by AC Netzel
I look down at the pad then back at him. “What am I supposed to do with this?”
“Give me your number.”
“What?”
“Your number. I’d like to call you sometime and ask you out to dinner or a movie or something.”
“Like a date?” I ask.
“Not like a date. A date. Write down your number.”
“You have my number. You send me dirty texts and bad wedding vows religiously.”
“Indulge me.” He juts his chin toward the pad. “Can I have your number, please?”
I roll my eyes. “Fine.” I grab the pen and scribble some numbers down on the pad then slide it back to him. “Here.”
“Thank you.” He rips the top page off, folds it in half, and shoves it in his sweatpants pocket.
~o0o~
After my mini-mental breakdown, Ben insisted I relax while he cleans up after our lunch. That’s fine with me. Let Mr. Clean have his fun in the kitchen. I’m back to the wedding grind. Once again, I’m lost in what-did-I-forget-to-do thoughts when my cell phone vibrates and buzzes.
Crap, who wants something from me now? I cringe as I grab it off the coffee table.
My lips quirk up into an amused smile when Ben’s name appears as the incoming call. Swiping the lock on the phone, I answer it.
“Hello?” I say, batting my eyelashes.
“Hello, Julia.” His voice is low and velvety smooth.
“I’m sorry, do I know you?” I blow a quick puff of breath on my diamond engagement ring and casually polish it on my shirt.
“This is Ben.”
“Ben….?” I stretch out my arm and admire the diamonds sparkling brilliantly on my left ring finger.
“Ben Martin. We met recently. On the floor in front of my couch. You gave me your number. Which, incidentally, was to a gynecologist’s answering service.”
I hold my hand up to my mouth, suppressing a laugh. “Was it? My bad. Sorry. How did you get this number?”
“F.B.I.”
“You got my number through the Federal Bureau of Investigations?”
“No. Freaks, Babes, and Italians. It’s a service for single men looking to make connections.”
I bite down on the knuckle of my index finger to hold back my laugh again. “So what can I do for you, Ken?”
“It’s Ben… with a B.”
“Okay, Ben with a B. What do you want?”
“I was hoping you’d join me for dinner tonight.”
“You mean a date?”
“That’s exactly what I mean.”
“Oh. I have plans tonight.” He knows I have absolutely nothing to do.
“Break them.”
“I’m washing my hair.”
“I’m sure it’s fine.”
I exaggerate the phoniest cough I can muster into the phone. “I think I’m coming down with something.”
“I’ll bring cough syrup,” he deadpans.
“You’re quite persistent, Glen.”
“It’s still Ben… and I’ll take that as a yes.”
“That wasn’t a yes.”
“Wasn’t a ‘no’ either. Seven-thirty. I’ll pick you up at your place.”
“You don’t know where I live.”
“West Village. Leroy Street. I paid extra for the premium package. It included your address and a photograph. You may want to keep the blinds to your bedroom closed in the future. You look good in black lace, by the way.”
I smile to myself and ignore his last statement. “Okay. Seven-thirty. Where are you taking me? I need to know what to wear.”
“Clothing is optional.”
A chuckle slips out. “I’ll find something appropriate. Don’t get any ideas. I don’t put out on the first date.”
“There’s a first for everything.”
“Don’t count on it. I’ll see you later.”
“I look forward to it.”
“Um… Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“In which category in this F.B.I. search did my name come up?”
He pauses briefly and I know he’s smiling. “Didn’t ask,” he states casually. “I’d like to figure that out myself. See you tonight.”
And with that, the line goes dead. I collapse back into the couch pillows, grinning ear to ear.
Chapter 2
I practically live with Ben and Allie all but moved in with her boyfriend, Vince. But we decided to keep the apartment we share until after the wedding. It’s a ‘home base’ for our Girl’s Nights and an escape when we need to vent about our significant others.
At least twice a week, Allie and I stay here. It’s our way of holding onto each other a little longer. I’m going to miss having her as a roommate.
