Oughta Be a Movie: a Sugar-&-Spice romantic comedy

by Susan Hammond

  Slipping into soft leather loafers, he put the velvet bag in his pocket and tossed the condoms in his open carryon. Almost to the door, he went back to grab his leather jacket. Her last words to him downstairs had been “Don’t forget a coat. The cold front arrives at 9:30.” How the hell she could predict that to the minute he didn’t know, but he’d never doubt her.

  She opened the door at his first knock. Crazy leggings—pinks, red, black, some green and white thrown in, a kind of retro ‘70’s look. A swingy black skirt short enough to fire up his imagination. Except that his imagination had been firing on all cylinders since she’d walked into the church hours ago. Her fitted, white jersey top was styled like a hoodie, zipped up modestly, but where it skimmed her waist his hand could easily slip to the warm skin of her back as they danced. The wedding hairdo had been replaced by long combs that pulled her hair back on the sides, leaving her curls tumbling past her shoulders. He felt a moment of sympathy for the guys in her class who must sit in agony while she insisted they pay attention to the Periodic Table.

  “I’m ready.”

  So am I, sweetheart. “One thing first.” He handed her the velvet pouch.

  “For me?”

  “Happy Valentine’s.” She glanced away, but not before he caught the surprise on her face.

  “Thank you.” She loosened the drawstring and poured the necklace into her palm. “You didn’t need to—oh!” Her expression of delight was one he’d seen a million times over the past nineteen years, and he’d never get tired of it. “I love this.” She started to fasten the clasp behind her neck but was having a hard time keeping her hair off to the side.

  “Here, I’ll do it.” He tossed his jacket on the bed beside hers. “Hold your hair out of the way.”

  They were toe-to-toe, his hands at the back of her neck. He needed to get this done and step back before skipping the after party didn’t just seem like a really good idea, it seemed like the only idea. But when he felt the clasp fall into place, he didn’t move until she looked up at him with the expression he’d never seen on her face before tonight.

  “Thanks.” She looked down to where the necklace disappeared inside her hoodie and slid the zipper down about two inches, baring only the slightest cleavage. The little zebra glinted in the light. “Better?”

  Can’t get any better. Yet somehow he knew it could. One hand moved to her shoulder as the other caressed the nape of her neck. She was watching him, her eyes big and round and dark. One kiss wouldn’t be enough, and their first time wasn’t going to be some up-against-the-wall quickie. As he took a step back, her eyes flashed disappointment, then she started fiddling with the necklace.

  “Zebras are really interesting. Most people think they’re white with black stripes, but actually they’re black with white stripes and bellies. No one really knows why they have stripes—and there must be a reason—some think they’re camouflage because when they’re together…it’s called motion dazzle and it’s hard to see individual animals. But it could be the barber pole effect. When they’re running fast, a predator can’t tell which direction they’re running. You know like a barber pole? Are the stripes moving up? Or moving down?” She stopped barely long enough to catch a breath before asking, “Do you know what a social group of zebra’s is called?”

  Ben was trying not to smile. “You mean like a herd?”

  “Yes, but with zebras it’s called a harem. One stallion and eight to twelve mares. The bachelor zebras just hang out together in groups that form and break up. And when you breed a zebra and a horse, you get a zorse.”

  No way could he stop a smile. Couldn’t even stop a chuckle. “You made that one up.”

  “No really, they—” Her hand went to her hip. “You’re laughing at me.”

  He chuckled again. “Maybe a little.” He reached for her and tugged her to him, wrapping her in a hug. “You know what they call a guy listening to an adorable woman spouting geeky science talk?” He felt the small shake of her head. “Very lucky.” She relaxed into the hug, her head on his shoulder. God, I love her.

  “Thank you for the necklace.”

  “You’re welcome.” He hugged her tighter then dropped his arms. “Better go.”

  She picked up a small, pink purse from the desk. “Let’s do it.”

  “Aren’t you forgetting something?” At her questioning look, he pointed to the bed. “Jackets. I have it on the best authority that a cold front is arriving at 9:30.”

