"You know," Sebastian said, "I don't think Ben likes me very much."

Louise looked up, a blue crayon hovering in her hand. Hugh craned his neck to catch a glimpse of his painted cheek in the mirror. It was probably for the best that he didn't, Louise reflected; she was drawing a butterfly, and the poor insect hadn't achieved metamorphosis.

"I wouldn't take it personally." She touched Hugh's chin lightly, repositioning him. "Ben doesn't like most people."

"He likes you."

Louise snorted. "He doesn't. Trust me."

She drew an antenna. Paused. Switched crayons and tried again. Hugh gave her a long-suffering look, and Louise resisted the urge to stick out her tongue.

Sebastian sipped his wine. "Have you and Ben ever..." He glanced at Hugh. "You've never had an... er... an adult sleepover, right?"

Louise's hand slipped. "Shi—" She caught herself. "Shoot." She grabbed a napkin, scrubbing at the angry red line. "Sorry, Hugh."

Hugh looked chagrined.

"No," Louise said. "We haven't." She began outlining the antenna again, trying to ignore the shake in her hand. "Trust me, I'd rather eat live worms than have..." How had Sebastian phrased it? "An adult sleepover with Ben."

Sebastian smiled. "Understood."

Louise switched to a green crayon, her eyes glued to the table. Guilt squirmed through her. Firstly, because — technically speaking — she and Ben did have sleepovers every night. And secondly, because...

Well, just because.

She hated to admit it, but Ben wasn't a bad person. He donated to charity. He brought his colleagues coffee every morning (Louise had caught sight of several Costa receipts). Hell, he'd even taught her a trick to fall asleep. Louise frowned. Was it possible for someone to change so quickly? Or had she been wrong about him all along?

Several kids dressed in fairy wings raced by, recapturing her attention. Vienna was leading the charge, closely followed by an indulgent Andrew, who seemed to be making no effort to prevent her from whacking people with her wand. He tickled her in the side, and Vienna giggled.

A pang of something went through Louise.

Sorrow?

Envy?

Part of her was amazed that Vienna could do this. That all kids could do this. Laugh and smile and chant magic spells, even when their worlds were falling apart.

Children were much smarter than adults, really; they examined grief like an oddly jagged stone in a river, turning it over in their hands before setting it back in the water. Adults refused to let go of each stone, lining their pockets until they burst. That type of grief weighed a person down — you could drown in it.

Louise turned back to the butterfly. "Thanks for coming today, by the way. And for the gift." She nodded to the wine. "You didn't have to."

"I wanted to," Sebastian said.

"Let me guess." She filled in the left wing. "You're in it for Colin the Caterpillar cake?"

Sebastian took a deep breath. "Louise, I actually wanted to—"

"Smile!" a voice called.

Something silvery flashed.

Louise blinked, shielding her eyes. Nancy Simmons was beaming, a camera clutched in her hands. An honest-to-God camera — not an iPhone, or a polaroid, but a camera. Exasperation swept through her. Who used those anymore?

"Where's the birthday girl?" Nancy asked, scanning the yard.

Louise glanced at Andrew, who was holding Vienna by the ankle over a ball pit and — for whatever reason — making a strange hissing noise.

"Inside," she lied. "With Ben."

"Oh." Nancy frowned. "We should get a family shot."

"Why?" Louise asked.

Nancy looked at her like she was a butcher at a vegan convention. "Because it's Vienna's birthday. Don't you want to remember it?"

Louise felt that unless she underwent a head injury, a lobotomy, or was brainwiped by aliens, this birthday party would be burned into her memory forever. But still.

She rose from her chair. "I'll go get her."

"And Ben!" Nancy called.

Louise started towards the house. This, she thought, was the problem with lies; they caught up to you. She could feel Nancy watching her as she slipped into the kitchen, beginning her imaginary treasure hunt for Vienna.

"Ben?" she called. "Are you— Jesus!"

Ben Langford was shirtless in the kitchen.

Louise blinked. Her brain couldn't seem to process what she was seeing: Ben, standing by the oven, his jeans slung low over his hips. Ben, without a shirt. Why was he shirtless? And — more importantly — why did he look so good doing it?

So unfair.

Ben's face was sober. "I am not, in fact, Jesus. Sorry."

Louise shook her head.

God, she was staring, wasn't she? He was just so goddamn distracting. Logically, she knew that Ben went to the gym, but she hadn't fully realized it until this moment. There were pectoral muscles, and bicep muscles, and muscles that—

She wrenched her eyes away. "Put on some clothes."

"I was trying to," Ben said. "And then you stormed into the kitchen."

Louise twisted to face the wall. "I didn't storm."

"Stomped, then." She heard the creak of a cupboard, and then the rustle of fabric. "Loudly paraded. Inelegantly traipsed."

"Oh, shut it, Langford."

She chanced a peek. Ben was dressed in a green jumper, looking far too amused for Louise's liking. Her mouth was dry. God, she slept in the same bed as those muscles. She'd have to sleep in a bed with them tonight.

How the hell was she meant to do that?

"Nancy wants a picture," she said. "Meet me outside."

Louise kept her chin raised as she slipped back into the garden, her pride still intact.

Just.

The party dragged into the evening.

Presents were opened. Cake was cut. Families trickled out, bundled in scarves and wool mitts in the crisp October air. Darkness stole over the world, and stars speckled the sky like grains of salt spilled across a table.

