A Kind of Romance

by Lane Hayes

Okay, so calling him “babe” was a weirdass shift, but my brain worked fast and furiously at times. As I pondered how to deal with the jackass who’d yet to formulate a complete sentence, I had one of those brilliant ideas that seemed to hit me out of the blue. If Benny would stop gaping at me like I’d lost my mind, this might actually be a stroke of genius. He shook hands with the harried-looking hubby and his friendly wife, then turned to me with a blank expression I hoped meant he’d caught on to the act. He must have, because he didn’t so much as blink when I introduced him.

  “This is my boyfriend, Ben.”

  “Oh my gosh! I’m so pleased to meet you,” Lauren gushed.

  The irony of her obvious pleasure at meeting a gay “couple” should have been amusing given the circumstances. However, in light of her husband’s deception, it wasn’t particularly satisfying.

  Benny beamed at the young woman. “Can I say, I love your accent? I’m crazy about a Southern drawl.”

  Lauren twittered in response and blushed. She was very… likeable, I mused as I listened to her tell my “boyfriend” a shortened version of her life story, which centered around her recent move from Dallas to join Clay, who’d been pining in the big bad city without his family. Yeah right. Benny was a gifted conversationalist. He asked about the children and her due date and probably would have invited them to join us for dinner if I hadn’t interrupted. I placed my hand on his lower back before stepping aside.

  “We should get going. Nice to meet you, Lauren. See you at the office, Clay,” I said with a short wave as I laced my fingers in Benny’s left hand and tugged.

  He squeezed my hand so hard it hurt but kept a bright grin on his mug as he said a final good-bye to each member of the happy family, including the kids. I watched the exchange with wry amusement. He was obviously good with children as well as adapting to impromptu situations. Perfect boyfriend attributes if I was in fact in the market, I thought as we made our way toward the rental section. I returned my borrowed bowling shoes, making sure to saturate my hands with Purell before calling Hector to meet us downstairs.

  Benny waited until we stepped outside into the crisp spring night to round on me with a look of utter disbelief. “Boyfriend? What the hell are you thinking?”

  “Relax. You’ll never see that asshole again. It was harmless.”

  “Maybe, but was it necessary? She’s innocent.”

  “I know, which is why I was cordial. And nice. Nicer than he deserves.”

  “You’re up to something. What are you going to do?”

  “Don’t worry about it. You feel like Italian?” I asked as Hector pulled up to the curb in the black Mercedes.

  “I am Italian. I always feel like Italian.” When I countered his smartass remark with a stern look, Benny inclined his head with a lopsided half smile. “It sounds great. But if we’re eating Italian, it better be amazing. Is this your ride?”

  “Yeah. Hop in. And don’t worry, I don’t go to crappy restaurants. You eat with me, you’ll eat well.”

  “You sound like a guido. My cousin Vinny says things like that. ‘You in my house, you play by my rules.’” Benny pitched his voice low, mimicking a Jersey Shore Italian affectation to perfection.

  “You have a cousin Vinny?” I asked, gesturing for him to quit stalling and get in the backseat.

  “Of course.”

  He introduced himself to Hector and didn’t move until I nudged his side. Actually he didn’t move then either. I climbed in and closed the car door. We were so close now I could smell his cologne and a hint of spearmint as our arms and knees brushed. Very nice, and yet it paled in comparison to the rush of being practically glued to his side in a confined space. His heat was like an instant aphrodisiac. I’d figured the contact would be bothersome enough to urge him to shift over, but I misjudged my own reaction.

  “Could you please?” My tone sounded strangled and hoarse.

  Benny glanced at me and smirked. “Sure thing. Nice to meet you, Hector,” he said before finally scooting to his side.

  “You too, Benny. Would you like privacy, sir?” Hector turned slightly to catch my signal.

  Did I want privacy? I wasn’t sure. I gave Hector the name of the restaurant I had in mind, then nodded. A moment later, a screen of thick, tinted glass rose between the specially designed seating area in the backseat. This particular model resembled a luxury mini limousine with leather seats facing each other. It was well appointed and allowed room to spread out, work, and not miss any minor market fluctuation while in transit.

