Kendall Ryan - Craving Him

Ben

Emmy was dead weight in my arms. I hated seeing her like this, knowing she felt like shit. I placed her on my bed and went about removing her dress, bra, and panties. I dressed her in a pair of my boxer shorts and a T-shirt. My lucky Yankees shirt. Maybe it would make her feel better.

She curled into a ball in the center of my bed. “Benn . . .” Her arm failed out, her hand searching for me in a grabby motion.

“I’m right here, baby.” I gripped her hand, sliding my fingers between hers. “Shh. I’ve got you.”

“My head hurts,” she croaked.

“Let’s get you settled.” I shifted her so that she was positioned higher up on the mattress and slid a pillow underneath her head, then I pulled the comforter around her. “How’s that?”

She didn’t answer right away, and I was wondering if she’d passed out.

“You saw me barf.”

I suppressed a chuckle. “You were sick, honey. I wanted to take care of you.”

“I’m s-sorry. . . .” she groaned.

“It’s okay, pretty girl. Just rest, okay?” I smoothed the hair back from her face. She looked so sweet, so vulnerable, passed out drunk against my pillow, dressed in my Yankees T-shirt. I continued just watching her, caressing her cheek and tucking her hair behind her ear.

She mumbled something unintelligible. “Bennn . . .” she groaned.

Shit. I was about to lift her up and carry her back to the bathroom just in case she was going to be sick again. “Yeah, baby?”

Emmy pouted, her bottom lip jutting out like she might cry. “She looked really pretty . . . she had a cute tummy. . . .”

What?

Oh.

Pregnant Fiona.

Emmy’s brow crinkled in concentration as she fought sleep. “She’s having a . . . a b-baby, and it might be your baby, right, Ben?”

“I don’t think it’s my baby.” I choked on the words. We were seriously discussing this now? I almost considered leaving her to sleep but I was too curious to hear what else she might say.

“Me and you are gonna make pretty babies,” she said.

Holy shit. Was she serious? I didn’t want a baby.

“The prettiest,” I agreed. “Now sleep, honey.” I patted her butt and she let out a soft groan.

Fuck. I paced the living room floor. I couldn’t handle seeing Emmy like this . . . and then hearing her talk about wanting a baby . . . with me? Maybe it was just the alcohol talking, but shit. I was nowhere near ready for a baby. I was still learning about how to be a boyfriend. And I wasn’t even very good at that.

Too keyed up for sleep, I sat down on the armchair with my iPad.

Emmy

The room was much too bright, and my throat felt raw and scratchy. I blinked my eyes open and attempted to swallow.

Ouch.

It was raw and irritated.

What the hell happened last night?

Oh God. Memories flashed into focus. Fiona with her perfect little baby bump. Me binging on liquor. I struggled to remember what happened after that.

I blinked at my surroundings. Ben lay next to me, asleep and resting peacefully, his hair rumpled from sleep and a crease across one cheek.

I was glad I was here with him but how had I gotten into his bed?

Memories of getting sick in his bathroom and him tucking me into bed danced in my subconscious.

God, my head was pounding.

I flung off the blankets and climbed from the bed on unsteady legs, trying to be as quiet as possible. I wanted to let him sleep. I shuffled to the kitchen for a glass of water. I’d downed half of it when my stomach grumbled loudly. Rather than finishing the water, like my parched throat craved, I heeded the advice of my stomach and set the glass of water on the counter. We’d need to take it easy today.

I heated up the shower to wash last night’s makeup and grime from my skin. The water felt divine, and after shampooing my hair with Ben’s all-purpose hair-and-body wash that smelled like light, crisp cologne, I wrapped myself in a fluffy towel and shuffled back to the bedroom. I redressed in the pajamas he must have put me in—boxers and a T-shirt.

When I climbed in beside him Ben rolled toward me and covered my body in a hug. “Mmm, morning, baby. . . .” he mumbled, his lips brushing my collarbone.

“Morning.” I curled into him, tangling my legs with his.

“How are you feeling?”

“Okay. A little queasy,” I admitted.

“I can make you some toast if you like.”

“That’s all right. I should probably get home.” Nothing like overstaying your welcome. He was used to having his own space, peace, and quiet, I was sure.

His arms tightened around me. “You’re not going anywhere today.”

I laughed softly. “Oh, really?”

“You’re mine today. Know that.”

I smiled at his conviction. I loved knowing I was his. Hopefully I didn’t do anything too awkward when I was drunk last night. “Thanks for taking care of me.”

