Call Me Love Ch. 02

"Yeah, I bare-knuckle box after I punch out for the day," I'm laughing but more at myself than my little joke. God, I'd be useless in a fight unless I had a wrench or something. "You really wanna hear this?" I love how warm his voice sounds.

"I do now." I don't know how much Ben knows about bikes but I'm going to run with the universally accepted fact that he knows at least the basics and keep things simple.

"Ok, so, today my only job was a project my dad threw my way, a '65 Triumph Bonneville engine rebuild. Been chasing down parts for weeks, and just when I'm making headway, guess who saunters over? It's the new guy, it starts out all fine cos I'm tight with the guys at work and I haven't met this guy yet. I try to be nice and explain what I'm up to, but he hits me with the classic 'you want my advice?' line."

I swear every time a guy has offered me that infamous line, my pussy dries up and my soul dies a little.

"Um, no I don't thank you. I actually kinda know what I'm doing being that I'm a licensed mechanic, and I've got this rebuild down pat. So he does what most dickheads do and plays fifty questions like I'm taking a freaking test, and I have to prove that I know what I know and while I do know all the answers I'm also kinda busy, you know... working. So as polite as I can I kinda tell him to fuck off. And he does, few minutes later I'm away from my station for, like, five minutes--no, not even five--and I come back to find he's gone and done exactly what I told him wasn't needed. Cue me having to undo his mess, all the while he's calling me a bitch, thinking he's doing me a favor. Like, asshole, this is a vintage bike! You can't just force a circle peg through a triangle cutout, you absolute muppet. So, I had to explain this to my dad. Johnny Fuckhead got an earful, but he still has a job and the client is pissed because the timeline for the project has to be pushed back. Now I'm stuck twiddling my thumbs waiting for the replacement parts I ordered, all because Mr. Know-It-All couldn't keep his mitts off my project."

I huff out the most cartoonish sigh I can manage and no, I'm not doing it on purpose. I know I'm kinda pissy here, but it doesn't sound like Ben noticed, in fact, it sounds like he's laughing. Is he laughing at me? Do I care? I don't think I do, in my experience, this is about where guys tell me that I'm cute as opposed to what I actually am. A vicious, big and scary, life-sucking, monstrosity, hag of a witch.

Seriously, I'm not cute. I scary. Then there's usually a well-placed nose boop.

"Easy now, tiger, and the knuckles?"

"Oh, it's just a hazard of the job, happens all the time, you should see how many plasters I go through."

"That's cute, you calling 'em plasters."

What did I just say? Cute.

"Shut up, I've lived here almost a year and I was born here you unfrosted Pop-tart." Yeah, now he is laughing at me, like properly laughing, jokes on him, I like the unfrosted pop-tarts.

"What's a pop-tart?

"It's a nasty American breakfast staple. Filled with sugar, crack cocaine, and chemicals. I like the brown sugar ones."

"So, you're saying I'm addictive like a proper drug, then? I'll take that as a compliment." It wasn't but the comparison is definitely a fitting one.

I feel a bit better getting that all out and it goes quiet for a second then my phone pings with a video call request. I probably don't look half as good as he remembers, but I can't keep him waiting. I sit up, attempting to pull off my best lazy, sexy bedhead look, and it's not much of a look, I'm not wearing makeup, my hair is damp and I'm just wearing a shirt, though he might like that. As soon as I hit accept, there he is, lounging in his bed, looking just as good as I remember. His messy hair and that white vest highlighting those nice arms of his, making my thoughts dive straight into the gutter.

As soon as our eyes lock, his expression changes. He sits up like he's suddenly realized something, only he's looking right at me looking and hard, eyes narrowing. What the hell?

"You cheeky, little thief."

Oh, crap. I look down and realize I'm wearing his shirt. That familiar pang of guilt hits me--the kind you get when you know you're stone cold, busted and I am. But then he flashes that smirk of his, and suddenly, he doesn't seem all that mad. Maybe he's just impressed by my fashion sense. Or maybe he just noticed that I'm not wearing any pants. Or a bra, for that matter.

"You know, I've been going mental all week trying to track down that bleeding shirt," he says, leaning back against the headboard, shaking his head at me. "Most birds would've at least left a pair of knickers behind before nicking a shirt. But I'll give you credit, got good taste. It suits you." he adds, a playful approving nod. Oh, yeah. I'm definitely off the hook, now.