  I settled into the seat next to Benny, who was looking at me with a goofy grin.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “Nothing. This is very… executive chic. It beats riding the subway any day,” he commented with a chuckle. “A private driver, a privacy screen, and probably just enough space to get some business done. If you know what I mean.”

  “No. What do you mean?” I asked blankly, somehow curbing the urge to laugh at his waggling eyebrows. He was pretty fucking cute.

  Benny scoffed but didn’t bother responding as he ran his hands over the supple, black leather. “Where are we going?”

  “This great place I know on Waverly. It’s owned by a celebrity chef.”

  “Damn. Are you trying to impress me with a fancy car and pasta at thirty dollars a plate?”

  I could have come up with a few other ideas that were less exclusive and expensive, but Bandini was the first restaurant that popped in my head. And on a night where I was being thrown off my game by one unexpected surprise after another, I decided to go with my gut.

  “Tonight only the finest will do,” I said in the thick Brooklyn accent I’d shed when I left home for college.

  Benny snickered appreciatively. “Okay, boyfriend. We are boyfriends now, right? That’s what you told Mr. Family Man and his pretty preggo wife. I figured I should ask because it’s been a while since I’ve had the title and never presex—” He stopped and threw his hand over his mouth as he widened his eyes theatrically. “Oh shoot. That sounded a little slutty, didn’t it?”

  “Are you enjoying yourself?”

  “Immensely.” Benny guffawed, then instantly sobered and gave me a pointed look. “Now explain yourself.”

  I heaved a sigh and turned toward him, noting the way the neon lights painted his profile in splashes of color as the car sped down Ninth Avenue toward the Village. He looked so… interesting. And real. I had a hard time adjusting my thoughts back to the bowling alley, but once I did, I heard the steel edge in my tone.

  “He fucked with the wrong guy, Ben.”

  “Keep talking.”

  “I want to make him sweat. I would have liked nothing more than to nail that fucker to the wall right then and there, but—” I chuckled humorlessly and shook my head in disbelief. “—I had no idea he was married with kids. He’s a bigger asshole than I imagined.”

  “He’s slime. I get it. But why did I suddenly become your boyfriend?”

  “Complacency is the key to failure. I want him to think he’s got nothing to worry about. If he thinks I have a new man in my life, he’ll assume I’ve moved on and no longer care that he fucked me over.”

  “Fucked you over? Isn’t that a tad melodramatic? If you ask me… good riddance. Your ex sounds like a shit, and that asshole back at the bowling alley is even worse. Steer clear. Let them fumble through the mess they’ve made on their own and count yourself lucky you found out you were hanging around someone with questionable character.”

  “Lucky?” I snorted. “‘Forgive and forget’ isn’t in my vocab. I can’t let it go that easy. I’m not sure what I’ll do, but I’ll think of something.”

  He gave me a reproving look and shook his head. “You’ll only end up making yourself miserable, Zeke. Is this it?”

  I glanced out the window as the car slowed on a quieter street in Greenwich Village near Washington Square. The evening was cool but pleasant enough to wait outside. It wouldn’t be necessary for us. Our private tabl
e upstairs would be ready and a bottle of Brunello would be open in anticipation of my arrival. Sometimes it was very satisfying enjoying the perks of having a few extra bucks in a city where the right amount of cash could buy the illusion of respect, if not the real thing.

  “Yeah. Come on.”

  “Wait. Am I underdressed?” His expressive eyes widened theatrically. I couldn’t tell if he was messing with me, though. The guy who wore brilliant hues to coordinate with his hair dye didn’t seem the type to sweat dressing for dinner.

  “You suddenly care?” I asked as I guided him by the elbow toward the front entrance.

  “You’re joking, I hope. I’m always cognizant of ambience. It’s important to know your environment if you want to stand out. In the right way, that is.”

  “I doubt the fear of being a wallflower is an issue for you,” I observed sarcastically as I held the door open.

  “Ah, buonasera, Signore Gulden! We’re happy to see you again. Your table is ready. Please allow Anna to escort you.”

