“Sure.”
He nodded to the bar. “Do you know the guy sitting by Cynthia?”
Chase checked then shook his head. “Never seen him before today. He’s probably another lawyer from either Josh’s or Bree’s firm. This place is crawling with attorneys.”
“I hear that. She’s a pretty lightweight drinker, and I’m guessing she’s either at or over her limit. Would you keep an eye on her?”
Studying Ben and hesitating before answering, Chase narrowed his eyes. “Aren’t you worried that’s—what’s that expression? That’s like letting the fox guard the hen house?”
The two men stood looking at each other, seconds ticking by, before Ben answered, “No. I’m not worried.”
Chase nodded and looked over at Cynthia. “I’ve got this.”
“Thanks, man.” Ben saw the photographer and headed over to snag the guy for some pictures of Josh and Bree with the band.
Minutes later, Ben was opening the door to the small lounge and saw Ali talking to the bass player, the only unattached guy in the band. No surprise that he’d zeroed right in on her. Intending to stake his claim, Ben made his way to where they stood talking, noticing Bree, unusually quiet and engrossed in something Newell was saying.
Just as Ben stepped up beside Ali and brushed a kiss on her forehead, Ellen Tremont, Newell’s wife, joined them. “Ben, good to see you, I wanted to tell you that we got a notice this week about an anonymous and very generous donation in our honor to Perfect Harmony. It came with the sweetest, funniest dedication. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that would you? I mean being a man of words and all.”
Smiling but not answering her question except with a wink, he said, “Good to see you, Ellen.” He pulled Ali closer, “Ellen, this is Ali McKenna. Ali, Ellen Tremont, Newell’s wife who attempts to provide him with adult supervision. Ali is the maid of honor and both the groom’s sister and the bride’s best friend.”
“Sister, brother, best friends, the four of you must go back quite a ways.” Newell came over just then and Ben repeated the introductions. The singer clapped Ben on the shoulder before thanking him for the donation.
Ben shook his head and turned to Ali, asking her in a fake whisper, “What part of anonymous don’t they understand?”
The group laughed and Newell added, “It’s much appreciated but wasn’t necessary. And this spread is also appreciated.” He pointed to the buffet table at the end of the room.
“That’s all Josh’s doing.”
Ali looked skeptical. “Really? Josh? Josh thought of that?” She shook her head, but let it drop and turned to Newell. “I love your music, and it’s—I don’t know the right word, amazing?—to hear you guys so up close and personal.”
“Nice of you to say that. But I’m telling ya, I can’t see the dance floor real well, pretty lady, but I think I could be singing ‘Farmer in the Dell,’ and you two wouldn’t notice.”
Ben saw Ali’s blush and turned to Newell. “Do you blame me?”
“Not one bit.”
“New, behave yourself. You’re embarrassing her.” Ellen turned to Ali. “He’s never been one to resist giving love a little nudge.”
Ali’s blushed deepened, and she glanced at Ben before she spoke to both of the Tremonts. “Thank you so much for doing this. I’m thinking you have the picture of how much it means to Bree and making her happy is what makes Josh happy.”
“That’s the way it’s supposed to be. But we’re having fun. It’s been a while since we’ve gotten to play a house like this. Those were some good times. Unfortunately security makes that pretty much impossible now. Got Harrison here to thank for that.”
Ben shook his head. “My part was pretty small.” The talk turned to the Tremonts’ new ranch and the new house they’d built on the land and to their two almost-teenaged daughters.
“I’m telling you. With girls that age of your own, all your wild oats come back to haunt you.”
Ben laughed. “I bet. Got a shotgun?”
“Three. And they’re all loaded.”
“It’s been, I guess, two years since I’ve seen the girls, and they were heartbreakers then.”
“We get a tour break in early September. Come out and visit. See the girls and the new house.”
“I’d like that. I, uh, may have something going about then, but I can certainly manage a long weekend.”
Ellen spoke up. “Be warned. He’ll have you out building fence if you let him.”
