Author's Notes…

Sorry for the delay. Haven't been feeling very well.

For Carla

Chocolate

Chapter Eight

Flicker

Rey hesitated in front of Ben's front door.

He paused with the key in the lock, his brows rising. "You still okay to go inside?"

"Yeah…" She rubbed her bicep and nodded, her eyes trained on the doorknob. "I only… déjà vu, I suppose."

His expression turned knowing, but to his credit, he finished opening the door and didn't pass comment. They stopped over the threshold, and the scent of Ben's flat hit her, filling her up with… the usual: fear, excitement, desire. It carried his cologne, his detergent, his natural musk.

It was delightful.

Was it odd that she wanted to wrap herself up in it?

She slipped off her shoes by the door. She wasn't sure about the rules of the flat; it was only polite. It proved to be good instincts—he repeated her action a mere moment later.

Rey hadn't looked around before—she did now.

The plush white carpet, she remembered. The practicality of it, she didn't understand, as Ben seemed like he was a very practical man. What about food stains? What if he spilled a glass of wine? Or scotch. It was all she'd seen him order aside from the tequila shots they'd downed so heartily.

"You look like you're going to bolt at any second," he observed. "Now's the time. The door's still open."

"I'm not as flighty as you think," she said testily.

"Says the girl who ran from me at the bookstore." Ben shut the door and locked it in a habitual movement.

"You're never going to let me live that down, are you?" she muttered.

"No." Ben smirked. "Be hard to. That's never happened before. It was like a scene I would write."

"I'll try and take that as a compliment," she replied. But she was already flattered.

"You should. Welcome to my inner sanctum." Ben began the grand tour. He stopped a few feet in when he noticed she wasn't accompanying him. "Rey?"

She fidgeted.

A lot of things were mushing into her brain at one time.

This is Ben's apartment.

I had a walk of shame from this apartment.

I slept with a man in this apartment. This man.

This man is an author.

This author is Ashley Hayden.

Ashley Hayden is my favorite novelist.

Ashley Hayden is a man. I suppose that makes sense. Ashley is a gender-neutral name.

Hah! Clever. I just pieced that together.

This is my idol.

I write sometimes.

A little.

All right, a lot.

No one ever sees it. No one ever will see it. It's utter trash.

He's looking at me as though I've lost my mind. As though I've gone mad.

Have I gone mad?

I slept with my idol.

I slept with Ashley Hayden.

I slept with a man who writes… amazing… oh, sod it, we'll call it what it is—pornographic sex scenes! And I can't even recall my own experience with him!

Except the one memory.

"Rey…?"

"Present!" she exclaimed and then winced. What was she, in grade school?

Good gad, would her pride ever remain intact around this man?

She feared the answer was a resounding no.

"This is the kitchen, as you can see."

It was a stainless steel heaven with marble counters. A microwave above the oven, a refrigerator large enough to hide a body in, and Christ, wasn't that a morbid thought?

Think positive, think positive.

Right! The counters were very wide, very spacious. Plenty of room to cook, to bake.

Cute nook with a table for two.

"This is the living room."

It had a step that led into it. An entertainment system was set up with a television large enough to undoubtedly make someone go blind once it was on. There was a surround sound that went with it, hooked up subtly throughout the area. This, combined with the wall of DVDs, told her that he reveled in a home-theater experience.

L-shaped leather couch. Black. Marble-topped coffee table. Delicate white curtains over floor-to-ceiling windows, providing a very nice view of the city. Rey wondered at his choice. With how bright it got outside, surely it would put a glare on his tele during the day?

"Hallway…" he murmured.

Standard.

"Guest bedroom."

Pretty standard, as well, portraying the monochrome colors from the rest of the flat. Its furniture consisted of a bed, a closet, a dresser, and a chair in the corner with a throw blanket folded atop it. The curtains here were the same as the ones in the living room.

Astonishing, how she'd rushed out of this place without taking in anything but the carpet.

Then again, she'd been horrified with herself, absolutely horrified.

"Second guest bedroom—I converted it into an office…"

She bumped into his back. "Ack!"

"Whoa—" He steadied her. "Any reason you're following me so closely?"

"I—I wasn't following you closely!" Rey huffed. "I was looking around!"

"Mmhm."

"Don't mmhm me, it's the truth!"

"Right, right."

"Ben!"

"'Ben,'" he mocked in a high-pitched whine.

