by Layla Hagen
Glancing down at my phone, I notice an unread message from Christopher. I must have received it while I was talking with his mother.
Christopher: I have a problem.
Oh crap. I wonder what he wants to change in the setup of his apartment. I inspect Christopher's folder on my laptop. I have a list of all the items he seemed interested in beside the ones he signaled as “the ones.” In my experience, people sometimes change their mind up to one week after the shopping trip. When that happens, they often prefer an item they saw in passing to the one they decided on. In the early days, this led to a lot of back-and-forth hassle, which is why I try to jot down most of the items they seem interested in. It's also why I don't actually order the items after the first visit. I just check the estimated delivery date, and if one week later nothing changes, I place the order.
With Christopher's file in front of me, I text back.
Victoria: What is it?
A few minutes pass before he answers.
Christopher: I can't take my mind off a certain brunette I met recently.
I have to reread the message three times before the meaning of his words sinks in. When it does, a lightness settles in my chest. I type and delete a few times, wondering what on earth would be an appropriate answer. Yet the longer I stare at my phone, the more tempted I am not to reply with something appropriate. In the end, curiosity gets the better of me.
Victoria: Why not?
I'm on pins and needles the entire time I wait for him to write back. An eternity seems to pass in the thirty seconds—not that I'm counting—it takes for his reply to appear on my screen.
Christopher: Because I like everything I know about her so far.
OhGod OhGod OhGod. He's not done yet; I can see that by the tiny dots appearing on the screen, indicating he's typing. I hold my breath, drumming my fingers on my desk, staring at the screen the entire time.
Christopher: She's smart and sassy, and beautiful. I've never met anyone who's so devoted to her siblings outside of my family. And she makes great cookies.
Until now, I never understood the concept of swooning. My entire body buzzes with awareness and emotion, and I'm at a loss for what to say. This man. He's a dream and danger all rolled into one, and I have absolutely no idea what to write back. My fingers are moving on the screen of their own accord.
Victoria: Cookies are really important to you, huh?
Christopher: Oh yeah, absolutely! So now I'm trying to find out if she's met anyone recently she likes.
My grin is so wide, my face is actually hurting. I have no clue how long I've been grinning, but I haven't felt like this since I was in high school, sending clandestine notes to a crush—sneaking it into his locker or backpack. Maybe it’s because we're talking in the third person, but I type back with no restraint.
Victoria: As a matter of fact, she has. He has a dirty mind and zero filter, is a shameless flirt, and has a knack for raising her brother's self-confidence. He's a striking man. (Striking is an improvement over bizarre.)
I'm expecting him to reply with one of his legendary no-filter lines that has the effect of setting my entire body ablaze, but he surprises me.
Christopher: I want to know more about her. What does she do in her free time?
This gives me pause, as I make a mental inventory of my favorite activities. I don't have as much free time now, but I still try to cram some fun in between all the hard work.
Victoria: She loves books and movies and going out with her girlfriends. She also loves dancing but hasn't had time for it in ages. She's an avid foodie, especially if it involves unexpected or bizarre courses. (See? Bizarre is used in a positive way here.)
His response is almost instantaneous.
Christopher: What's her favorite drink/food/movie?
Slowly, I become aware of his game, and I can't help being pulled into it.
Victoria: She absolutely adores eggnog with extra caramel topping (outside of her working hours, of course) and thinks it’s a pity it’s not available year-round, and she never says no to pizza. Favorite movie of all times: Gone with the Wind.
My fingers hover over the Send button, but I want to ask questions of my own too. So I add some.
Victoria: What's his favorite book/movie? Does he like dancing?
Then I press Send and become aware I've been chewing my nails. I'm trembling with excitement. Trembling. What spell does this man have on me?
Christopher: He likes to read and watch superhero stories, but he’ll sit through a chick flick if there's a chance it leads to dancing. The horizontal kind. It's the only type of dancing he practices (and he's open to bizarre positions too).
Well, hell. Instantly, images start flowing in my mind of a naked Christopher. Though I have no proof, I'm sure this man knows his way around a woman's body. He'd know exactly how to touch me to send me over the edge, exactly how to kiss me to make me want more of him. God, I already want all of him, and he hasn't even kissed me.
With a sigh, I realize I'm not just excited anymore but also turned on. The ache between my legs is almost unbearable. Swallowing, I try to focus on the benign part of his message.
Victoria: Gone with the Wind is NOT a chick flick.
Christopher: It has chicks crying over guys. That makes it a chick flick in any guy's book. (Also, the blatant ignoring of the horizontal dancing topic has not gone unnoticed.)
Yep, I’ll keep ignoring it. Not ready to open that can of worms.
Victoria: Superhero movies also have chicks crying/fighting over guys. Judgmental much?
Christopher: Nope. 100% in the right.
Well, now he's just awakening my mama bear side, who'd do anything to protect her favorite movie. Gripped by the intensity of our exchange, I can't help myself asking more. I can't even explain why this feels like a safe way to find out more about him, but I don't care.
