He slid a hand to the nape of her neck, massaging it gently. “And I’ve told you that just isn’t true. Granted, I’m not a picky eater but everything you’ve made so far has been delicious.”
She’d surprised him – after her multiple and fervent warnings that she could barely boil water – by just how good a cook she really was. Granted, nothing had been fancy or complicated, and pretty much all of it in the way of comfort food – pancakes, grilled cheese sandwiches, fish tacos. Nothing had been too fussy – he didn’t think Lauren ever actually fussed over anything – just good, tasty food simply prepared.
Lauren waved a hand in dismissal. “My mom and sister are the cooks in the family. If either of them had cooked tonight we would have had something elaborate like salad Nicoise, coquille St. Jacques, sole meuniere, and crème brulee.” She wrinkled her nose slightly. “They both love all that very traditional French stuff. My grandfather was a chef, you know, first back in Montreal where he grew up and then in New York City. He’d be turning over in his grave right now if he knew I use spaghetti sauce from a jar.”
Ben grimaced. “Well, he’d really have a problem with the ravioli I used to eat from a can, then. And all that stuff you just mentioned, with the fancy French names? I honestly have no idea what most of it is. I’m a pretty simple guy, Lauren, as you’ve probably already noticed. I don’t wear suits or drink expensive wines and I wouldn’t know gourmet food if it fell in my lap. So stop dissing your cooking skills because I’ve loved everything you’ve made so far.”
“Really?” She beamed at him, the smile lighting up her gorgeous face. “Well, don’t get used to it, Blue Eyes, because tomorrow it’s frozen waffles for breakfast and that spaghetti I just mentioned for dinner.”
He slid his arms around her waist. “Sounds a hell of a lot better than most of the meals I get these days. But you forgot about lunch.”
Lauren shook her head. “Nope. But that’s a surprise. You’ll see tomorrow what I’ve got planned.”
He gazed down at her warily. “You’re not taking me surfing again, are you? Because I’m not sure that’s really my thing.”
She smiled before stretching up to brush a kiss on his chin. “Not surfing, no. And you did fine. I mean, you can’t expect to get the hang of it after only two days. I’ve been surfing since I was six.”
In truth, he hadn’t done all that badly during the two surfing trips she’d dragged him along on, had actually managed to stay upright for a few seconds at a time. But he’d been intimidated by Lauren’s obvious expertise, not to mention the dozen or so male surfers who all seemed to know her very well, if the number of hugs exchanged and blatant flirting going on were any indication.
Everyone, in fact, seemed to know Lauren. She hadn’t been exaggerating when she’d told him that first day that she knew every innkeeper and park ranger in the area. She also knew the proprietors of the general store, bakery, coffee shop, gas station, art gallery, and the adventure sports outfitters. When they took the dogs for walks along the beach or a trail, everyone they passed greeted Lauren by name. And Ben had thought each and every time how wonderful it would be to have that sense of belonging, of community, of family – things that he hadn’t known since he was a small boy and even then not to the same degree that Lauren did.
“The stars are all out now. But I always forget which constellation is which. Is that one over there Sirius or Ursa Major?”
Ben glanced to where she was pointing. “Neither. That one’s Cassiopeia.” With all the years of backpacking and adventure travel he’d done, he had learned early on how to navigate using not just maps and a compass but the solar system as well.
“Oh.” She shrugged carelessly. “Well, astronomy was never one of my strong suits at school.”
“What was?”
She scuffed a bare foot along the freshly stained deck before replying in a joking manner, “Well, I was tops of my class in P.E. After that – well, most everything else was a little challenging.”
Ben looked at her quizzically. “What does that mean?”
She kept her gaze downcast. “Just that I wasn’t the best student in the world. Things didn’t come easy for me.”
He shook his head. “Now that I don’t believe. You’re one of the smartest, well educated people I’ve ever met and you’re only twenty years old.”
Over the past few days they’d talked almost nonstop on a wide variety of subjects – ranging from sports to books to current events and world politics – and he’d admittedly been surprised by just how intelligent and witty Lauren was. Not so surprisingly, she had very strong opinions on just about everything, but was obviously well read and had a razor sharp mind.
Lauren broke away from his embrace to prop her elbows on the deck railing, staring out at the night sky. “It’s better now. By high school, I’d learned how to deal with it, enough that I could get into a school like UCLA. But I had to work like hell, and even now it’s a daily struggle.”
“What is?” Ben was becoming increasingly puzzled.
She heaved a sigh. “If I’m going to talk about this, then I insist we break out the tequila. Wait here.”
As Lauren dashed inside the house before he could question her further, Ben continued to ponder what it was she was so obviously reluctant to tell him. And he realized that this was the first time since meeting her that Lauren had seemed something besides her usual arrogant, cocky self. She’d appeared more than a little vulnerable, uncertain, and closed-mouthed, three traits he would never have thought of applying to her.
“Here. Have a seat. I brought out the good stuff.”
He turned just as she was setting a bottle of Gran Patron Platinum, two shot glasses, a salt shaker, and a bowl of lime wedges onto the glass-topped rattan coffee table. By the time he sat down next to her on the padded rattan settee, she’d already bolted down a shot and was refilling her glass.
He didn’t bother warning her to take it easy on the booze, for he’d already seen –with disbelieving eyes – exactly how much alcohol she could put away without blinking an eye. She had certainly drank him under the table – not that he’d ever been one to overindulge.
Ben licked the salt off his palm, bolted down the tequila, and then sucked on a lime wedge before asking her quietly, “So, what’s this all about?”
Lauren was quiet for long seconds – quite possibly the longest amount of time she’d gone without speaking since they’d met. She didn’t look at him, and both her facial expression and her voice were uncharacteristically somber
“Hardly anyone knows what I’m about to tell you,” she began haltingly. “My parents and sister, of course, my Aunt Maddy and Uncle Mal. A few teachers, doctors, therapists over the years. And, really, it’s no big deal, something that’s actually very common. But, well, I’ve always had a tough time admitting that – that I’ve got ADHD.”
Ben knew how difficult making such an admission had been for someone as proud and arrogantly confident as Lauren. And, he realized, the knowledge of her condition explained a whole lot of things he’d picked up on over the last few days – her almost frantic energy and nonstop chattering; how she rarely sat still for more than a few minutes at a time; and how she could fall asleep almost instantly but at the same time rarely seemed to need more than four or five hours of sleep each night.
He’d become aware of the latter the last couple of nights when she’d woken him up from a sound sleep around two or three in the morning, with his dick either halfway down her throat or already buried deep inside her slick, hot pussy. He wondered now if her voracious sexual appetite – no matter how often or how hard they fucked it seemed she was always ready for more – was due in part to her ADHD. And – God help him – maybe it was really, really shitty of him to be thankful for this potential symptom, but he was incredibly grateful nonetheless.