It may seem old-fashioned, but I love the idea of starting our marriage with everything fresh. We’ll have a new apartment and live together full-time. Our new life.
Okay, if I’m honest, this apartment is the only place I can embrace my sloppiness without Ben picking up after me. I’m going to keep it as long as I can. I still have most of my ‘night-out’ clothes here… the majority are scattered on my floor. Isn’t there some claim that sloppy people have less sexual hang-ups? I guess that makes me a dirty whore.
Literally.
An exceptionally fair trade-off, if you ask me. No man should complain about that.
A messy pile of dresses in various colors and styles are spread out on top of my bed. I nearly tripped over the half dozen pairs of shoes scattered on the floor. I grab a mid-length navy blue silk and lace number I bought off a clearance rack at Macy’s and hold it up against myself in front of the full-length mirror.
“Allie!” I call out.
She pokes her head in my room, frowns, then pushes the door open. “What are you doing? It looks like you’re packing for a week away,” she asks.
“I’m trying to decide on what to wear tonight. I have a date with Ben. I want to look good.”
“A date? With the guy you’re marrying? Is this some perverted premarital foreplay?”
“I was freaking out over all the crap I have to get done before the wedding. I completely lost it, complaining about my mother, the caterer, the flowers, the contractors, work. I went into full-out bridezilla mode. Then I blurted that he’s never asked me out on a date. Figures, the one time in my life that I throw caution to the wind and act like a slut… I wind up marrying the guy.”
She bursts out a laugh. “So he asked you out on a date?”
I nod, smiling. “He called me from the kitchen while I was sitting on his couch.”
Crossing her arms in front of her chest, she shakes her head. “There’s something seriously wrong with both of you.”
“I think it’s sweet. And I plan on making him work for it this time.”
“Work for it?” she snickers. “Jules, you’ve been dishing it out for free to that man for a long time.”
“Humor me? Please.”
She sighs, relaxing her arms back to her side. “Sure. What do you want?”
“I want to look sexy, but not like I put in any effort to look that way.”
“If we take a few dozen of his stupid drink coasters and sew them into a dress, he’ll probably blow his load the second he sees you.”
“That’s not funny,” I warn, narrowing my eyes.
“It’s a little funny.” She tilts her head slightly, her lopsided grin staring back at me.
“Are you going to help me out or make jokes all afternoon?”
“Okay, okay. Intentionally unintentional sex kitten. Hmmm.” She surveys the dresses laid out on my bed, and the one in my hand then shakes her head disapprovingly. “He’s already seen you in those. You need an element of surprise to knock him off his feet. Hold on. I have the perfect dress you can borrow.” She exits my bedroom and two minutes later comes in with a black dress and a pair of black strappy stilettos dangling from her fingers. “Try this on.” She tosses the dress at me.
I hold it up against me in front of
the full-length mirror and stare at my reflection. It’s short and a little more low-cut than I’m used to wearing, but not indecent. There’s a sheer black mesh mid section—it’s much sexier than anything I’ve ever worn.
“You think?” I ask.
She nods enthusiastically. “Live a little while you’re still a single girl. Who knows? Maybe you’ll pick up a guy.”
I laugh as I pull my T-shirt over my head, slipping the dress over my shoulders until it falls in place. I stare at my reflection in the mirror. The midsection mesh reveals a nice tease of near-naked skin. Allie walks behind me and zips the back of the dress up. She places her hands on my shoulders, peeks over, and stares at our reflections.
“He’s going to die when he sees you in that. You’ll need a push-up bra to accentuate the girls, but you look amazing.”
“You don’t think there’s too much boobage?”
“You look fan-fucking-tastic. You have to wear that dress. I’m getting turned on looking at you. Imagine what Mr. Khaki Shorts is going to think.”
“Mr. Khaki Shorts! I forgot we called him that before we knew his name. Oh God, who would have thought…,” my voice drifts off. I look down at the diamond ring sparkling on my left ring finger, toying with the idea of taking it off tonight for the full ‘date’ experience. But I know I can’t and zap that notion right out of my head.