Victoria: What's his favorite place in the city? What's his greatest secret?
Christopher. The Golden Gate Park. As for the secret, he can't tell you.
Frowning, I reach for the glass of water on my desk. I text him while downing a large gulp.
Victoria: Why not?
Christopher: Maintaining an air of mystery is a must, even if it means resorting to sneakiness.
I nearly spit out the water as I read that last word.
Victoria: Said sneakiness involves tricking me into talking to a certain Jenna Bennett?
Holding my breath, I wait for his answer.
Christopher: That was no trick. My mother is known to give some great advice, and I thought it would help. It was a completely selfless thing.
Victoria: It did help. Thank you. That was a very nice thing to do.
Christopher: If you were mine, I'd do many *nice* things for you. Feel free to replace nice with delicious, sexy, and romantic, depending on what you're in the mood for.
I would have pegged Christopher Bennett as many things, but not a romantic. He's such a pragmatic type, it never even occurred to me. I wonder if he'll ever cease to surprise me. I have no clue what to write back, and when he doesn’t follow up, I return to the living room just as Sienna enters the house. I smile at nothing at all, my pulse at an all-time high, and my stomach full of butterflies.
Oh my. Be still my beating heart. I can handle fun and lust. But butterflies? They're traitorous little beasts.
Chapter Eleven
Christopher
"I need a refill." I hold up my empty glass as I rise from the chair, excusing myself from the table.
Three college friends flew into town this week, and we scheduled drinks tonight to catch up. I haven't seen two of them in five years, the third even longer. Naturally, I've brought them to my brother Blake's bar. Blake and Daniel are the younger set of twins in the family, but they are not identical. Up until last year, the running joke in the family was that Blake and Daniel were the “party brothers.” When Sebastian, Logan, and Pippa set up Bennett Enterprises, they made each member of our famil
y a shareholder, whether they worked in the company or not, so Blake and Daniel lived off the dividends, attending one too many parties. This changed last year when Blake decided to open a bar, and Daniel, his extreme adventure- and outdoor-excursion business. After scoring a spot on various lists featuring San Francisco's top bars, Blake’s place has become a popular stop for tourists and locals alike. I'm damn proud of him.
"Little brother, your barman skills are needed," I tell Blake, plunking my glass on the counter.
"Here you go!" He refills my glass with beer, motioning with his head to the blondie tending the other end of the bar. "My girl Amber here is interested in you."
I slice a glance at Amber, who smiles shyly.
"How come you're not interested in her?" I inquire. Back when he first opened the bar, he tended to be overly friendly with the female members of his staff.
My brother shrugs. "New rule—I don't hit on employees, which means I have to go to other bars to pick up women, and that gives me an opportunity to check out the competition. It's a win-win."
Amber is now openly staring at me, her smile changing from shy to suggestive. She's a beautiful woman. I know where this would lead, and it would be a fun night, but I have zero interest in her. A certain brunette has been hijacking my thoughts lately. A night with Victoria, now that I'd be interested in.
"Tell her I'm seeing someone else," I instruct him, "and try to let her down gently."
Blake shoots daggers with his eyes at me. "She explicitly asked me if you're seeing anyone, and I told her no."
"Tell her you weren't up to date."
"But—Wait, are you seeing someone? I didn't hear anything through the Bennett rumor mill. Now that I think about it, our sisters were coy when talking about you last time I saw them. That should have clued me in."
"Trust me, when it comes to Pippa and Alice, you'll see the clue only when it smacks you over the head."
Blake groans while I gulp down some beer.
"So, you're dating someone?" he presses. I swear to God, Blake is almost as nosy as my sisters.
"Not exactly, but the decorator for my apartment… I can’t stop thinking about her. She's a great woman. Hardworking. Sweet. Sassy."
"And another one bites the dust," Blake mutters, mixing a cocktail.
"What?"
"These symptoms… I've seen them before."
"What are you talking about?"
"Those puppy-dog eyes, thinking the sun shines out of her butt. In the past three years, I've seen three of our brothers fall to this virus, Bennettitis. It's an epidemic."
"You're annoying me."
"That's what siblings are for," Blake says. Leaning over the counter, he adds, "You do have Bennettitis. Mark my words. By the way, are you coming next Monday?"
“Sure.” My siblings and I try to meet every Monday evening here at Blake’s bar to catch up with each other, but lately everyone’s been busy, occasionally skipping it, to Blake’s annoyance.
Shaking my head, I raise my glass in his direction, then walk back to the group. They're currently immersed in a conversation about some shit we pulled during college, especially freshman year. Later, the conversation turns to the present. All three of them work at the same bank on Wall Street, and apparently, their after-work activities can be summed up in one word: strippers. What a cliché.
As the evening progresses, it becomes painfully obvious I have nothing in common with these guys anymore. Meeting up with them seemed like a great idea when they called to let me know they'd be in San Francisco, but now I'm about to poke my eyes out. I could have done a million other things instead, like go to the gym, or meet people I actually have things in common with.
