Ben
“Are you sure there isn’t someone else?” Milly asks, her voice sounding slightly panicked. Whoever she’s on the phone with is the unfortunate bearer of bad news. I didn’t mean to overhear her conversation earlier, but when she walked into my pub, it was hard for me not to take my eyes off her. With shiny sandy brown hair that’s currently knotted on top of her head and a pair of blue eyes, she completely transfixed me the moment I managed to get her attention.
Milly reaches up and places a hand on top of her head. She sinks her front teeth into her bottom lip, and even though she’s probably worried, that one little act makes my cock harden. Jesus Christ, I need to get laid.
I busy myself with the patrons at the far end of the bar, away from Milly, but it’s not far enough. I keep glancing back to her; she’s still on the phone, and her expression is fucking pitiful. Offering her my spare room was a knee-jerk reaction; I was thinking more with my cock than my actual brain. I was slightly relieved when she turned me down, but now that I see her, with her head hanging low and her eyes a watery mess, I feel like an asshole for not pushing the issue.
Milly looks down my way, and we stare at each other for a brief second before she nods silently, and a hardened look crosses her face. She says something to the person at the other end of the conversation before ending the call. She lifts two fingers and does a little wave, signaling to me. Like a dog, I’m eager for any morsel she’ll toss my way.
“Are you ready for something to eat to soak up all that cider?” I ask with a grin. Even though she did not accept my offer, there’s no way I’m going to let her loose in a strange city completely pissed.
There are three empty pint glasses in front of her, and when she looks down at them, her eyes widen a bit. “Oh, sure. I guess.”
“I know just the thing,” I tell her with a wink before placing a bottle of cold water in front of her. “Drink up.”
The one thing my pub is known for—steak frites—will give her a hot, comforting meal, and that’s one way to show her that I care without seeming like a creeper.
When I step out of the kitchen with the plate of food in my hands, I notice Milly sit up a little straighter. Interesting. “Steak frites,” I announce, setting the plate in front of her with a flourish of my hand. “Or, if you like, steak and chips.”
“Fries,” she says in her cute American accent, pointing at the steaming mound of deep-fried potatoes. “Those are french fries.”
“Fries,” I mock her in a faux American accent. Milly tucks into her meal, cutting the steak neatly before taking a bite. I love the smile of satisfaction on her lips. She’s absolutely beautiful, and as it’s really weird to just stand here watching her eat, I leave her alone.
I start ticking off items on my side work list, anything to distract myself and keep my mind off the American sitting so close that I can smell her fresh scent, eating my favorite meal, and drinking my favorite cider. But it’s hard because I want to know her. A million questions swirl through my mind, but I also keep picturing her lips. I want to devour them, and her, whole.
“Ben?” I hear her call timidly. I try not to appear too eager as I turn around to face her. She’s pushed away her meal, which is half gone, and I see her fidgeting nervously with the linen napkin.
“All finished?” I ask, reaching out to grab her plate.
She nods, and I notice her eyes dart nervously around the bar. “Does the offer still stand for the spare bedroom?”
My lips twitch into a smile. “Absolutely. If you need a place to stay, then I can help you out.” I look up at the clock above the bar. One of the perks of being the boss is that I can set my own hours. “I’m off in an hour. Can you hang around until then?”
Milly nods and leans back in the stool. For the first time since she walked in, she seems relaxed. Her face is no longer tight with worry, but instead, it’s softened a bit. I stare at her a moment longer and wonder what her expression would look like in the midst of an orgasm or when she’s ridiculously happy or when she laughs.
An hour later, I’ve got the pub firmly situated in the hands of my manager so that I can take off. I round the glossy mahogany bar and see Milly take notice. Her eyes are dead on me, watching me as I make my way over. Jesus, I like being caught in her stare. I manage to look away for a moment and catch sight of the massive suitcases sitting against the bar. How did I not notice them when she first walked in?
“Fucking hell, have those things been hiding there this entire time?” I exclaim, pointing at the enormous pieces of luggage.
“I didn’t have anywhere else to put them,” she answers with a shrug.
I reach for the first one and slide it out of its hiding place before reaching for the second. My arm brushes against her leg, and I feel the same electric current that I did when we shook hands. I look up with wide eyes, hopeful that Milly felt something too. As cliché as it sounds, there were definite sparks.
“Normally, I just walk home, but tonight, I guess we’ll just take a cab.”
Milly hops down from the stool and grabs her backpack. She fumbles with the straps, and I can’t help myself. I want more of that connection, that spark, so I reach out and help her adjust it. She watches me as I adjust the padded strap on her shoulder even though it’s perfect. My fingers linger longer than necessary because I’m completely transfixed by what her skin would feel like under my bare hands. Like peaches and fucking cream, I decide.
“Follow me,” I say, my voice raspy with desire.