The photographer started arranging people for group pictures. As soon as the pictures were done, Ben said, “Let’s get out of here and give the band a few minutes before they head back to the stage.” After another round of thank you’s, they headed back into the club with Bree and Josh, but at the entrance, Bree stopped Ben.
“Thank you. Josh told me you’re the one that made this happen. I’ve never, ever had a bigger or better surprise.”
“You’re welcome, but it was Josh’s idea.”
Josh grabbed Bree around the waist. “Never had bigger and better, huh? That sounds like a challenge, Mrs. McKenna.” With that he tossed her over his shoulder again and carried her to the buffet table, ignoring her protests and shrieks. And laughs.
Ali looked at Ben, “You’ve made them so happy. They’ll tell this story for the rest of their lives.”
“Just what Newell said. ‘The way it’s supposed to be.’”
“And the Tremonts are so nice. They seem just like regular people.”
He laughed. “Because they are regular people. Newell was a trim carpenter when I met him. I didn’t know him—them—too well before things started rolling for the band, but I don’t think they’ve changed.”
Ali looked thoughtful when she nodded but didn’t say anything else.
For the next hour, there was more visiting with old friends and dancing. When Ben kept holding Ali at the end of one song, Newell played a quick riff on “Farmer in the Dell.” Then before anyone realized how much time had passed, the singer was announcing the last song. And as it ended, Josh and Bree made their way to the door of the club and the limo waiting out front.
With the band leaving the stage and the newlyweds departed, the party-goers started drifting out. Ben and Ali went to the lounge to check that the band was all set and that their cars were waiting at the back door. When they came back to the front, the club had emptied out except for the roadies packing up.
He picked up their jackets, and she reached for hers. “You want it on?”
With a sassy smile on her face, she answered. “Yes, I’ll need it.”
He shook his head but held it for her as she slipped her arms in. His hands on her shoulders, he pulled her back against him, burying his face in her hair. It smelled like grass and rain and…the beach. The image—this fantasy one of many—came swift and vivid. He was lying on his side beside her on a deserted stretch of sand, propped on his elbow, his body partially shielding her. His hand caressed the nape of her neck. Then he slowly untied her bikini top. Her eyes flashed when she realized what he was doing, flickered, almost shifting away to check that they were still alone. Instead she kept them on him—the way she knew he wanted. He pulled one strap to the front, not exposing her, but she was hyper aware, vulnerable. He could imagine the pulse beating just below her jaw, could see her draw a deep breath before she forced herself to swallow. Afraid, but trusting him and wanting to please him.
If this were any other woman—a submissive he’d never played with before—by the time they’d gotten to this point, they’d be talking about expectations and limits, negotiating the terms of an unwritten contract. But it had never been like this with any other woman. Not even close. He wanted Ali’s body, her submission, but he didn’t want a contract. He wanted her heart and soul.
She looked over her shoulder and smiled, that familiar sparkle in her eyes. “It’s gonna be cold out there.”
“You say.”
He turned her around and buttoned her coat. Starting t
o kiss her, a sound from the stage stopped him. “Let’s get back to the hotel.” With his jacket slung over his shoulder and the other hand on her neck, he steered her to the front door.
Later. We’re going to finish this later.
Chapter 10
“Shit. It’s cold.”
The sidewalk was empty except for the wedding party and dates along with Timothy and Pippa who were still visiting but about to leave. Everyone was shivering and complaining about the cold. Chase slipped on the coat he’d been holding, then held it open and tucked Cynthia under one arm. Opening the other side of the jacket, he offered, “I’ve got enough body heat for one more.”
One of the guys asked, “How come you brought a jacket? It wasn’t cold when we headed down here.”
Chase nodded to Ben who was shrugging his jacket on. “I heard Ali tell Harrison to bring one because a cold front was arriving at 9:30. I may not be a brain surgeon…” That got a laugh since he was a surgeon. A plastic surgeon. “But I’m smart enough to listen when Ali speaks.”
