plan this party?” he asks, bringing me back to the present.

“Um, yeah.” Standing from my chair, I reach for my notepad on the counter, catching a whiff of his clean, freshly showered scent as I do. “Just so you know, Tori requested an ice luge at lunch today.”

Fletcher huffs out a laugh. “Really?”

“Yeah. Apparently, they had one at a frat party she attended in college, and it was amazing,” I say, attempting to impersonate her.

Fletcher shrugs. “I found them to be too fucking cold, honestly. My tongue got stuck to it.”

“Well, I wouldn’t know, but I told her that I would see what I can do.”