"We should play a game," Ben said.

They were sitting around the outdoor table in varying states of dishevel. Andrew had a tilted pink party hat on his head, and Ophelia was — unsuccessfully — trying to prevent Vienna from shoving orange crisp dust into her face. Sebastian, Hugh, and several parents and kids lounged nearby, all covered in glitter and grass.

"What about croquet?" Louise suggested. "Or frisbee?"

Ben took a sip of beer. "Shouldn't the birthday girl choose?"

"The birthday girl is three."

"So?"

"So," Louise said, waving a crisp at him, "her idea of a good time is eating Cheerios and throwing her toys out of the pram." 

Ben set down the beer. "And what's wrong with that?"

"Why don't we play Twister?" Ophelia asked.

Everyone turned to look at her. She was watching them thoughtfully; her hand — stained with their usual red ink, tattooed with three dots — was toying idly with Vienna's curls. Louise's eyes narrowed.

"Twister?" she echoed.

"Sure." Ophelia lifted a shoulder. "We used to play all the time when we were kids."

Hugh raised a hand. "How d-d-do you play?"

Ophelia's mouth popped open. "You don't know how to play Twister?" When Hugh shook his head, she frowned. "We need to rectify the situation immediately. Ben. Louise." She snapped her fingers. "Get to the mat."

Horror filled her. "I'm not playing against him!"

Ophelia's frown deepened. "Why?"

"I'm just not," Louise said.

Louise crossed her arms. No need to explain that the image of a shirtless Ben Langford lived rent-free in her mind. No need to explain that she couldn't stop imagining it. Imagining him. Nope. She wasn't going there.

Ben leaned back, draping a casual arm across the back of a chair. "Don't push her, Fi. She's scared that she'll lose."

Louise stiffened. "I never said that."

"You didn't have to."

Their eyes met. Ben's green eyes were bright. A silent challenge. Louise rose, snatching the Twister board from under the table. 

"You know what?" she asked. "I'll play."

"I don't mind playing," Sebastian said, rising. "If you don't want to, Ben."

Ben was already on his feet. "I'll play." He stretched his arms, and that damned green jumper rose a few inches. "I could use a good stretch."

Ben was looking at Louise as he said it, and her cheeks heated. Damn him. Was he mocking her for earlier? She shoved the game towards him, teeth gritted.

"Spin the dial, Langford."

They unfurled the polka-dotted mat. Ben spun the dial first, and then Louise went. They took alternated turns — back-and-forth, back-and-forth — until Ben was in an extended plank; Louise was contorted into a "reverse-plank-meets-mad-goat" kind of position.

She spun the dial.

"Oh, for god's sake," she muttered.

Ben's mouth quirked.

Louise slid her body under his. Her face was pressed into the soft wool of his jumper, and his warm breath settled in the shallow dish of her collarbone. Her arms were shaking under her weight.

Ben nodded to Andrew. "Spin the dial for me?"

Andrew did so.

"Sorry, mate," Andrew said, not looking particularly sorry at all. "That's left foot to red."

Louise — who'd become well-versed in the colored mat over the last seventeen minutes — twisted to glare at Ben. "Don't you dare."

His murmur reverberated down her spine. "Give up, then."

She set her chin. Ben's smile was grim.

"Just remember, Bentley," he said, "you can quit anytime."

He shifted until he was planking directly on top of her. She held her breath; lying this close, she could see the sooty sweep of his lashes. Ben had freckles on his nose, too. A mole under his chin. Louise swallowed.

"Spin, Andrew," she said.

He did so. "Right hand to blue."

Louise slid her hand under Ben's arm, shifting until her face was wedged into his collarbone. Her lips grazed the bare skin of his shoulder — just above his green jumper — and Ben stiffened.

"Stop trying to distract me, Bentley." His voice was rough.

She smirked. "Spin, Andrew."

Andrew did so.

It was a left hand to green this time, and Ben flipped so that his head was wedged between her thighs. Nancy Simmons muttered something about "keeping things appropriate for the children," and — not for the first time — Louise wished she'd bugger off. Maybe on an extended holiday to Antarctica.

"Spin," Ben grunted.

Andrew spun again — left foot to blue — and Louise's arms burned as she crawled into position. The good news was that Ben's head was no longer between her thighs; the bad news was that her face was now flush against his abdomen.

Louise tried not to notice how hard Ben's stomach was. She really, really did. But it was like asking a coffee addict not to notice a Starbucks.

She was going to lose this game. So badly.

Unless...

An idea occurred to her. Ben was stronger, yes, but he also played by the rules; Louise had no problem breaking them. Not if it meant winning.

And it was dark.

Nobody would see.

Decided, Louise leaned close — torturously close — and then pressed a kiss to the taught skin above his waistband. Ben made a strangled sound. His arms gave out, and he hit the mat with an oof. Louise rolled out from under him.

"Well?" She smiled at Ophelia. "What do the judges say?"

Ophelia gestured with a pen. "Match goes to Louise."

Andrew nodded. "Agreed."

Louise turned. She half-expected Ben to argue, but he was watching her intently. Louise swallowed. There was something in his gaze that sent liquid heat coursing through her. Something dark and dangerous and hungry.

Ben's smile was slow honey. "Well played, Bentley. Very well played."