  “You’ll thank me.”

  . . . . .

  Warm, muggy air hit them as soon as they stepped out of the hotel onto the sidewalk. Ben just looked at her and raised his eyebrows, but Ali was sure he would say something soon. And as they crossed the street at the end of the block, he didn’t disappoint her.

  “Sure glad I brought my jacket.”

  Her elbow to his ribs missed. Too fast even while he laughed. He grabbed her hand and laced their fingers together, giving her hand a quick kiss and keeping it in his as they walked. There was no one around to see, and no need to pretend. Realization came to her in a rush.

  There’d been no one on the terrace with them earlier. No one in her room when he proposed their sexy bet. No one in the elevator when he kissed her. No one to know he’d given her a Valentine’s gift. She smiled and glanced down at the zebra. He hadn’t done any of those things for Tim’s benefit.

  He squeezed her hand and let it go, casually moving his hand to the back of her neck. He was touching her because he wanted to. She didn’t understand how things between them had shifted so quickly, but she liked how she felt. How they felt.

  Most of the shops they passed were closed, but a used book store was open. He launched into describing a project he’d been working on that would start filming in April. Another romance, but a fantasy this time, set in a bookstore with a magic reading room where whatever you were reading became real while you were there. Her face heated at the thought of the book she was reading right now, grateful he couldn’t see her blush because she wasn’t about to explain what that was about.

  A sign on the club door said “Closed tonight for private event.” The lighting inside was dim, but not dark. A spotlight shown on a small corner stage where the DJ was set up, but the larger performance stage was dark. None of the other guests had arrived since, for some reason, Ben needed to be there early. He still wouldn’t tell her why, only that it was a surprise.

  Steering her over to the bar and motioning to the bartender, he said, “Park yourself. I need about ten minutes, but we might as well start spending your brother’s money. Beer, wine, cocktail?”

  “Beer’s good.”

  He looked at the bartender and asked what they had.

  “All the standards. And we got in a new shipment of Total Domination. An Oregon IPA that’s pretty popular.”

  Ben was trying not to smile. Again. That seemed to be happening a lot tonight. She spoke to the bartender, but looked straight at Ben. “I’ll try Total Domination.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the bartender nod and walk away. It was Ben who spoke. The small shake of his head and his half smile gave away his amusement, but his voice was deep and firm. “Excellent choice, Miss McKenna.” Running his thumb along her jawline then tipping up her chin, his voice didn’t change when he added, “Try to stay out of trouble. Until I get back.”

  Ali watched Ben walk away, admiring the view before she gave her head a hard shake to clear what must be a deer-in-the-headlights look on her face. That was…hot.

  The bartender was pouring peanuts into bowls only three feet from where she was sitting. Just to make polite conversation, she commented, “I wonder what he’s up to.” The bartender’s hand stopped in mid-pour, and his eyes cut to the dark stage and back to her.

  “You’ll have to ask your boyfriend about that.”

  “He’s not…” My boyfriend? She tried to picture what Ben as a boyfriend would mean. She pictured the letter sitting on her desk at home, the one from Calt
ech that had arrived this week. The one she hadn’t told anyone about. Pictured the last photo she’d seen of Ben in some celebrity spread with a leggy blonde on his arm, arriving at some opening night.

  The bartender was still talking. “…said for you to stay out of trouble. That’s good advice for me, too. Don’t want to lose my job.” In spite of his words, he was smiling.

  Odd. What was Ben up to that could get this guy fired?

  Before she could decide whether to pump him for more information—torn between her curiosity and her love of surprises—the DJ turned up the volume as the rest of the wedding party spilled through the door. Two of the bridesmaids stopped to talk about how perfect the wedding had been, then headed off to join their dates. Chase sauntered over and gestured to the empty barstool to her left. “This taken?”

  “Ben’s on a secret mission. He’ll be gone a few minutes. Where’s your dinner companion?”

  As he sat down, he glanced at his watch. “More than likely still making up with her boyfriend.”

  “Ouch. Poor Chase. You were used?”

  “Seems like it.”