  “Grazie, Roberto,” I replied, smiling at the tiny young woman who stood at the maître d’s side.

  I placed my hand on the small of Benny’s back, indicating he should move ahead of me. He stopped in his tracks and turned to Roberto, pinning the older man with an intense stare. He asked a question in rapid-fire Italian I had no hope of understanding. If it wasn’t a short phrase or something readily translated, I was lost in any language other than English. I watched in bemusement as the two men engaged in a brief chat about God knows what. Roberto’s eyes crinkled at the corners in obvious delight as he fielded what seemed like a stream of nonstop questions. Then he gestured for Benny to follow him, evidently deciding he would do the honors and escort us to our table himself. He led the way up the wide, sweeping staircase, chatting animatedly with Benny in a hushed tone in deference to the diners in this quieter section of the restaurant. I followed them, thinking this wasn’t how things usually worked.

  Bandini was a converted old carriage house. It was known for its old-world charm and incredible wine selection. The clientele tended to be a well-heeled, after-work crowd or tourists who wanted the bragging rights of dining at a celebrity-chef hotspot. My “date” definitely stood out in his bright shirt and pink hair, I mused, taking the chair facing the window. I thanked Roberto again, then glanced across the small, white-linen-clothed table at Benny.

  “What did you say to him?”

  “I asked if they served gluten-free pasta.”

  I felt my forehead crease in disbelief. “You’re gluten free?”

  “Hell no. You know how you can tell if someone is gluten free?”

  “How?”

  “Don’t worry, they’ll tell you. Ha! No disrespect to those who have genuine issues, but let’s be real… the fad followers drive me nuts. The ones who can’t stop talking about the things they’ve cut from their lives, like their superior show of willpower means they’re special. Bor-ing!”

  “And that’s what you and Roberto were discussing?” I asked dubiously.

  “Of course not. I just wanted to hear him talk,” he said as he opened the leather-bound menu.

  “Because….”

  “To see if he really was Italian. They’re always hiring people with fake accents at this kind of place. I was curious. That’s all.” He shrugged and lifted the menu high enough to cover his face.

  “And….” I lowered the menu with a single digit and cocked my head.

  “He’s Italian.”

  “I could have told you that. This is authentic cuisine. No bullshit.”

  Benny scoffed. “The most authentic Italian is made at home. At least that’s what Nonna says. I’ll let you know what I think. Holy crap! Twenty-nine dollars for a plate of—”

  “Never mind the price. I got this.”

  “Good. I’ll treat you to a bagel or a slice of pizza next time.”

  “I’ll pass on the bagel, but the pizza sounds good.”

  We shared a smile until the sommelier paid a special visit to pour the wine himself and inquire if I found it to my liking. I caught Benny’s discreet eye roll before he turned his attention back to the menu.

  “Well, is it decent?” he asked in an overly enthusiastic tone.

  “If you’re talking about the wine… yes. It’s impeccable. Take a sip.”

  Benny’s eyes twinkled as he lifted his glass. I could tell he wanted to tease me, but he gamely sipped the superior Brunello and let out a contented-sounding sigh.

  “Mmm. Impeccable!” He drew out the word mischievously, but his expression indicated he was impressed. “I don’t think I’ve had anything but Chianti in too long.”

  “This is my favorite. They have an incredible Amarone too. We can try it next.”

  “Sounds good, but I’ll warn you… I’m a lush.”

  “I’ll take my chances.” I smiled.

  The dim ambient lighting and the single votive were very complementary to Benny’s skin, hair, and eyes. He seemed to glow with an innate cheerfulness I found extraordinarily refreshing.

  “So tell me about your evil plan for righteous retribution.” He batted his eyelashes playfully as he leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table.

  “I don’t have one.” I raised my wineglass in a mock toast and added, “yet.”

  “Hmm. Well, then, tell me about your ex. He must be special to incite this kind of angst.”

  I chuckled when Benny cocked his head and lifted his eyebrows comically. “Taylor didn’t incite angst. It’s more the principle of the matter. You know?”

  “No, I don’t. If a guy cheats on you, he’s a bad bet. Cut your losses and move on. The fact you can’t let him go must mean you were madly in love with him and you’re now in the thrall of a jealous rage you can’t control.”

