It's A Sweet Life Part 8

His heart raced. For a moment he wasn't able to make his feet move. "You're welcome." Man up, Donohue. This isn't like you. He pulled himself away from her green gaze and joined Allan in the kitchen.

They were too close to the table for them to say anything to each other, so he stomped on Allan's foot instead.

When Allan looked at him, Ben made a "quit f.u.c.king this up" face at him. Well, he hoped Allan interpreted it correctly.

For all he knew, maybe his twin would think he was constipated.

They managed to make it through the rest of dinner without any other glaring gaffes regarding their supposed roots. Ben refused to let her help clean up. "No, you stay there and talk with Charles about the bakery," he admonished, sending Allan a look over her head and staying him in his seat.

She'd put on a good show for them, but Ben hadn't missed the way the corners of her eyes pinched close in pain, or how when she stuck her hands under the table that her upper arm muscles flexed and moved as she rubbed her hands, even to the way she gripped her silverware.

The woman was in a lot of pain. Probably a lot more than she let on.

As he stood at the sink and did the dishes, he listened to them talk.

"I definitely could use the help on Wednesdays," she said. "That's the day my wholesale order comes in. Bags of flour, sugar, stuff like that. I try not to keep too much extra on hand so we're not horribly overstocked in the storeroom or the walk-in cooler, but it would be nice to have an extra set of hands on board. I always feel guilty that Grover jumps in to do so much of that."

"I'll be more than happy to," Allan told her. "I...uh, do my best art work later in the day anyway. That means my mornings are all yours."

Smooth, Counselor. Ben barely concealed his amused laugh. The party playboy of South Beach getting up at oh-dark-thirty? This I can't wait to see.

"Well, I definitely don't expect you to work every day. I'd be happy just to get a little extra help on Wednesdays."

A lot of people would be taking advantage of any free help they could get. I really do like her. He thought about that for a moment. Then again, I'm not used to seeing the better side of people in general, lately.

All throughout dinner, the more Ben learned about Libbie, the more he liked her. He understood and sympathized with the loss of her parents, even if he and Allan couldn't really tell her about their own.

In many ways, she was as alone as they were.

He wouldn't mind a few minutes alone with her rat b.a.s.t.a.r.d of an ex-husband, either.

At the end of the evening, when they bid her good-night, he felt his heart leap again when she leaned in to hug both of them. The feel of her soft, auburn hair against his cheek pulled at his heart.

I could easily get used to this. He killed that line of thinking.

Stop it!

He watched as Allan hugged her, too, and they didn't close their door until they saw she was safely in her own apartment and heard the lock click home.

Ben closed the door and leaned against it, blowing a long breath out. Allan stood there, motionless, watching him.

"What?" Ben asked.

Allan silently shook his head.

"What is it? Just say it."

"If the look on your face means the same thing that I feel, I have a feeling this is going to be a really long six months."

Ben felt himself slump in defeat. "Yeah," he softly agreed.

Libbie let out a happy sigh as she leaned against the door and closed her eyes. Gay, gay, gay-gay-gay.

I don't frakking care.

Two sets of strong arms to give her hugs, even if it meant unrequited panty dampening would ensue as a result, and she didn't have to share them with any other women.

I hope they decide to stay longer than six months.

She had a full tummy, a nice evening with Ken and Charles, and now she could go to bed, indulge in some s.e.xalicious vibratory visualization, and hopefully sleep well.

It only took her a few minutes to go through her nightly routine. To scoop Galileo's box, top off his food, wash out and refill his water bowl, and brush her teeth. She grabbed one of her smaller, battery-operated vibrators from the bedside table drawer and dragged it under the covers with her.

Closing her eyes, she flipped the switch on the vibrator and let out a sigh as she touched it to her c.l.i.t.

Thaaaat's it.