I redirect my attention back to my reflection. “You don’t think this dress makes it look like I’m trying too hard?”
She shakes her head and grins slyly. “The only thing hard will be in his pants.”
“I don’t look trashy, do I?”
“Pfft… I do not own trashy clothes. I aim for respectable tramp-wear. I have standards, you know—gold digger—not street-walker.” She cocks her head to the side, studying my reflection. “You’re actually nervous about your ‘date’ tonight, aren’t you?”
I shrug, my cheeks heating from my blush.
“Jules, you already sealed the deal. He’d take you in a potato sack.”
“I know. I want to look pretty for him, okay?”
She smiles warmly and nods. “You’ll look beautiful. And sexy as sin. Now let’s get you in that dress with the proper bra and slip on those heels. The right makeup, a little hair styling magic, and I guarantee you’ll take his breath away.”
~o0o~
“Perfect.” Allie unwinds the curling iron from a long strand of my hair. She grabs a can of hairspray and locks my curls into place. “There’ll be no frizzies tonight.”
Staring at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, the corners of my mouth lift to a grateful smile. I hardly recognize the woman staring back at me with smoky gray eye makeup, shimmery bronze blush and lip gloss with just a hint of coral. My long black curls fall perfectly around my shoulders and down my back. I look sexy… and hot. Fucking hot, if I don’t say so myself.
“Thank you, Al.”
She waves her hand dismissively. “I’m your Fairy Fucking Godmother, you sultry little minx, remember? It’s my job to get you laid. Hence my middle name.”
“Middle name?”
“Fucking,” she clarifies. “You know, you call Vince and me freaks with our kinky games, but the two of you are playing the same game. You’re just playing it a different way. In the end, you’ll wind up with his man-meat injected right between your thighs.”
I shake my head. “No, no. No sex tonight. It’s our first date.”
“Oh yeah, I’m sure that’s exactly what Ben planned: Dinner, a movie, and blue balls.”
“No sex. I mean it.”
“Keep on saying that. Lying to yourself won’t make it the truth.”
A loud buzz from the intercom interrupts us, saving me from continuing this conversation. My stomach drops like a zero-G dip.
“Can you let him in? I want him to wait.”
“Seriously?”
“Please, Al?”
“Fine. Hide out in your room. I’ll call you when your ‘date’ arrives then you can make your grand entrance.” She walks out of the bathroom shaking her head, mumbling to herself. I ignore her and quickly dart into my room.
I check myself out in the mirror over my dresser, making sure there’s no eyeliner goop in the corners of my eyes or lip gloss stains on my teeth. I’m good. Sitting on the edge of my bed with my legs crossed, I tap my foot in the air and wait.
And wait.
And wait.
Time has decided to pick this moment to stand still. Where the hell is he? Damn that slow elevator.
Finally, the doorbell rings and I hear the apartment door squeak open. I try my best to eavesdrop on Ben and Allie’s muffled voices but I can’t make out what they’re saying. My stomach’s in knots. My pulse is racing so fast, I can feel my heart beating in my throat. I look down at my hands and they’re trembling. Actually trembling.
“Oh, Julia,” Allie calls out, her voice dripping in the sweetest tone I’ve ever heard her fake. “Your date is here.”
“Be right there,” I answer back.
I have nothing to do. There’s no reason why I can’t go to the living room right now. But I don’t want to give him the impression that I’ve been anxiously waiting for him—which I have. I want him to squirm a little… Build up the anticipation. I wonder what he’s going to think of this outfit and the hair and makeup. He’s never seen me glammed up like this before.
I hope I didn’t go overboard. It never occurred to me while I was gussying myself up that he might not like it. His usual preference is a little makeup and me wearing nothing but his button down shirt—or a garter belt and heels. Oh well, it’s too late now.
After an excruciatingly long three minutes, I stand from the edge of my bed. Peeking in the mirror one last time, I smooth out my borrowed dress and take a deep cleansing breath. It’s Showtime.