She punched his arm.

"OW!"

"'Ow!'" she whined.

"C'mere!" He pulled her under his arm, against his chest, and she shrieked. That breath was stolen a second later as his fingers miraculously found all of the most ticklish spots on her sides. She burst into a stream of giggles, wriggling to get away.

"Stop, stop!" she pleaded.

Chuckling, he released her.

Heart pounding, Rey straightened her clothes from where they'd been mussed. "We are not at a place where you can tickle me!" she informed him. She had to save some face.

"What place are we at, then?" he asked interestedly.

Her mouth opened, prepared to launch a smart remark.

Nothing came.

Never let it be said that Ben Solo was not one to turn down an opportunity.

Her back to the wall, he pinned her in, planting a hand beside her head. He was smiling in that devilish way that made her want to both find a way to remove it or kiss it.

The latter was winning at the moment.

Her lashes fluttered closed in anticipation.

"As I was saying." He pushed away from the wall. "I made an office out of this room. I think you'll want to see what's inside. You're my biggest fan, right?"

Wha—?

Gwah…

Bwuh?

Right—

No! She couldn't let him believe that! He was smug enough already!

She opened her eyes, her mood sour until she stepped into his office.

It was a library.

Rey started laughing harder than she had been when he'd tickled her.

"How is this funny?" he asked, confused. "It's an office."

She got a hold of herself and leaned against a bookcase, still snickering. It really wasn't that funny—she was so hopped up on nerves that it was taking its toll on her.

"I apologize," she said. "I thought of something."

"Yeah, and you lost your shit."

"Do they pay you to be rude?" She giggled wearily.

"Noelle would say they do." Ben smiled in the way someone did when they had no idea what was so funny, but they were amused regardless. "What was that?"

"I…" Rey let her eyes flit around the room. It was beautiful. Bookshelves covered every square inch of the walls, the color of espresso and with a sturdiness that implied they'd cost a small fortune. Each shelf was stuffed full of books—some were orderly, others had texts crammed wherever they could fit.

"There's this meme with Beauty and the Beast," she said distractedly, walking over to the section dedicated to his works. "It says, 'I'll get that bitch a library! Bitches love libraries!'"

It was so completely applicable to her situation.

"Yes, this office gets me all the ladies," he said wryly.

She grinned at him, glad she was the one to get under his skin for once.

"Go ahead," he sighed.

Lighting up from his permission, she took to exploring his collection. It was paradise. He had three copies of each volume, and they were all in order from the date of publication. They were so pristine that it was apparent they hadn't been touched.

"I still can't believe it!" she chirped. "You—my favorite author!"

"Yeah, yeah…"

"Do you not like what you write?" Rey furrowed her brows.

He shrugged.

"Why not?!" She couldn't believe it. He took pen to paper so wonderfully. While vocally he might be crass and blunt, his books were so different—eloquent, almost poetic… They were one of the things she looked forward to the most every year.

"I just… don't." Uncomfortable, he went to the desk in front of the closet and shifted some papers around. A slender laptop was closed at one end, cattycorner from the briefcase he'd had with him the last time she'd seen him. "That's why I was at the bookstore that day. Noelle thought I should go out… See in person that there were people interested in my works." He drummed his knuckles on the desktop.

"And then you saw me," she whispered.

She saw him smile to himself.

"Yeah," he said. "Then I saw you—right before you—"

"Bolted out of the store. Let it go already." Rey threw her arms up.

"Why? You're adorable."

"What? I am not. Shut it!" She was blushing again.

Damn him!

"I am not…" she insisted in a softer tone, unable to make herself look at him.

"There's only one place left to see," he said. "But I guess we can skip it."

"What?" Rey asked absently. She was busy examining the shelf with his books over the curve of her shoulder. She so badly wanted to go back over there. Maybe he'd let her snoop through them if she asked very nicely?

Though… she hadn't been very nice so far, had she…?

"My bedroom."

Bedroom?

Bedroom!

"Wait, no, that's not the bedroom!"

"Where, then, where?"

Laughter.

Fumbling.

Feet tangling together, and bodies thumping onto a bed.

"Here."

"Yes." Rey's voice had picked up a scratchy cadence. "I think that's best."

For now, said a tiny voice at the back of her mind.

After all, who knows what the evening will bring?

No!

Damn it, Kenobi, be strong!

Oh, she had walked herself right into a trap of her own making.