  Ali smiled. “I’m guessing this is a first.”

  He shrugged. “I probably deserved it.”

  “You can’t cry in your beer if you’re not drinking.”

  “I’d better fix that.” He looked at the bottle in front of her, raised one eyebrow, and waved to the bartender. “I’ll have what she’s having.”

  Ali muttered to herself. “When Harry Met Sally, Estelle Reiner as the woman in Katz’s Deli.” Chase didn’t hear her and seemed preoccupied. “What’s on your mind?”

  He shrugged again, looked around at the growing crowd, at Jack standing behind his wife, Hannah, with his arms wrapped around her and his hands on her baby belly. “Awash in a sea of marital bliss here.”

  “Ahh. Your lifestyle’s threatened. You could be the next to fall?”

  “Not much chance of that.”

  Ali had the distinct impression he wasn’t saying he’d do what it takes to avoid that horrible fate. It felt like he was saying he wouldn’t be that lucky. Chase? “And why is that? Maybe you just haven’t met the right woman.”

  “When one of your better known dating skills is sliding out of a woman’s house before the morning-after pancakes hit the griddle, ‘right women’ aren’t really all that interested. Not at our age, anyway.”

  She smiled at the image he painted and had no doubt that he had the sliding-out-of-there skill perfected to an art form. “Maybe you need to discover the lady’s favorite pizza toppings before you sample her pancakes.”

  His bark of laughter drew a few glances then his hand squeezed her shoulder. “There’s a novel idea.” He looked at her closely. “Last time I noticed, you were a cute kid, collecting bugs and blowing things up. How’d you get so wise?” He swiveled their barstools so they were almost facing each other and leaned in. “And so sexy. What are your favorite pizza toppings?”

  She laughed at the obvious flirtation. “Doesn’t work that way. You have to use your powers of observation.”

  Instead of a retort, Chase slid back, looking over her shoulder.

  “Collins.” She turned at the sound of Ben’s voice. Ben’s irritated voice. Had she ever heard that voice before? “You moving in on my date?”

  Whoa. She checked to see how Chase was taking the words, the tone. With a small smile, a shake of his head. Amused? Resigned?

  “Nah, just keeping things warm for you.” He stood up. “I don’t start fights I can’t win.” He nodded at Ben, then turned to Ali. “Save me a dance later if it’s okay with Harrison.” And with that he walked off.

  Ben sat down on the empty stool, but still didn’t say anything to her. When he spoke, she wasn’t sure if he was talking to her or himself. “I never thought I’d be competing with Chase Collins for a woman.”

  “He wasn’t—”

  “Yes, he was.”

  “Then it’s a good thing we’re not porcupines.”

  Chapter 7

  That got his attention and at least a half smile. “Did you say porcupines?”

  “Yes. Have you ever thought about how they mate?”

  “Very, very carefully?”

  There it was. The first real smile since he came back into the club.

  “Exactly! Think about it. None of the guys are going near the female without an invitation.” At his nod, Ali went on. “When she lets them know she’s in the mood, they have to fight to be chosen. That way she gets the biggest and strongest.”

  “Or the horniest.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Maybe. Anyway, when there’s only one left—and he’s probably pretty beaten up with the other guys’ quills sticking out every which way—he goes to the female and pees on her.”

  His surprised laugh was more of a snort, but she finished her explanation. “If she’s impressed, he’s golden.”

  At that, he started laughing so hard Ali thought he was going to fall off the barstool. He braced his arms on the bar, dropped his head, got himself almost under control, and then started laughing all over again. It took him a couple of tries, but he finally stopped laughing and wiped the tears out of the corners of his eyes. “Kinky little bastard, huh?”

  He stood and turned her barstool around. Hands at her waist, he lifted her and set her on her feet, still smiling, leaning in until his forehead touched hers. “Just so we’re clear here.” Then his cheek slid against hers until his mouth was at her ear. His tongue traced the shell, and she shuddered. “I’m very fond of kink.” His teeth grazed her earlobe. “But not that one.”