The shirt hangs off me, teasingly sliding down one shoulder, and his eyes do that thing where they go soft and unfocused. It's a classic move, and I can tell it's getting to him from the way he catches his breath. So, without missing a beat, I decide to play along, biting my lip and shooting him a coy look. I mean, I hadn't exactly planned on swiping his shirt--it just sort of happened in the heat of the moment.

"Sorry," I say, trying to sound apologetic but failing miserably. "I'll bring it around later this week."

"Nah, how about you hang onto it for me till I come 'round and get it?" he suggests, that smirk still dancing on his lips. Oh, he's gonna come get it, huh? Alright, I'm ok with that.

"You sure?" I raise an eyebrow, unable to resist teasing him a little tug on the neckline pulling it down a bit to show a bit of cleavage. "I could take it off,"

A guy shouldn't look as good as Ben does with a smirk. It's dangerous. It makes me want to kiss him, and other things.

"Yeah, you could but then you'd be cold. Besides, like I said, looks pretty good on you." Ben's got this casually sexy vibe going on right now, and he's rocking it.

"So, let's see them knuckles of yours, yeah?" he asks, his tone playful and teasing.

I reach over for another pillow and prop my phone up against it, although my laptop would work better. But, hey, I'm feeling lazy and don't wanna get up and go get it. I hold out my hands for him to see, and he winces when I do. They're cracked alright, with scabs starting to form, and a couple of my nails are chipped. Admittedly, they look pretty rough and not very ladylike.

"Ouch, look at you, a regular Lenny McLean. That'd be a bad day for anyone, darlin'."

"Who?" Ben gets this shocked and serious look on his face, like I've just insulted a national icon.

"Oi, darlin', did you seriously just ask me who Lenny McLean is?" Oops. Guess I did, maybe some cute lip biting will get me out of this? That shake of his head and deep sigh tells me, probably not. "He was a bare-knuckle boxer and an actor, how-- Kit, love, you're losing some serious points for that. I mean, you're gorgeous but ignorance is no excuse."

I lose points for that? Oh, hell no. Oh, mama's getting indignant now. I have a damn good resting bitch face and it gets a lot of practice, so throw it on and give Ben a taste. I snatch my phone from its propped position against the pillow.

"Did you know that for Norton Commando motorbikes, the ignition timing is crucial for engine performance? With a Boyer electronic ignition system, it's set at 31 degrees Before Top Dead Center when the engine hits 5,000 RPM. But for models with a points-based ignition, it's 28 degrees BTDC, and you've got to set it using a stroboscope at 3,000 RPM. It's all about finding that sweet spot for the perfect combustion."

Yeah, that's my drop-the-mic moment and it worked, Ben's eyes are wide as saucers and I'm ninety percent sure he has no idea what the hell I just said. He's just blinking at me.

"Alright, you can have the points back, but only 'cause that was bloody impressive the way you just spat that out." I sit up a little straighter, "Don't get too cocky, love. Seems like your knowledge of boxers could use a bit of a tune-up, it's a tad lacking. Might want to ice those knuckles and wrap 'em up. Looks like they're proper hurtin'."

"It'll be fine, happens all the time and I've got two days off to get all healed up before I go back to work."

"Two days off, yeah? That when those spare parts come in?"

"No, I think that's just the amount of cooldown time Dad thought I needed. It's like he thought I was gonna take a brace to the new guy and I have no idea why, the fact that I happened to be holding a torque wrench was purely coincidental..."

"Yeah, I reckon I can see where he got that idea." Somehow I get the feeling Ben might be in agreement with my dad on the whole bodily harm for the new guy thing. "So he sent you packing eh?"

"Yup, went home, got caught in the monsoon outside because I'm too stubborn to use an umbrella and I didn't feel like paying a cab to the nearest tube station," I continue, recounting the mishaps of my day. "My shower was a cold one because our water sucks, which is always a miserable experience, and I despise being cold. It's freezing here since the radiator is on the fritz, Stevie is at her girl's place till it's fixed, and the cherry on top of my day was that my vibrator died when I was trying to make myself feel better."

That grin of his--damn. He's half trying not to laugh at me and half... maybe turned on? I'm not sure, but it's the kind of grin that makes me wish I was there to wipe it off his face by any means necessary although that might just be considered reinforcing bad behavior.

"Poor you," he teases back, his voice full of fake sympathy. "That sounds like a ruddy awful day." Okay, his pandering tone isn't helping, but I guess I walked right into that one. No doubt his mind is in the gutter, right alongside mine.