Casually, I stroll into the living room where Ben and Allie are talking. He’s a combination of scrumptious and sin in a pair of dark jeans, a white button down cotton shirt, navy blazer and a silk navy tie. His hair is perfectly tousled, probably by the wind. I want to run my nails through it and play with it. He skipped shaving and has that delicious five-o’clock stubble I want to touch.
Goddamn, this man is scorching.
And mine. All mine.
He turns his head slightly, our gazes meet, and he stops speaking mid-sentence. His eyes trail leisurely up and down my body as a slow, sexy smile lifts from the corner of his mouth. After blinking a few times, he exhales a short breath. He strolls over to me, abandoning Allie mid-conversation until he’s standing in front of me.
“Hi,” he says softly.
“Hi,” I breathe, already lost in him.
I know, I know… I’m pathetic.
Allie’s gaze shifts between Ben and me a few times and she rolls her eyes.
“You look amazing.” His gaze travels up and down my body again, warming my insides.
“Thank you.”
Shyness washes over me and my cheeks heat up. I look down to the floor, blushing to what I’m sure is a spectacular shade of red. When I look back up, he’s staring at me like he’s never seen me before. Well, he’s never seen me like this and judging by the glint in his eyes and the wicked expression written across his face, he approves.
He leans in to kiss me but catches himself, remembering this is our first date. Instead, he clears his throat and straightens his posture.
“These are for you.” He holds out a bouquet of miniature sunflowers.
“They’re beautiful.” I smile at him as he smiles back with his panty-melting dimples dimpling. I might as well wave the white flag and give myself to him now. There’s no way in hell I’m going to resist those dimples all night.
I take the flowers and bite the inside of my cheek to hold back a chuckle when I notice one perfect white daisy hidden in the middle of the bouquet. A little nod to us.
God, I love this man.
Tilting my head, I arch a brow at him for being a sly romantic. He nods
when he realizes I spotted the daisy and gives me a quick wink.
I bring the bouquet up to my nose and inhale the earthy scent of the flowers then turn to Allie. “Would you mind putting these in a vase?”
She exhales a frustrated breath, rolling her eyes again. “Of course, my Queen,” she huffs as she snatches the bouquet from my hand and heads toward the kitchen. “Enjoy your eye fucking. Freaks,” she mumbles under her breath, but loud enough for us to hear. We ignore her and continue our charade.
“Are you ready?” he asks.
I nod, biting down on my bottom lip, trying… and failing... to keep my grin at bay.
“Okay, let’s go.” He places his hand on my back, escorting me toward the apartment door. “You’re gorgeous,” he whispers in my ear. He’s close enough for me to inhale his Benessence, that scent that drives my hormones into overdrive. Mmm, he smells so damn good. I’m desperate to touch him and we haven’t even left my apartment. I don’t know how I’m going to keep it under control.
This should be an interesting night.
“We’re leaving now,” I call out to the kitchen as I grab my wrap off the hook by the front door.
“I’ll be at Vince’s tonight. Talk to you sometime tomorrow. Don’t forget to use protection! You don’t know where he’s been,” she hollers back.
“Pay no attention to her,” I tell him. “She doesn’t get out much.”
Chapter 3
There’s a sleek black limo parked in front of my building. A tall, slender man in a dark suit and chauffeurs’ hat is holding the passenger side door opened.
“That’s for us?” I figured we’d grab a taxi.
“That’s for us. Go on in.”
I walk up to the driver and recognize him immediately. “Jake?” I ask incredulously.
Jake is Wisteria Hill Publishing’s lecherous lothario-wannabe. He tries, unsuccessfully, to pick up any woman he comes in contact with using the most ludicrous and inappropriate cheesy pick-up lines. What’s he doing here?
“The name’s Chauncey, Ma’am. Step right in,” he says in the world’s worst phony English accent.
“Jake, I know who you are. We work for the same company. What’s with the accent?”
“Chicks dig it.” He wiggles his brows.