I could’ve stopped by at Victoria's house. Over the last two weeks, I've done that a few evenings, helping Lucas get ready for tryouts. Things between Victoria and me have moved beyond sassy banter to something else. No clue how to describe it, but I want more of it. I want her, and not just for one night. Victoria has gotten under my skin like no woman has in years, and that's dangerous. I got burned before, and I have no desire to go down that road again.
But Victoria’s throaty laughter is addictive, and there’s a sweetness to her that I can't get enough of. Spending time with her and her trio of misfits has become one of my favorite activities.
Far be it from me to admit Blake is right, but he might have a point. That Bennettitis virus must be airborne.
Chapter Twelve
Victoria
Four o'clock on Wednesday afternoon finds me in my car, waiting outside Lucas's school. He’s having tryouts right now, and I was supposed to pick him up at five. I tried to busy myself, but excitement got the better of me, and I arrived one hour too early. Lucas forbade me from attending tryouts. I think he was afraid I'd embarrass him, either by kissing his cheek the first chance I got or shouting inappropriate encouragements from the sidelines. I've been known to do both in the past, so I don't blame him.
Drumming my fingers on the wheel, I turn the volume of the music louder, trying to fill the space and drown my anxiety from hoping he'll succeed. I have contingency plans in the works. If he made the team, we're going to pick up Sienna and Chloe and head to our favorite restaurant to eat cheesecake and celebrate. If he didn't make the team, I'm taking him for consolation cheesecake by myself. Lucas doesn't like company when he's upset, but the great thing about cake? It cheers you up no matter what.
Glancing at the clock, I groan, realizing I still have fifty-five minutes to wait. Right, this is going to be a long hour. I could whip out my laptop and work on a decoration plan for a new client, but something tells me I won't be able to concentrate. An angry whirl of leaves slams against my windshield, startling me. A gust of wind carries them away, clearing my view. Seconds later yet another gust blows, ripping more gold and copper leaves from the trees, their frail and brittle stems giving away. Rolling down the window, I inhale deeply, greedy for the autumn air. I love the smell of autumn—rich, earthy, and crisp—but not cold enough to pinch my nose.
After rolling it back up, I pull my e-reader from my bag. I sometimes carry it with me. A girl must always be prepared; you never know when you might have a few minutes to kill, and reading has the magic power of instantly relaxing me.
A few minutes later, I'm entranced in my book. So entranced that I jump in my seat when my phone chimes with an incoming message.
Christopher: How are tryouts going?
Frowning at the screen, I try to remember when I shared with him that tryouts had been rescheduled from Thursday to Wednesday, but I don't think I did.
Victoria: No idea. How do you know they're happening now?
My phone lights up with an incoming call this time, and I don't hesitate to pick up.
"Lucas told me," Christopher says instead of hello, and I swear the sound of his voice is the best thing I've heard all day. My muscles instantly liquefy, the tension gathered throughout the day melting. This is even better than reading.
"I didn't know he had your number. Maybe he snuck into my phone to steal it."
"Why do you sound so hopeful about that?"
"It would be a sign he's back to his prankster self. He's been very serious since… you know…." Placing the e-reader on the passenger seat, I add, "One of our things was that he'd try to guess the password on my phone. I changed it every time I visited my parents’ house."
"I hate to disappoint you, but we exchanged numbers. We’ve talked a few times, and I gave him some more pointers. It was more of a pep talk, to be honest."
"Thank you," I say, truly touched. I'm also surprised he didn't mention this during our numerous calls and messages this past week. But I'm starting to understand that Christopher doesn't do things expecting payment, or even acknowledgment. He’s genuinely a good person.
"How come you're not at tryouts?" he asks.
"Ha! I'm in my car, in front of the school. I’ve been denied access to the gym."
"You're one of those ubersupportive
people who shout their head off the entire time, aren't you?"
"Yep. It makes it even more embarrassing that I have no idea what I'm shouting about."
"Bet you're precious."
"I think the word you're looking for is annoying."
"Nope. Sticking with precious. Still, I can't believe you were hoping he'd hacked into your phone."
"Well, it's not like I have anything to hide," I say, drumming the fingers of my free hand on the wheel, glancing at the clock.
"No traces of indecent behavior?"
"None," I confirm, even though he knows this very well, but as usual, I'm game to see where he's going with this.
"So, say he'd hack into your phone a week or two from now. Would you have anything inappropriate to hide?"
Ahh, of course. I should’ve guessed this was where he was going. I have absolutely no idea what to answer, but the situation requires some teasing.
"Who knows? I might meet a handsome man with blond hair and blue eyes, who could sweep me off my feet."
"I thought you already met someone," he deadpans, and by the frosty undertone in his voice, it's clear he's not appreciating my joke. Whenever Christopher teases me, he puts a smile on my face, and that's exactly the reaction I was hoping to get out of him.
Right, mental note: must work on my teasing skills.
"I have met someone," I say, surprised by the way my voice catches at the end.
"Now we're talking."
I can practically hear him smile, and my heart grows in size.