"Definitely not one for the books," I sigh, feeling a bit better getting it all off my chest. Then there's a noise by the door, and I look up to see Simon. He's finished his tuna and he's back to giving me the stink eye. "Still mad at me, Simon?"

Simon just stares and is glaring at me hard before he turns around, shows me his furry asshole, and leaves.

"Who's Simon?"

"Stevie's drag queen of a cat," I reply with a smirk. "He's mad at me."

"Why's he mad at you?" Ben's eyebrows raise with curiosity.

I glance down at the pile of pillows scattered around my feet, remnants from my little outburst earlier.

"I may have scared the hell out of him when my vibrator died, kinda chucked my pillows in his general direction, and now he's being pissy with me."

The laughter that fills the room is like a symphony, and Ben's deep chuckle is the perfect bass line to my own giggles. I can't help but join in, feeling the joy bubble up inside me like champagne.

"Poor kitty," he says between chuckles.

I scoff, feeling a surge of playful indignation. "Poor kitty? That freeloader? He pays nothing, eats our food and he's fixed, it's not like he could get off anyway. Poor my pussy,"

Ben's grin is contagious, and as the chuckles subside, he stretches out on the bed, nestling into the pillows.

"Oh, love, I wasn't talking about that kitty, I was talking about yours," Ben says, his voice deepening, sending shivers down my spine like each word is a spicy little something. Is he doing that on purpose, or is he just naturally that damn sexy? "Poor Kit, stuck working with fools all day, having to freeze her gorgeous arse off in a cold shower, and you're right, that's an anticlimactic end to a rubbish day."

I roll my eyes, trying to ignore the smile tugging at the corners of my mouth.

Anticlimactic? Seriously? Alright, he's hot, he gets a pass. I just shake my head trying to hide the blush creeping up my cheeks from his innuendos.

"You think you're so cute," Ben really is cute, all snuggled up in blankets. I kind of wish I was there with him; my toes are freezing.

"I am cute, in fact, I think I'm adorable," he quips back, I've heard that before... His tone is playful and 'cheeky' is the only description fitting the look on his face.

"Well, I'm glad my misery is so amusing to you," I know he's not actually laughing at me. Still, a little pouting never hurt anyone, hell, last time pouting got me to a pretty nice spot.

"Oh, come on, love, it's just a bit of teasin'," Ben reassures me. "You know, if your place is so chilly, you could have come back round mine, I'll warm you up. I'm off for the next three days."

His invitation is tempting, it really is especially when I think of that offer to warm me up. Maybe I'll take him up on it, only problem with that is it requires putting on pants.

Ben and I spent a marathon of a night together, seriously some of the best sex I've ever had, but just now it hit me like a ton of bricks--I don't have a clue where Ben works or what he does. When we weren't moaning each other's names or talking dirty in bed, the only other topic of discussion we had was music at the party, and the limited texting we did was more about flirting than anything else. I only know him as the guy with killer drum skills and great musical taste, and he really only knows as much about me as a gearhead working in her dad's garage.

"Where do you even work?" I blurt out, the question feeling oddly overdue yet essential.

"Aha, so you're after more than just my fit bod, eh?"

"Well, I mean, I was just trying to make conversation," I don't mind that fit bod at all, and wouldn't mind knowing it again. "But, hey, your body's not exactly a bad topic either."

"I'm at a boxing gym, been there since I was old enough to push a broom," Fuck me, he's a drummer and a boxer? That explains his stamina.

He's wearing a big grin, the kind a guy wears when there's happy memories behind his words. I can't help but imagine a young Ben, all short and scrappy, pushing around a broom that probably towered over him.

"Help run the place, and I'm trainin' the young'uns still in school."

"Do you actually box?"

"Yeah, I've had a scrap or two. If music doesn't pan out, reckon I might just pick up a ring name and give boxing a bash." I can't help the face I pull, it's like I've tasted something sour and Ben doesn't miss it. "What's with that look? Not feeling it on me, eh?"

Boxing... My mind immediately conjures up images of Ben in a ring getting hit, and it doesn't sit well with me at first. But like any person with a knack for getting distracted by shiny things, I do that thing where I zone out into space. Of course, I'm not staring at something shiny--I'm imagining something hard, hot, and sweaty.

"That's not it at all, I have no problem seeing you all shirtless, hot, and sweaty. Just would hate to see anything happen to that pretty face of yours."