Everyone looked at her. Then one of the women asked, “How did you know that?”
Her voice was almost timid when she answered. “The weather app on my phone.”
“You have a weather app on your phone?”
She explained quietly. “Everyone does. It comes with the phone.”
Timothy added, “But Ali has three.”
“I have one on my phone?”
“Really?”
“Who knew?”
Ali nodded and shrugged at the surprised questions, but she looked away when Timothy piped up again.
“Only Ali.” Smithfield wasn’t trying to hide his smirk. “And people over the age of sixty-five.”
What an asshat. He’d been with her for two years, and he couldn’t see that she was embarrassed? That or he didn’t give a fuck. What the hell had Ali ever seen in this jerk?
The limos turned the corner at the end of the block, and that ended the weather app conversation, so Ben stifled the instinct to tell the guy what he thought. A street fight at the wedding after-party was also not in the Best Man’s Manual.
The group piled in the limos, six and six, and then offered to squeeze Timothy and Pippa in. “Thanks, but our car’s right over there.”
Jack waved for Ali and Ben, but Ben put his arm around Ali’s shoulder and pulled her close, “Nah, we’ll walk. We have coats.” He couldn’t resist one last dig. Looking at Tim he added, “And lucky for me, smart women are hot. I’ll be very warm.”
Ben draped his arm around Ali’s shoulder and started walking as the limos pulled away. She was quiet, and he thought about apologizing for acting like an adolescent with that last remark, but he couldn’t honestly do it. He was tempted to say something about what a jerk Timothy was, ask her if he’d treated her that way often, but he didn’t want to make any more of the scene. Then out of the blue she said, “Mr. Tibbs must have missed you when you moved.”
“Nope. He moved with me.”
She turned to him in surprise, her lips so close that he stole one sweet kiss. So it was a minute before she picked up the conversation. “Really?”
“Yeah, the owner had started bringing him out for ‘play dates’ even when they were at home and leaving him for ‘overnights’ most weekends. They hadn’t been travelling as much, and when I told them I’d be moving, they shared with me that she was sick. Didn’t have very long. She asked if I wanted to take Tibbs with me. Of course, I did.”
“Do you still have him?”
He shook his head. “The years caught up with him last fall, about four months ago.”
“Aw. You must miss him.” They walked without talking until Ali asked, “Was your ‘diva crisis’ Friday one of the stories you told at dinner?”
“No. If I’d told that story, anyone could have figured out who I’d been talking about when the film came out. I don’t want—or need—a reputation as a gossip.”
“So if you told me, you’d have to kill me?”
He laughed. “Not that extreme. Besides, I’d tell you.”
“Why?”
“Because if I asked you not to tell, you wouldn’t.”
“How do you know?
“I just do.” He pulled her closer and whispered, “Natalie Cooper.”
“Holy cow! You know her?”
“I was an intern on her first film. And I’ve been friends with her husband since college. He’s a film editor.”
“What was the crisis?”
“This project’s in early production. One scene wasn’t going well, and she wanted a small re-write. The director said no, her manager got involved, I got called in. The problem wasn’t the re-write itself. It really was small and could have been done on the fly, but it would have changed the entire story arc and left the last three-quarters of the film flat, no tension. She said her character wasn’t very likable and only got worse in that scene.”
“Was she right?”
“The audience is supposed to be unsure about whether or not they like the character up to that point. After that scene, they’re pretty sure they don’t. But that’s what sets up the story, makes it work…when she realizes that she has to change to get what she really wants. My job was to talk her down and get them back in production.”
“And you did.”
“Yeah. She knew the director was right. But she panicked at going out on a limb. She’s done it before. This was just the first time she ran into a director who meant it when he said no. He would have let her walk. And he would have been right to do it.”
Ali’s wheels were turning. “Do you want to direct? I bet you’d be good at it.”