  Fond of kink? She needed to think about his words, but his lips skated down the side of her neck, and her neurons were misfiring. Other cells, however, seemed to be firing just fine. He kissed her on that spot where her neck curved into her shoulder. The soft kiss became a nip then a bite that hurt a little. But then it didn’t. When his tongue soothed the spot, her back arched, pushing her breasts against him, and she heard a sound like a puppy that wants to be cuddled and was pretty sure it came from her. She should explain about involuntary sexual responses, but did she really need to explain? Ben’s hands tightening on her waist left little doubt he knew exactly what kind of response she’d given him. He was saying something, but all she could hear was a roaring in her ears, almost like…applause.

  Applause?

  The DJ signaled Josh and Bree’s arrival by cranking up the volume on a cheesy version of “Here Comes the Bride.” Ben stepped back and picked up their beers and coats and gestured to the stage area. “We have a table up front with them.”

  The newlyweds barely made it to the table before the DJ was calling them out to the dance floor. “Let’s have the bride and groom kick this party off. And I have it on good authority that this is their song.” When the strains of the Steelhead Trout ballad filled the air, Bree gave Josh “the look” that said you’ll pay for this. But the crowd cheered at the sound of “Longtime Coming” with its clever, sexy lyrics that could either be about how long it had taken the guy to get the girl he loved or about their long, slow lovemaking.

  “That really is Bree’s favorite song. That album came out the week she and Josh had their first date. And she’s like a fifteen-year-old fangirl about that band. Knows every member and their stories. Knows who wrote which song. How they got their big break.”

  Ben nodded and pointed across the dance floor. “Let’s stand over there.”

  They were seated right by the dark stage and only three feet from the dance floor. “I can see just fine.”

  “Humor me.”

  She waited for an explanation, but he didn’t offer any. Curious, she followed him.

  About a minute into the song, Josh spun Bree around then pulled her back in before dipping her. At the same time a voice was shouting over the music, “Hey, hey.” Ali couldn’t figure out where it was coming from; then the music screeched to a stop. That voice again, “That’s our song.” Josh didn’t pull Bree to her feet
until the spotlights on the performance stage came up.

  Ali looked over and did a double take. “Oh my gosh, Ben. That’s them. I mean it’s really them!”

  She looked over just as Bree gave Josh a puzzled look until he turned her to face the stage. Then Bree froze as Steelhead Trout took up the ballad. Her head turned back and forth between the stage and Josh until she leaped into his arms, wrapping her legs around his hips and grabbing his face to kiss him. Josh managed a quick fist pump in Ben’s direction without dropping her. Then a couple of seconds later, Newell Tremont, the lead singer, pointed a cocked finger at Ben and nodded in his direction.

  Ali watched as Ben nodded back. “It was you. You did this? That’s why you needed to get here early?”

  A small tilt of his head, one shoulder raised—he looked half embarrassed.

  “Ben?”

  “All I did was make a call. It was Josh’s idea.”

  “And with one call you have probably the hottest band in the country playing at a private wedding party?” When he didn’t answer, she prodded, “Ben.”

  “It wasn’t anything.” At her skeptical look, he explained more. “Josh and I were talking about the wedding. He wanted to do something big for Bree, but didn’t know what, and he joked about hiring Steelhead Trout to play, so I…” Ben huffed, hesitated. “Newell told me one time that he owed me. So I called him.”

  “Newell, huh? Why does he owe you?”

  This time he sighed before answering. “Five, five-and-a-half, years ago, they were playing a place north of here, out on I-45, when I was in town. Josh and I heard them. They were just an Austin band then, playing small regional clubs. Still doing mostly covers—best covers I’ve ever heard. Everything from Fats Domino to Bublé to McGraw. But the stuff of their own—that bluesy, edgy, crossover stuff—was amazing. At Christmas that year, I was in Austin for a couple of days and caught them again at a club there and talked to Newell between sets. Bought the CD they’d cut. Then it was just one of those right-place-at-the-right-time things. Back in LA at a New Year’s party, I got in a conversation with this casting coordinator about how this director he was working for wanted an actual band with a very specific sound for September Morning.”