“Of course, baby. You were kind of cute.”

My brows squeezed together, struggling to remember what I might have done or said. “Did I, um, say anything embarrassing last night?”

His body stiffened over the top of mine. “Don’t worry about that. You were drunk.” He climbed from the bed, tossing a T-shirt over his head and leaving me to wonder what I’d possibly said that had him acting standoffish.

Shit.

“Ben?”

He looked down at the plush carpeting. “You, ah, mentioned something about us having pretty babies.”

“Oh.” Well, that was dumb. Sheesh, why couldn’t I have kept my mouth shut? Alcohol was like truth serum for me. Things I didn’t mean to say just spewed out, apparently. “I’m sorry about that,” I apologized weakly.

He shook his head. “I’ll make you something to eat.”

“Okay.” It wasn’t lost on me that he didn’t address my baby comment. He’d all but fled the room. Dammit.

I ventured into the bathroom, combed my hair, and secured it in a braid over my shoulder. I knew I was stalling but I just needed a minute before facing him. We hadn’t even been dating long, and now I was talking about having a baby with him. Lord, help me. I wouldn’t blame him if he went running for the hills. Several moments later I joined him in the kitchen.

He had brewed coffee and was rummaging through his nearly empty fridge. “That mug’s for you, babe. I’m trying to see what I can make you.”

I wrapped my hands around the warm coffee cup and peeked around Ben’s shoulder. The fridge contained an odd collection of condiments and expensive bottled water.

“Looks like I’ll have to go out hunting and gathering to feed my woman.” Ben smiled warmly, pressing a tender kiss to my forehead. “Anything in particular sound good?”

I shook my head. Tolerating any food with my shaky stomach would be a miracle.

“I’ve got just the thing: Benji’s House of Noodles. Hangover-cure food. Trust me. I’ll be back in a little bit.”

“That’s sweet of you to offer, but maybe I should just head home. I won’t make very good company today. I’m hung over, PMSing . . .” I paused. Oops. Hadn’t really meant to say that part out loud.

Ben raised an eyebrow. “Hush. I’m taking care of you today. It won’t take me long to grab the food.”

His palate was surely more adventurous than mine. He was well traveled, and had lived in New York City for many years, one of the most culturally diverse places in the world. I didn’t think my queasy stomach could handle curry or anything too spicy or adventurous right now. But I merely nodded. I trusted him. I just didn’t trust my stomach.

“Go relax.” He gave me a gentle pat on the butt. “Advil’s in the bathroom cabinet. I’ll be back soon.”

I crawled into bed when Ben left, and though I hadn’t expected to fall asleep, the sound of the front door closing woke me a little while later.

I ventured into the kitchen and found Ben unpacking cartons of food on the butcher-block island in the kitchen. Fragrant aromas of garlic and sautéed chicken and vegetables greeted me. It smelled terrific and my stomach grumbled at the thought of something warm to fill it.

Ben gathered bowls from the cabinet and dumped the contents of the containers inside. “You’ll love this place. It’s a favorite of mine when I’m in New York. Just don’t tell Fiona.” His gaze flicked to mine, his eyes wide, like he couldn’t believe he’d just spoken her name.

I involuntarily flinched, but quickly recovered, shrugging it off. “My lips are sealed.” I smiled.

Ben’s easy smile returned as he recovered from his faux pas of mentioning she who must not be named.

The sight of the thin noodles tossed in light sauce with chicken and julienned vegetables made my mouth water. It wasn’t a conventional breakfast but considering it was already noon, it was perfect.

Ben poured us each a glass of ice water from a filtered pitcher in the fridge and we took our bowls of noodles into the living room. Settling on the couch, I took a big bite. Ben watched me, waiting for my reaction.

“Awesome, isn’t it?”

“Oh my God,” I moaned through the mouthful of noodles. “Don’t talk to me.” I held up a hand, chewing slowly to savor the flavors. “Good Lord, that’s good,” I confirmed, digging in for another bite.

Ben chuckled and took a bite of his own. “Told you. I swear they put crack in their food. It’s fucking addictive.”

I nodded, happily stuffing another bite of the delicious noodles into my mouth. Once my entire bowl was gone, I stopped myself from actually licking the sauce from the bottom of the dish and instead let Ben put it in the dishwasher. Lounging back against the sofa, I rubbed my full belly. Gosh, this thing could almost rival Fiona’s right now. My little food bump.