by AC Netzel
I plaster on a fake smile and give a quick “hello” to the doorman as I enter Ben’s building.
I walk into the waiting elevator and push the button to the twentieth floor. The doors slide closed, and I watch each floor number light up as it ascends.
By the time I reach the eleventh floor, I’m practically hyperventilating. What the hell was I thinking? I’m completely wrong. I all but handed him an invitation to go back to his old ways. I’ve given him the one reason he’s always avoided a committed relationship.
Drama.
The elevator pings and the doors slide open to the twentieth floor. My once squared shoulders are now slumped, my head hanging low. All confidence has completely evaporated, replaced by dread.
Maybe I should go home. Pretend I still have Ben in my life for one more day before the rug’s pulled out from under me. Slowly, I walk to his apartment door. Standing in front of it, I stare straight ahead waiting for some sliver of courage to return.
Taking a deep breath, I ring the bell. I watch and wait for the doorknob to turn.
Nothing.
Placing my ear to the door, I ring it again. No jingle from the deadbolt, no footsteps.
Nothing.
I know the bell is working, I heard it. Swallowing what little pride I have left, I knock on the door. Staring down at that damn doorknob… the shiny inanimate object that makes my stomach do flips… I will it to twist.
Still nothing.
He must be home by now. I fish my cell phone out of my bag. Guessing he won’t answer a phone call, I send him a text.
*Please talk to me.*
No response.
I stare at the door, silently begging it to open. Nothing. A lump forms in my throat and tears fall. He really hates me.
Looking down to the floor, I turn to leave. I can’t continue to stand here, dissolving into a puddle of my tears. I’ve lost the best thing I’ve ever had, and it’s all my doing.
I take a deep breath and walk toward the elevator at the end of the hallway. Once I’m halfway down the hall, I hear the elevator doors slide open and like a mirage, Ben appears with his luggage in hand.
We both stop in our tracks. My knees buckle, but I catch myself before I fall. He’s here in front of me. He has dark bags under his eyes. He looks exhausted, a little beaten down… and absolutely beautiful. My tears have turned into full-blown waterworks, the Niagara Falls kind.
Losing all self-control, I drop my purse on the floor and launch myself at him. Knocking the luggage out of his hands, I wrap my legs around him and kiss him repeatedly.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” I cry into his neck.
So much for dignity.
He wraps his arms around me, probably afraid we’ll both tumble over.
“Hey,” he says softly, still holding me tight. At least he hasn’t thrown me off him. Yet.
“You didn’t contact me.”
“My cell died. I went straight to the lawyers’ office from the airport.”
Ugh, the lawyers’ office for his grandmother’s estate. He told me about that before he left. I completely forgot.
“I thought…” I can’t bring myself to say out loud what I thought.
“I’m going to set you down now. We can talk at my place.”
I nod slightly and he gently lowers me until my feet are back on the floor. He grabs his luggage, and I pick up my handbag and we walk silently to his apartment. He opens the door quickly and waits for me to enter first.
Nice to know he’s holding on to his good manners before he dumps me. I’m sure this will be the most civilized brush-off in the history of brush-offs.
“Do you want a drink?” he asks, dropping his luggage by the closet near the front door.
I shake my head, wiping my tears away with the back of my hand.
“Let’s sit on the couch.” He places his hand on the base of my back, escorts me to the couch and we sit. “Why are you crying?” he asks.
I shrug. What am I supposed to say? Because you’re going to break-up with me?
“Okay. I’ll do the talking,” he says. “I’m pretty fucking angry, Julia. The fact is you thought I would cheat on you, that I had no self-control to keep it in my pants. You doubted my honor. You questioned how I felt about you, about us.”
“Ben, I didn’t mean to…” I try to explain, but he cuts me off.
“Let me finish. I woke up this morning, fuming. This is one of the reasons I have always avoided this kind of relationship. I didn’t know how to feel about this… if I’m made for this.”
My stomach is in knots. I’m eyeing the hallway to the bathroom in case I throw-up.
“I was processing all these thoughts and feelings last night and this morning. I was trying to figure out how I felt about your accusations and mistrust.” He waves his hand up in the air dismissively. “Then your buddy, Marcello, had my ear for an hour-and-forty-five minute plane ride.”
“I told him not to,” I whisper.
“I’m glad he didn’t listen. Things became a little clearer for me.”
Oh God, I never know what Marcello is going to blab. This can go either way.
“What did he say?”
“He told me about your Ex. You told me he was an asshole but never elaborated why. Marcello explained to me why you broke up with him. He told me that your Ex cheated on you for a long time, and you were blindsided. I had no idea how bad this fucking prick treated you. You never said.”
I look down at my lap, my past wounds becoming fresh again and just as painful, right in front of Ben. I try to hold back my tears, but it’s a losing battle. Ben slides close to me.
“I didn’t mean to make you cry,” he says softly, wrapping an arm around my shoulder. I lean into him, unable to get a word past the lump in my throat. He continues.
“It gave me a better understanding of where your head was at. Marcello reminded me that you had no idea he was there. That’s my fault. I should have told you. I was so busy with work and fielding the lawyer’s calls. Knowing what that scumbag did to you… I realize why you drew that conclusion. I’m sorry, Julia. I had no idea.”
