Standing in the war zone of my living room once again, I choke back a frustrated groan. This is going to be a pain in the ass to clean up. Before I can thank Travis for his help and send him on his way, he crouches down to pick up the pieces of the broken lamp.

“Oh, you don’t have to—”

“I’ll help you fix all this mess.”

I bite the corner of my lip to keep from smiling. This isn’t doing anything for his claim that he doesn’t help people. But I’m not going to point that out.

Once everything’s back to its relatively normal state, I expect him to head out. Instead, he goes to my kitchen and grabs himself another beer. He takes it over to the couch—that wine stain is not coming out—and slouches down in the middle, legs spread invitingly again. But he looks tired. Which is obviously my fault for numerous reasons.

I take a seat next to him, angling myself toward him so my knee presses into his thigh. “I know I’ve been saying this to you a lot lately, and it’s probably lost all meaning by now, but thank you. Seriously, I really appreciate what you did for me today. And for the past week. And, you know... always.”

He turns to get a good look at me. I wish I could know exactly what he’s seeing. He probably thinks I’m a complete disaster by now.

He doesn’t say anything, just gives me the tiniest smile and a nod. Then he puts his hand on my thigh and squeezes. When he leaves it there, I lightly trace the veins over the back of it with my finger. He still doesn’t pull away, and it’s like my pesky fingers have minds of their own, because they dance a path up his forearm and biceps and over his shoulder.

I reach the side of his neck, sweeping my thumb over his pulse point, and he lets out an audible exhale. Suddenly it’s not only my fingers that are out of my control—it’s my whole body. Without really making a conscious decision to do so, I swing my leg over both of his and find myself straddling his lap.

Well. Since I’m here.

Cupping his face with both hands, I lean down slowly until our mouths are only inches apart. “Thank you,” I whisper one more time before my lips briefly graze his.

“Brenden,” he says in a tone I can’t decipher.

It makes me freeze with my hands still on him.

This morning we agreed to friends with benefits, didn’t we? He seemed into the idea.