In her mind, she stared into Ken's blue eyes as he knelt between her legs. She found the perfect angle and clamped her thighs together, holding the vibrator in place. She cupped her b.r.e.a.s.t.s with her hands, imagining they belonged to Charles, his fingers knowing exactly how to torment her nipples and drive her closer to the edge.

She'd read plenty of menage fiction in the past couple of years. More than once she'd had to put her Kindle down to go seek out her vibrator and take care of erotic urges.

Focus. She imagined staring up into Charles' blue eyes as he tweaked her nipples while Ken's tongue worked on her c.l.i.t. It would be heavenly to feel Ken's hands clamped around her thighs, forcing her to endure the pleasure he'd make her take, neither man relenting or releasing her until they'd satisfied her.

Men to take charge, that she could trust and let go to. Men who would take what they wanted and give plenty in return.

Men who would take care of her.

She softly whimpered as her hips rocked against the vibrator. She'd love to feel two sets of hands pinning her down to the bed while they had their way with her, completely and utterly owning her body.

When the first flutters started, she pinched her nipples harder, the little bite sending her over the edge while the vibrator buzzed against her c.l.i.t, stretching her climax out. She came down from her o.r.g.a.s.m and pulled the vibrator from between her legs. She had to fumble to find the switch, but as she dropped it into the drawer where it resided with her other Bobs, she already felt herself drifting.

Too bad it'll never be anything but a fantasy.

Chapter Nine.

Libbie awoke Tuesday morning at her usual time when the alarm went off at ten 'til four. As she slowly flexed her hands, she breathed a sigh of relief. Part of her had worried Mandaline's miracle mixtures wouldn't work more than once or twice.

She was happily pleased to admit she was wrong. While achy, her hands weren't bothering her any more than on a mildly uncomfortable day. The pre-bedtime o.r.g.a.s.m had helped her sleep well, too.

She started her coffee, added dry chow to Galileo's bowl, and headed for the shower. As she stood under the spray for a few minutes, slowly stretching and easing the rest of her muscles, she thought about dinner the night before.

The cousins were handsome. Stunningly so. Their identical blue eyes melted things deep inside her she never thought would see the light of day again.

And dammit, they're gay.

She let out a wistful sigh.

Charles, the friendlier one. Scratch that, it wasn't very fair of her to say such a thing. He had a more outgoing personality was all. Ken had his own unique charm, but she got the idea he was used to paying close attention to details for a living. The way she felt his eyes on her several times during their meal, as if evaluating her. Not in a creepy way...

It reminded her of one of her customers, Detective Haines from the Hernando County Sheriff's Office. He came in once a week to buy munchies for staff meetings.

She felt herself blush over the dreams she'd had about the men. Of being sandwiched between them, of them doing deliciously immoral things to her, of ravishing her body all night long.

I'm spending too much time on my Kindle. Then again, it made great vibrator session fodder. She was glad she'd accepted their offer for dinner. She'd had a good time and enjoyed talking with them. And she'd have a chance to spend more time with Charles down in the bakery.

The giddy shiver that raced through her body at the thought brought her to a mental stop. They're gay, she firmly reminded herself. And you're not in the market for a boyfriend, remember?

She suspected if given a voice in the matter, her p.u.s.s.y would be wearing a sad panda pout at that thought.

Shaking her head to snap herself out of her thoughts, she said, "d.a.m.n, I reeeally need a social life."

She was dressed and down in the bakery less than twenty minutes later, with a second cup of coffee in hand and having started the office coffeepot as well. She fired off a quick e-mail to her supplier with her order before pulling down her Tuesday list.

She crossed send wholesale order off the top of the list with a black dry-erase marker. Every day had a its own list, even though over three-quarters of the daily items were duplicates. Next to the daily list was another laminated sheet labeled Special Orders. On it, written in dry-erase marker, the Palmer order. They'd get those knocked out today and ready to go.