I sniffle and continue to look down. My face heats up from my humiliation. Ben knows just how stupid and blind I was. He lifts my chin with his index finger, our gazes meet.
“Your trust issues are with your Ex. Rightfully so. He was an asshole to you. But I’m not him. I would never cheat on you. Have I ever given you a reason to doubt me?”
“No.” I shake my head, embarrassed that the thought even crossed my mind.
“Those old scars have nothing to do with you and me. Just let them fade away. Stop waiting for the other shoe to drop… it’s not going to drop.”
“Scars run deep. And they still can hurt, even when they’re faded,” I whisper, choking up.
He sighs, cupping my face in his hands and turning it until we’re looking into each other’s eyes again.
“I will never hurt you,” he says quietly, wiping away a fallen tear with his thumb. I look in his eyes, and his sincerity is staring back at me like he just spoke the simplest truth he knew.
I nod, the lump in my throat preventing words from escaping my mouth.
“He also mentioned…” He pauses, looking a little bewildered. “I didn’t know I was your only…”
He knows I wasn’t a virgin, so there’s only one answer to that.
“Fuck Buddy?” I answer.
“Casual relationship,” he corrects.
“Marcello has a big mouth,” I grumble.
“I’m glad he does. It made me understand things about you. You took a chance on me… with my past… specifically, my non-committal past. Between the way that jackass treated you and who I was... I understand your conclusion. I don’t like it—but I understand it. Julia, I never wanted to give anyone what I want to give you.”
“What do you want give me?”
“All of me,” he states simply. “I’m yours.”
Here’s w
here I let the final wall down. The one, even I didn’t know was still up. The truth I hid from myself.
“You think I accused you of cheating because I don't trust you. But you're wrong.” I swallow hard. “I’m terrified that one day our perfect piece of happiness will vanish, you’ll change your mind about us, and I’ll lose you.”
He caresses my cheek and smiles warmly. “You’re not going to lose me. Living without you isn’t an option for me. Just let me in.”
“If I let you in all the way; can you promise me you won't let me down?”
“I know you were hurt in the past. But I promise you this… I may get you hot at times, scorching if I’m doing it right,” he jokes, trying to lighten the mood, “but I will never burn you.”
“I know,” I say quietly.
“Do you?”
I think back to all our times together, the person I know he is, the things I know we are, and despite my insecurities and flaws, he’s still here.
“Yes. I do,” I say truthfully. “I’m sorry.”
He shakes his head, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand and exhales an exasperated breath.
“Julia, you’re not easy.”
“I know.” I look down at the floor, biting my thumbnail.
With his index finger, he lifts my chin up until our gazes meet again.
“But you’re worth it.”
I smile shyly at him. He smiles back.
“It makes me so fucking angry to think someone treated you like that. I’d like to beat the fucking shit out of him,” he says.
“You would?” He wants to beat someone up for me. That’s barbaric… and sexy… And so damned sweet.
“The thought of someone hurting you…” he hisses, his jaw tense. He blinks a few times and snaps himself out of his thought, changing tack. “I don’t like when you doubt me.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“Who do I love?” he asks playfully.
“Me.”
“Only you?” he teases, raising a sly brow.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Why what?” I ask.
“Why do I love you?” This is a question I’ve asked myself. Why me? “I’m waiting for an answer,” he says impatiently.
I think back to all the reasons I fell in love with Ben, and it always comes back to the same thing.
“Because you have no choice,” I answer honestly.
“Why’s that?” he asks, the corner of his mouth curling into a smile.
“Because you’re incapable of feeling any other way.”
“Neither are you,” he says softly.
I look down at my feet, embarrassed that I ever doubted this man. “No, I’m not. I love you.”
“I love you. You need to believe in me.”
“I do believe in you. I’m sorry.”
“I know. Now you’re going to make it up to me,” he says, his tone amused.
“How?”
“Did you buy anything sexy when you went shopping?”
So he was listening when I told him about shopping with Allie.
I nod and pull my cell phone out of my bag on the floor. I locate the picture of the virginal vixen ensemble I took on my bed and hand the phone to him.
His eyes widen as he stares at the photo and groans. “Fuck. What I’d give to see you in that now?”
I lift my shirt over my head and remove it. I smile seductively, wearing the pretty white lace push-up bra I just showed him.
“Do you have the rest of this on?” he asks, pointing to the image on the screen.
I nod shyly. “I was keeping it as a secret weapon in case I had to grovel.”
“Oh, there’s going to be groveling tonight. Stand in front of me.”
I stand up and face him. My sullen mood replaced by joy, elation… lust.
“Strip,” he commands.
I'm in no position to argue, and I wouldn't even if I were. This beautiful man not only forgives me, he loves me. And wants me.
I unzip my pencil skirt and slowly shimmy out of it. I bend down to remove my stilettos.
“No,” he interrupts. “Leave on the heels. Spin around for me. Slowly. I want a good look.” He twirls his finger in a circle.
I gladly oblige, turning slowly. He exhales a long breath, squirming in his seat. It’s safe to say his pants are getting tight around the crotch right about now.
