Chapter Four: The prodigal friend with benefits

I expected my heart to jump up in my throat when I saw Otto, but I still wasn't prepared for how good he looked. The month on the road treated him well. He has his back to me, chatting with Bob, and I take in his broad shoulders, thin waist, strong arms. He looks tan against his off-white cable sweater. His hair's grown, too; he had it back in a ponytail before, but it was only a couple inches long then. Now it almost reaches his shoulders.

"Hey, stranger," I say, walking up next to him. He turns and grins at me, and I can't help grinning back. Otto has that kind of smile. He opens his arms and hugs me, nestling his chin into the curve of my neck, murmuring, "You smell good," in my ear before releasing me and stepping back. He looks me up and down, and I stand there feeling like a fuckin' teenager and let him. Otto shakes his head.

"Damn, you look great, Ava," he says, sliding the right side of his mouth back into a wry smile as he sits down on one of the barstools. "How ya been?"

"Not bad," I reply, walking around to the side of the bar and ducking underneath. "What'll you have?" I turn my back to pick up a pint glass, relieved to be able to look away. It was hard to meet his eyes and not throw myself at him. I wondered what Bob thought of all this; he's a pretty savvy guy. I pause by the taps and look back at Otto, waiting for his response.

"Hell, I don't know," he says. "What's the Sled Ride like?"

"It's a seasonal from Fountain Creek Brewery. It's not bad. Want to try a taste?" I switch the pint glass for a sampler, and hand it to him, trying not to stare at him while he considered it.

"Yeah, that's pretty good. I'll take one of those. Got any lunch specials today?" he says, looking at me with that merry glint in his eye. My heart picks up speed, and I restrain myself from saying something like "Yeah - me, on the kitchen counter."

I settle for putting my elbows on the bar in front of him and leaning in a bit. "What do you want?" God help me, I could not keep that tone out of my voice to save my life. The look he gives me in response makes me smile and look away. He pauses, thinking about it.

"Well, I guess for lunch, a cottage pie sounds good." He hands the menu back to me. "For dessert, I don't know."

"Well, you've got all day to figure it out," I reply, taking the menu. "Bob, you want another one?"

Bob pushes his stool back and stands up. "Naw," he says. "I gotta go by the store before I go home. 'Sides, I'd better get out of here 'fore it gets too hot and heavy." Otto and I laugh. Bob winks at me, throws a ten on the counter and leaves.

"I'll get the pie started," I tell Otto, and walk into the kitchen. I turn on the oven, open the fridge and retrieve a cottage pie that I made yesterday. I put it on a tray and slid it into the oven, setting the timer for twenty minutes. When I turn around, Otto is standing about four feet away from me, his hands in his pockets, just quietly watching me with that inscrutable look on his face.
I don't know why, I just walked over to him and kissed him. And he kissed me back. And I have no idea how long that timer was going off before we finished screwing, because I only noticed it after. I can barely bring myself to leave him long enough to walk across the kitchen and turn the damn timer off. I open the oven door to let some of the heat out, and return to Otto, who has one of the most beautiful mouths I've ever seen on a man.

"Lunch is ready," I say between kisses. I love this part of a relationship, the we-just-started-having-sex part, when your bodies are still new to each other and you're hungry, eating each other up.

Eventually we get back out into the bar. He tucks into the cottage pie and I put some music on the stereo. I wash up the glasses Bob used and set them in the drying rack. I move my stool from the other end of the bar to down where Otto is sitting, and sit down with my beer.

People walk briskly by the front windows. I can see the wind shaking the bare branches of the trees, making women wrap their coats around themselves tighter, making men hunch their shoulders and pull their hats down over their ears. It's warm inside the Pines, cosy. I'm glad I turned on the gas fireplace when I was getting the shop ready this morning. While Otto ate, I sipped my beer and tried to just let myself believe it could always be this easy. Great sex, peaceful mornings, an effortless, quiet togetherness.

I'm working myself up to start a conversation that was probably a very bad idea - something along the lines of, "So, want to get married?" when Otto finishes his lunch, set his silverware in the bowl and pushes it away from him. He wipes his mouth and throws the napkin on top of the silverware in the bowl.

"So," he says, looking me in the eyes for the first time since we left the kitchen. "Any chance I could crash at your place for a couple nights?" My stomach sinks. I look back out the front windows again. He didn't give a shit about me, not anything permanent or deep anyway. He just needed a free place to sleep, and some bonus sex wasn't a bad thing. What was I thinking? Friends with benefits, that's what we are, that dangerous little phrase that sounds so simple and carries such complexity with it.

But on the other hand, I think, a little bonus sex isn't such a bad thing at all. I wouldn't mind sharing my bed for a couple nights. And maybe I'll take a test and find out I am pregnant and then at least he'll be there, and we could talk about it.

Not likely, the other side of my brain says. I ignore it.

"Yeah, that's fine," I agree.