Page 24 of Delicious (Delicious #1)

Chapter Six

David

W aking up the next morning with Benji in my bed gives me the same happiness I usually only feel watching newborn lambs galloping around the paddock in the spring.

I kiss his temple, breathing in the scent of his skin, marveling at how someone who argues with me about everything from sheep rotation to rugby selection can fit so perfectly against me.

Benji’s eyelids flutter open, and he stretches like a cat in the sun, all lean muscles and satisfaction, before giving me his crooked grin that always means trouble.

My gaze wanders to where the sheet pools at his waist, and for a moment, I have a flash of disbelief that the man who’s driven me mad for years is now sprawled across my mattress like he belongs there.

“Like what you see?” he asks, his voice still raspy with sleep.

“Just trying to figure out how you went from being the biggest thorn in my side to the best thing in my bed.”

He huffs a laugh as he shifts closer, resting his chin on my chest. I can’t help running my hand down his arm.

Benji’s expression turns from playful to something more thoughtful.

“Have you ever been with a man before?” His voice is casual, but his eyes are watchful. “Because I’ve been in the district for five years, and I’ve never seen you bring anyone back to your place, man or woman.”

“Never really wanted it before,” I say truthfully. “With either a man or a woman.”

His forehead creases. “You’ve never wanted to be with anyone before?”

“No. I mean, I was with a few girls when I was younger because that was what was expected, but it…wasn’t like this.” I swallow. “It didn’t feel like this.”

Those green eyes study me. But I don’t mind his scrutiny. I trust Benji will handle all parts of me gently—except the parts I don’t want him to be gentle with.

“Do you think you’re demisexual?” he asks. “Like, you only find someone sexually attractive once you’ve formed an emotional connection with them?”

“Trust you to give a fancy Auckland name to what my dad would’ve just called being particular about who you let into your paddock.”

He laughs again, his warm breath ghosting across my skin.

“Leave it to you to make sexual attraction sound like a livestock management decision. Though I suppose you are letting me handle your prize ram.”

His mouth finds mine, and for a while, we’re too busy for words. His lips are warm and familiar now as we lose ourselves in each other again, taking our time like we’ve got all day, like the sheep can wait, like both of our farms can pause while we learn each other properly.

There’s a constant war between touching Benji gently to match the feelings swirling inside me and wanting to claim him roughly, to devour him like a man who’s been starving himself without even knowing there was food on the table.

Luckily, it seems like Benji is up for both.

After we’ve finished our exploring to mutual success, Benji untangles himself from the sheets with his usual grace, padding across my worn floorboards.

“Time to make you breakfast. I want my man to go to work with a full stomach,” he says.

My man. The words echo in my head as I follow him out of bed.

The sight of Benji standing at my stove in his underwear causes me to crowd closer to him, kissing the back of his neck until he spins to kiss me properly.

I blame the noise of the bacon and eggs sizzling in the frypan and the distraction of a half-naked Benji in my arms for not hearing the crunch of tires on the gravel of my driveway.

Because, suddenly, the kitchen door opens with a squeak.

There’s only one person who ever comes into my house without announcing their arrival.

My brother.

It’s his childhood home, and therefore, he’s never bothered to knock.

He’s also never walked in to find me with my arms around my neighbor as we both stand in our boxers in the kitchen.

From the way he stands there blinking rapidly, like his brain is attempting an emergency reboot and failing spectacularly, I’m willing to bet knocking will definitely feature in Lance’s future.

He opens and closes his mouth several times without any sound coming out, his expression finally landing somewhere between stunned and slightly hysterical.

“Hey, Lance, want some bacon and eggs?” It looks like Benji’s brazening this one out rather than succumbing to the severe mortification I am right now. He nonchalantly pulls away from me and turns his attention back to the frypan.

“Uh…no thanks.” Lance’s eyes continue to dart between the two of us, still looking like he’s just caught Old McMillian’s bull doing ballet.

Emma appears in the doorway behind Lance, holding a Tupperware container.

“We brought you some of my leftover lasagna, thought you might be sick of…” Her voice trails off as she spots Benji. Her eyes widen comically.

“Hi, Emma, nice to see you,” Benji says.

She swallows. “Nice to see you too, Benji.”

“Although we didn’t expect to see so much of you.” My brother’s sense of humor has apparently recovered from the shock.

I send a glare in his direction.

“So, uh, is this a new thing?” Emma asks.

“Me cooking breakfast for David?” Benji asks innocently.

“Ah, yes. That.”

Benji glances at me. His lips morph into a smile.

“Yeah, it’s a new thing,” he says.

I can’t help but return his smile.

Which, when I look at Lance, seems to have sent him back into the shock realm.

“Right, well, we’ve got places to go,” Emma says, setting the container on my counter with exaggerated care. “There’s a few meals worth of lasagna in there, although…” She sends a sly look at Benji. “It looks like you’ve got someone taking care of your nutritional needs.”

“Thanks for the food,” I mutter.

Benji and I are silent after Lance and Emma leave, so their conversation drifts through the open window.

“Oh, come on, you can’t tell me you didn’t see this coming,” Emma says.

“You mean to tell me all that arguing was actually foreplay?” Lance’s voice is full of incredulity.

I close my eyes and wince.

When I open them again, Benji’s looking at me with concern. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

His concern doesn’t fade. “Sorry, that was a shit way for you to have to come out.”

“I don’t care about that,” I say. And I’m being truthful. What other people think doesn’t matter to me.

What matters is that Benji’s looking at me like I might regret this whole thing when the truth is I’ve never been more certain about anything in my life. Even if my brother’s going to take the piss out of me until the end of time.

“So what are you worried about then?” he asks quietly.

“That my brother is going to think this means he can give me relationship advice.”

Benji laughs, then comes over to give me a quick kiss.

“You’ve got the best boyfriend in the world. You won’t need relationship advice,” he says.

I roll my eyes at that.

Benji dishes up the bacon and eggs, sliding them onto my mother’s old plates with their faded flower pattern. The domesticity of it should feel strange, but it really doesn’t.

We eat in comfortable silence, our feet tangled under the table as the morning sun streams through my kitchen window.

“I should head back,” he says eventually, though he makes no move to leave. “Got the vet coming to look at that heifer.”

“Yeah, I’ve got a bit to do this morning,” I admit. “Those lambs will start a ruckus if I don’t feed them soon.”

“You won’t want to keep Pepper waiting,” he says.

When he leaves, he kisses me at the door like he’s done it a thousand times before. Like he plans to do it a thousand times more.

I’m humming as I grab my jacket off the hook and head out the door myself.

The rhythm of farm work fills my morning, feeding the lambs, checking water troughs, moving stock. But there’s a lightness to it now, like someone’s oiled all the rusty gates in my life. And my muscles aching pleasantly from activities that had nothing to do with farming is a nice reminder.

As I’m coming back on my four-wheeler to the woolshed paddock, I glance toward Benji’s property and see the purple gate.

It makes me smile.

I still suspect that when I’m on my deathbed, Benji’s name is going to be on my lips.

Although maybe not as a curse.