“Julia, I am going to fuck you senseless tonight.”
“I hope so.”
He chuckles. “Marcello also mentioned that he recommended you give me a year’s worth of blowjobs.”
I laugh. “Yes, he did.”
“Well,” he murmurs, raising a brow.
“You mean now?”
“Oh, yes. Get on your knees and start groveling.”
Chapter 7
After fearing I might come down with a serious case of lockjaw due to Ben’s enthusiastic insistence that I abide by Marcello’s groveling suggestion, Ben and I are back on track. It’s Memorial Day weekend. We’re splitting our three-day holiday between our families.
This is the only time in my life I wish a car ride could go on forever. I’m dreading today. Not only do I have to deal with an afternoon of Ben’s family, but it’s of all places at “The Club”. His family’s second home in the Hamptons where they hobnob with their filthy-rich snooty friends, golf, and talk money. I have zero in common with these people.
Yup, it’s going to be a blast!
Ben pulls up to the entrance where there’s a valet waiting. Taking my hand in his, he presses a delicate kiss on the back. “Wait here.”
Now I can go all “I’m a modern woman, I can open my own damn door”, but the truth is I like the gentleman side of Ben. I love that he does little things for me, like open my car door.
Chivalry is not dead, it’s alive, well, and has dimples. A few seconds later, he opens the door and helps me out of the SUV. “I’ll get our bags in the back.”
The entire drive up I have been picturing what the infamous “Club” looks like, the place Ben spent his summers growing up. Ugh, the place he probably banged a slew of entitled debutantes. Damn, I didn’t think this through before I agreed to it. I haven’t stepped foot inside and I already feel out of place.
“Is your sister going to be here?” I ask.
“Yes, Elizabeth and Stuart stayed at my parents’ summer home in Amagansett last night. They brought my grandmother along.”
Crap, his sister, the Stealth Bitch is here. I know Elizabitch doesn’t approve of me. I’m not pedigree enough for her brother, I suppose. Besides, I’m certain her goal in life is to get Ben permanently hooked-up with her best friend and my arch enemy, Cam-eel. The woman-hating girl who slithers around him like an eel waiting to catch her prey, had a casual fling with Ben years ago, and still not-so-secretly pines for him. He’s completely oblivious to this fact.
I’m not.
“Oh, I’m glad your grandmother was well enough to make the trip.”
“Me too. It was a last minute decision. It’ll be good for her to get out for a day or two.”
At least seeing Elizabitch’s husband, Stuart, won’t be so bad. He’s a little quirky, but he was friendly enough to me when I met him last Christmas. Too bad neither he nor the rest of Ben’s family realizes that Stuart is a GIND, A Gay IN Denial. It’s a safe bet he’ll be hanging out with the cabana boys when we find them.
I’m looking forward to seeing Ben’s grandmother again. She’s extremely protective of Ben when his parents rag on him about quitting his job at his father’s brokerage firm to write. Definitely the matriarch of the Martin family. Even his dad bows to her. She’s awesome.
The only thing that I’m not too crazy about is she insists on calling Ben by his legal first name, Leonard, named after his grandfather.
Ben screams sexy—Leonard… not so much.
“They’re probably at the cabana by the pool. We’ll cut through the clubhouse and find them,” he tells me.
I’m half-expecting the cast of Dirty Dancing to pop into the room doing the mambo to “I’ve had the Time of My Life”. I better keep my eyes open and make sure Baby’s not in any corners.
We walk through a set of French doors in the back of the building. The overpowering smell of chlorine hits you immediately. Well, that cleared out my sinuses. And most likely burned them.
There’s an Olympic size pool with what looks like little powder blue and gray shacks lined around the perimeter and lounge chairs set in front of those. The pool is nothing fancy, just a rectangle with a diving board. I don’t know why I was expecting more, like one of those lavish, meandering pools you see at vacation resorts in the Caribbean. I thought with all the money rolling around this place; it would look… elaborate, sophisticated… from this decade, at the very least.
“The cabana is this way.” Ben takes hold of my hand and directs me to a line of shacks.
I know their cabana immediately. Ben’s mom, Beverly, is standing guard in front. Just like the last time I met her, she’s still channeling Jacqueline Kennedy… this time it’s from the Onassis years. Her perfectly coifed ‘60’s retro-bob is hidden under a white babushka, huge sunglasses that cover half her face and a pair of white linen trousers with a baby blue pullover cotton top.
“Ben,” his mom says, stiffly offering him her cheek. Ah yes, I forgot how warm and cuddly she is.
“Mother.” He leans in and kisses her. “You remember, Julia.”
I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do in this situation. If this were my family, I’d hug her or kiss her cheek. But Ben’s family is from the Land of “Stick up Your Ass”... affection isn’t in their vocabulary.
“It’s nice to see you again, Mrs. Martin.” I hold out my hand to shake hers. She doesn’t reciprocate. Lovely woman.
“Likewise, Julia dear,” she says. She twists her neck from side to side and whispers to Ben. “Look at our new cabana neighbors. Nouveau riche social climbers. The committee needs to be more selective about who they allow to join The Club.”