The lists made it easier on her when the fibro fog was so bad she could barely remember her own name. Before, when it was one large list for the whole week, she found herself doing things that didn't need to be done, or redoing things that had been done days before, despite being crossed off already.

The daily list system was fibro-fog foolproof, as she thought of it.

It also made it easy for Ruth, Grover, and Jenny to see what still needed to be done and take over when necessary.

Libbie wasn't too proud to admit she had a great capability to screw things up when in the grips of a severe flare.

Hence, the lists.

A noise on the stairs startled her. She turned to find Charles walking through the back door into the kitchen area.

The pleasant thump her heart made at the sight of him caught her off guard. I really need to get better about that. "Hey. Wow, you're up early."

He offered her a sleepy smile. He looked delicious in faded jeans, sneakers, and a plain white T-shirt. "I wasn't sure what to wear in a bakery, so I hope this is okay?"

The T-shirt wasn't overly tight, just snug enough it clung to him and showed off his physique. She nodded. "Uh-huh. Um, I mean yeah. It's fine. You didn't have to come in this early, though."

He shrugged. "I'm not doing anything else today. Might as well start learning."

She swallowed hard as she looked up into his blue eyes. "Okay," she squeaked.

She started with the easiest, showing him the lists. "Every day has a list. When something's done on the list, it has to be crossed off with one of these markers." She used a magnet to hold the list onto the whiteboard near the office door, where it could be seen from anywhere in the kitchen area.

"Are there drastically different routines from day to day?"

"No." She pointed to a second sheet held to the board with another magnet. "Except for special orders, it's pretty routine for the most part."

"Then why does each day have its own list?"

"Because I need it that way." She tapped her temple. "Fibro fog. You have no idea how bad it can be."

His face showed recognition instead of the ridicule or ignorance she'd prepared herself for. "Ah, that makes sense."

"You really think so?"

He nodded. "I work...worked with a woman with fibro. I don't know how she made it through some days."

"Oh." Her estimation of him rose even higher. "Okay."

They were interrupted on the tour of the bakery by Ruth's arrival. After the introductions, Ruth looked Charles up and down. "So you're half of the new tenants, hmm?"

"How did you know?" Libbie asked. "You weren't here when they got here on Sat.u.r.day."

She stepped forward to shake hands with him. "I heard all about them from Grover when I ran into him at Publix Sunday after church. Nice to meet you, young man."

Libbie left Ruth to get started on the morning's preparations while she continued showing Charles around. When they reached the storeroom, he let out a low whistle. "Someone likes their label machine."

Admittedly, she'd gone a little hog wild with the thing, a housewarming gift of sorts from Grover when she bought the building.

Bless his heart, he'd foreseen her need to stay organized to help combat the fibro fog. Utensils, pans, and tools, along with specialty items that didn't need to be in the main kitchen all the time were stored on shelves and in two large sets of stainless cabinets with drawers, each one bearing several labels reflecting the contents neatly stored amongst dividers inside.

Along many of the shelves, where pots, dishes, pans, and other a.s.sorted items resided were more labels, taped to plastic cards affixed to the wire racks. As well as places for standard dry supplies like sugar, flour, salt, and the like.

"Do you have the cooler labeled like this, too?"

She felt her face heat. "No. They wouldn't stick."

"Does the label maker have a label?" He laughed, but she sensed no meanness behind it.

"You think I'm crazy?" she asked.

"Yep. You're crazy," Charles gently teased.

She stuck her tongue out at him. "Shows how much you know," she lightly retorted. "I'm not crazy. My mother had me tested."

Charles roared with laughter at her playful smirk. "Ah, you love the show, too, huh?"

"Yeah. The Big Bang Theory has to be my all-time favorite. No matter how c.r.a.ppy I feel, I can watch that and laugh. I practically know all the episodes by heart." She dumped the ball of dough out onto the floured board. "I have all the past seasons on DVD, and the current ones on my DVR. I can watch them over and over again and never get tired of them."