“Sure. Me and the other 2,784,000 people who drive by the Hollywood sign every day. But thanks for the vote of confidence.”
“How does someone get to be a director?”
“Different ways. Most boil down to knowing somebody that knows somebody, like most things in this business.” Tell her. He hadn’t mentioned it to anyone except Josh, but he wanted to tell her. “I might have a shot at something soon.”
She stopped walking and turned to face him. “What?”
“Just…a director I’ve worked with a couple of times pitched me a vague story idea. I liked it, ran with it on spec. When I sent it over a couple of weeks ago…” Ben glanced over her shoulder. “I threw in a note that said I’d like to assist. Wednesday I got a call from his office. Nothing definite but I guess it’s a strong maybe.”
“Ben! That’s, that’s…that’s big.”
He shrugged with a nonchalance he didn’t feel.
“What does assist mean? What would you be doing?”
“I have no idea. Anything from de facto co-directing to talking to the extras to arranging cross-country transportation.” He raised his eyebrows. “I might get to say ‘Quiet on the set.’”
“No, I’m serious.”
“So am I. The first AD—assistant director, not to be confused with the Assistant to the Director—is the one that says that. The job is kind of an underpaid mash-up of gofer, drill sergeant, and army logistics tech. And it’s still a long shot. So we’ll see.” He tugged on a wayward curl and pulled her around to start walking again. “If this works out, I’ll tell you all about it in excruciating and boring detail.”
“Boring? I doubt it. Remember you’re talking to someone with three weather apps on her phone.”
He stopped almost in mid-stride and bit back a smile as he turned her to face him. “Did you just call yourself boring?”
“Yep, boring as a weather a…oh.”
Ben glanced around, tugged Ali into the dark, recessed entry of the book store, and maneuvered her until her back was against the wall. She was talking so fast her words ran together. “I was only remarking on facts. I mean compared to writing movies and hanging out with stars and directing and, and…”
He rested his forearms on either side of her head. “You can keep talking, sweetness, but however you spin it, you just lost a bet.
Thirteen is feeling like my lucky number.”
His lips brushed across hers, silencing her rationalizations. When he felt her tremble and open her mouth, he pushed inside, reigniting their hallway kiss as easily as a smoldering ember. One hand dropped to the back of her thigh and brought it to his hip. When he felt her leg wrap around him, his hands went to her bottom and lifted her up, cradling his length against her. “Do I feel bored to you?”
Chapter 11
“This isn’t about the bet, is it? About teaching me to stop saying those things.”
Ben didn’t answer, but his hold on her tightened, and he turned around, reversing their positions. Leaning against the wall, he let her slide down his body until she was standing, his hands at her waist steadying her.
He was searching her face for answers, but she didn’t know the questions. Finally he spoke. “No. It’s not.” He pulled her closer. “I don’t like hearing you talk about yourself that way. More, I hate that you doubt yourself. It’s…it’s not you, Ali. You’ve never doubted yourself. And somehow I think I’m hearing your jackass ex in those putdowns and not because of the break up. But you’re an adult. An intelligent, competent woman. You’ll figure it out. You don’t need me—or anybody else—to be daddy.”
“So you’re not—”
He interrupted her, not trying to hide a small smile. “I didn’t say that. But when I do, it’ll be all about pleasure. Yours. Mine. It’s what I want.” He rubbed his thumb on her chin, tilted it up slightly. “And what you want, too, I think.”
Her face and neck flushed, and she could hear the hitch in her breath. Was sure he could, too. Some part of her felt the need to deny what he’d said. But she couldn’t. “Will I have a safeword?” She asked the question as if there were no doubt where they were heading.
His smile grew, big enough to show a dimple, but he sucked in his cheeks, pushing it back. His serious expression all an act. “You know about safewords?”
“A little.”
His smile dissolved into a frown until she added, “I mean I don’t know about them. I, uh…read stuff. I thought manganese would be a good choice.”
Oughta Be a Movie: a Sugar-&-Spice romantic comedy Page 7