We grin at each other, and then he shocks me by grabbing the hand I’ve left resting on his face and giving the meaty part of my palm a gentle bite.

My mouth is hanging open, I’m sure of it, but I can’t seem to regain motor control of my face. Still grinning, he shakes his head and manually turns me back toward the stairs, giving me a guiding push.

“Didn’t you need to pee, Miss Foster?”

I can’t respond, so I just order my legs to move. Fortunately, they obey.

Ben is right behind me. I can practically bathe in his body heat.

Halfway up the stairs, he makes some inarticulate noise, almost like a groan. I pause and glance back to see if he hurt himself, but no. He’s just a few steps below me, one hand threaded in his rusty hair, the other resting on the waist of his pants, and his eyes are looking anywhere but at me. Not finding the source of whatever made him grunt, I shrug and continue on my way.

Unfortunately, there’s a line three people deep at the main floor’s bathroom. While we were downstairs in our own little world of pool, the party up here doubled in size.

“I’m going to check the bathroom upstairs. You find wherever Jasper hid my coat.”

“Aye, aye, captain.” Ben gives me a salute and a smirk, and I stick my tongue out at him before sprinting up the stairs.

I really didn’t want to use this bathroom. There’s no valid reason why other than it’s on the floor where Ben disappeared to with Annabelle earlier.

I mean, what do I expect to find? Her sprawled, naked, on a bed, fully satisfied from a bout of makeup sex? Even if they did the deed, she wouldn’t still be recovering over an hour later.

Unless he’s that good. And, if my hormonal reaction to his mere presence is any indication, he might be. I wonder if Ben would need as much instruction as Roderick did or if he could get me off on his own.

Nope. Stop it. Right now.

I can hear the beep, beep, beep of a Mack truck backing up as I retreat from my inappropriately naughty thoughts.

Upstairs is almost eerily quiet after the mass of voices on the first floor. The hallway is only lit by a night-light plugged into one of the outlets. I’m assuming the occupants of the house don’t want their rooms messed up during the festivities because all the doors are closed. Problem is, now, I can’t tell which one leads to the bathroom.

Luckily, I hear a flush at the end of the hall. I walk toward the sound, noticing all the artwork hanging on the walls on my way. That’s slightly comforting—to know that there’s actually artwork up here, and it’s not all in Annabelle’s bedroom. Maybe Ben did just come up here to comment on her paintings.

In the dim lighting, I can’t really see them clearly, but even if I could, I’m no aficionado. I can say what I do or do not like, but that’s about it. Ben’s tattoos, for example. Those I like. A lot.