  I busted up laughing. “‘The thrall of a jealous rage.’ That’s a good one!”

  Benny picked up his wineglass and eyed me carefully over the brim before taking a sip. The candlelight cast a rose-tinted hue over his bangs. It was beautiful in a strange way. A pretty trick of light and shadow. I glanced gratefully up at the waiter who stopped to take our appetizer order and recite an impressive list of specials.

  “We’ll have the beet tartar and the salumi plate. Thank you.” I smiled at the waiter and set my menu at my elbow.

  “Not so fast. I’ll have the caprese. Wait. No, I’ll have the arugula salad, please. Dressing on the side. Thank you.”

  The waiter nodded and stepped away, leaving me with an irritated-looking dinner companion.

  “What’d I do?”

  “You ordered for me!”

  “I ordered for the table. What’s the problem?”

  “You don’t know me well enough to order for me. I hate beets! All caps. Never assume you can dress them up at a fancy restaurant with goat cheese, a sprig of mint, charge fifteen bucks, and fool me. I’ll still think they’re disgusting!”

  “Now I know. Geez!” I exclaimed, throwing my hands in the air dramatically. I was inordinately pleased when Benny laughed at my antics. “Anything wrong with salumi?”

  “No. I love all Italian meats. Prosciutto, bresaola, even mortadella.”

  “I think there’s probably a dirty joke in there, but I’m going to leave it alone.”

  Benny chuckled as he reached for his wineglass. “Good idea. Back to your ex and the married man from Texas. What’s the story?”

  “It’s not a particularly exciting story. Taylor and I were together about a year, and no… I wasn’t madly in love with him. I cared about him, though. I thought we were good together. He’s a waiter at a bistro near my office. We would chat occasionally when I came by, but we didn’t actually get together until we ran into each other at a club in Chelsea. Too much alcohol may have been the catalyst, but we wound up in bed that night, and that’s how it began.”

  “A drunken night spent screwing your brains out is always a promising beginning,” he agreed with a straight face.

  I ch
uckled, feeling curiously charmed in spite of the fact he was making fun of me. “Maybe not.”

  “Go on.”

  “There isn’t much to tell. We were a normal couple who did normal couply things. Dinners, movies. We went to occasional family parties, and—well, I went to his. Actually, he didn’t attend many Gulden events. My dad wasn’t a fan, but that didn’t seem to bother him. We were happy. Or I thought we were.”

  “What happened?”

  “I really don’t know. One day everything felt different. Taylor was suddenly unavailable at weird hours. I didn’t think much of it at first, but after a while it became harder to ignore. I ignored my friends, my dad, and anyone else who tried to tell me he was a user with questionable integrity. My natural proclivity to contrariness makes it difficult for me to listen to reason at times. I didn’t want them to be right. Dad and Carter both hated the guy and—”

  “Who’s Carter?”

  “My best friend. He’s the one who told me he noticed Taylor with someone at the gym looking cozy. I was pissed. We got in a huge fight. Carter wouldn’t back down and… that’s not like him. He’s tenacious, but when we were together, he’d eventually give in. Hmm. Maybe that’s why we broke up.” I brushed at my nose absently and looked out the window. I hated tripping over the rugged parts down memory lane. I was surprised I’d gone there and now I’d lost my place.

  “So Carter is an ex too?”

  I nodded. “Yeah, but that’s ancient history. We’re best friends. I trust the guy with my life, but I—I hate being wrong. And I was definitely wrong. I started paying closer attention to Taylor’s work schedule, which was pretty damn challenging considering my own ridiculous schedule. There was a pattern forming with evenings he claimed to be doing extra work for an uptown caterer and was too tired to come over. The funny thing was we’d recently agreed to being monogamous. A big fuckin’ deal for me. I hadn’t attempted it since Carter. It seemed weird he wouldn’t just say, ‘Hell, this was harder than I thought. Let’s go back to the way it was before,’ you know?”

  “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never been there. I suppose I’d be hurt.”

  “I’m not hurt. But I am pissed.”