"You sound like me mum." Now that I know he's a boxer and a drummer, my mind is spinning with ideas. I can't help but imagine the classic scenario of nursing my boxer boyfriend's wounds, followed by some fun afterward and it shows on my face. Ben's teasing barely registers as my thoughts run wild.

"Hey love, where's your head at?" I shrug, knowing that I've been caught red-handed. "Got your mind down in the gutter, eh?"

"You're right, it was definitely in the gutter, but so are you."

Ben chuckles, "Me? No way. I'm a proper gentleman. Never a dirty thought in my head," He feigns innocence and it's cute but nowhere near convincing.

But I know a challenge when I hear one, "Oh, you're a 'gentleman', huh?" I say, sitting up a bit straighter. Flashing him a grin that practically shouts, 'We'll see about that.' He's there, lounging in his bed, giving me this funny look. One of his eyebrows quirks up like he's already onto the secret game I'm playing, or at least he knows he's walked right into a trap.

"Cross my heart," He actually draws an 'X' over his chest, "What are you grinnin' for?" he asks, clearly amused by my reaction.

"Oh, nothing. Just a paragon of propriety, aren't you?"

I set the phone down on the bed, winking at the camera as I give him a less-than-seductive view of my ceiling. And I can see him giving me that confused puppy look, you know the one where they tilt their heads when they hear a high-pitched noise, like he's trying to figure out what's going on.

"Because some of the things you did to me weren't very 'gentlemanly'."

With an extra rustle of fabric that is 100% not necessary, but also 100% necessary I toss his shirt over the phone so he can clearly see it flying to the foot of my bed. Settling back against the plush headboard, a soft blanket draped over my shoulders, adjusting the blanket, teasing him just a hint of the curves of my breasts. We'll see how much of a gentleman he is now.

When I pick up the phone again, I can practically hear the disappointment in his sigh. His head thuds against the wall behind him like the final bell in a boxing ring. And just like that, I've taken the lead in our little game, he purses his lips and blows out a breath.

"Love, thought you were cold. What're you up to?"

"I'm so cold, all the way down to my toes but now I'm feeling guilty about taking your shirt without permission. Figured I should take it off," I reply with a wicked grin. "But you're right, I'm a bit too cold to get up and find a new one, guess I'll just sit here till I warm up, could be a while."

Ben warned me not to play games with him, but while he might corner the market when it comes to stubbornness, mama gets spiteful real quick, and nothing is off limits to me. This is probably like throwing water onto a grease fire, but do I care? Absolutely not.

Is he groaning? Maybe questioning his life choices, because I am perfectly content, sitting here freezing my tits off just to prove a point. What's the point, you may ask? He doesn't want to be a gentleman right now and I am perfectly fine with that. I don't want a gentleman, I was my sexy drummer.

"Ben, everything okay?"

"Yup, just peachy keen over here," He says with forced nonchalance and most definitely through gritted teeth, still with his head against the wall, looking at the ceiling.

"You sure? You sound like you're in pain. And what's on your ceiling that's so interesting?"

He finally looks down at his phone and shakes his head at me, biting his tongue. My phone is propped up on the pillow and I pull my legs up closer to my chest, giving him a tantalizing view from between my legs, but nothing too scandalous thanks to a strategically placed sheet.

All he can see is my belly button, and that's exactly where his eyes go before giving a slow drugged out once over the rest of my body, it's hard for me not to squirm under that look of his, especially when I think about his tongue darting down for a taste before devouring my pussy.

Am I being extra when I twirl my hair around my fingertips and trace down the hollow of my chest just to give him a little show? Yeah, probably. But seeing his eyes glaze over makes it all worth whatever payback he's currently plotting. I hope.

"You got any idea 'bout the tease you're pullin', eh?"

My most toxic trait about myself is feigned incompetence. I know EXACTLY what I'm doing.

I let the blanket slip off my shoulders. It's freezing in here, and not only is my skin lit up with goosebumps, but my nipples are hard, begging to be touched. And all I can think about is Ben's mouth on them. His hot, wet tongue and those sinful lips of his. I've got his full attention now, and he's got that dark look again--the one he had the night we had sex, the one that tells you the top tier of his brain is checked out and we're flying 100% on instinct.

I know exactly the type of tease I'm being. That's why it's fun to watch him get all riled up, knowing that short of tracking me down, there isn't much he can do.

"I'm only a tease if I don't do anything, Ben."