And then he pulls away.
My heart is racing, and I’m so not done with this kiss; like a madwoman, I grip his upper arm, thick with muscle and urge him back toward my nerd-turned-wolf-seeking lips.
Suddenly he’s kissing me again—with more energy this time. He’s claiming my lips with mad hunger. I’m gripping his shoulder while my free fist makes mincemeat of his shirtfront.
Kissing Benny is everything I love. I imagined it ten years ago, but the reality is so much better.
I pull him in more tightly. Like we’re holding each other in place, in this swirling strange place we shouldn’t be in.
His tongue is in my mouth, a wholehearted and passionate invasion of my mouth that I very much welcome.
Energy skitters over my skin. The sound of his rumbly groan reverberates through me. His mouth is so delicious. File this kiss under wrong, wrong, wrong. Also file under: amazing. So freaking amazing. The more I have of him the more I crave.
“Unnngh,” I say.
He sucks in a breath and kisses me anew. He’s definitely shed his well-practiced cool-guy veneer, and I love it.
I lean into him. Benny is kissing me and I don’t know what anything is. We’re panting, falling together through some kind of weird trapdoor of us, and I don’t even care.
I’m practically grinding against him. I wish that we weren’t in a place full of people, because I’ve never been so turned on in my life.
Does he feel the same way I do? Surely he does!
Then, as suddenly as he started, he stops. He seems to get his breath under control.
He’s regarding me strangely and something changes in his eyes; it’s as if a neutral expression has come over his face. His smile is sexy, but more cool than warm, now. Slowly, he slides his hand over my hair over my head, then he takes my ponytail in his fist, gripping it hard.
He tilts my head just right to come in for another kiss, and lord help me, I’m all there for it…except this kiss is different. It’s not so much passion as technique. It’s good technique—very good, actually—and I begin to get lost in it, lost in the feathery-light lip-nips mixed with masterful mashes.
But it doesn’t feel like him.
He pulls away, looking all cool and smug. “Well, if anybody had any doubts about us, they don’t now.”
My heart drops through my socks. So the kiss was all for show? It meant nothing to him?
I pull away, straightening my spine, utterly crushed.
“Yeah, that was some Oscar-winning shit right there!” This I say breezily, like I’m not trembling down to my toes. “You spot a nosy neighbor or something?”
His gaze moves over my shoulder. “I’ve seen a few,” he says.
This final confirmation is a cannonball through my belly.
“Not surprising, given that this is my neighborhood,” he adds.
I realize here that we’re a mere block from his place. So that’s it? Just one big faker party? “You were very enthusiastic,” I say.
He brings Spencer to a bench on the side of the path and sits, pulling out his phone, casually scrolling.
I stand there, fists clenched, hating that it was fake.
I was so into it, and it was fake. Was he just messing with me? Trying different kissing styles on me and then tossing me aside? Was any of it even real?
I move to stand in front of him. “Very enthused,” I repeat. Wishful thinking, maybe. I’m still whipped on this man.
“I work the stuffing out of my assets. It’s part of how I got to where I am today.” He scrolls his phone, scroll, scroll, scroll, leaving me alone with his words. “Alverson’s nearly here,” he adds.
“Forget it, I’m walking.”
He looks up, surprised. “Francine,” he says. “Alverson’s not a block away.”
I turn back to him and give him the biggest fake smile I can muster. “See you at home, honey!” With that, I head down the sidewalk. My knee flares with pain. And wildly, stupidly, I know somehow deep down that it’s hurting him, too.
God, I barely even recognize myself.
Thirteen
Francine
* * *
I raise my hand, signaling to the bartender that our side of the bar needs another round of drinks.
“Wait,” Tabitha says, covering the top of her pink drink, “I’m good for now.”
“I’m good, too,” Noelle says. “In fact, I’m switching over to kombucha!” And then as if that weren’t enough of a suggestion, she adds, “It’s not like you to be drinking while you’re in rehearsal mode.”
I point a finger at her. “You think I’m schnockered?” It would’ve probably been good for me not to use a word that gives away the fact that I am a bit schnockered. “In fact, tomorrow’s my day off.” I turn to Antonio. “Dude. Another. You have to.”
“Why not?” He does the weary-yet-sexy-Italian wave that only Antonio can do, indicating he will have another drink.
“Such a jerk,” I say, continuing the analysis we’ve been having, which could be titled, “Why is Benny such a jerk to me?”
I told them about the fake kiss in the park, but not how intense and great it was, or how sure I was that it was real. I left out how stupidly upset I felt that it wasn’t real. Sometimes I inspect the memory for clues that it was real. The way he sucked in a breath, the way he seemed to lose his suave control at first.
Antonio exchanges a full bottle of beer for an empty with the pretty bartender and giving her his million-dollar smile in the process.
The pretty bartender smiles at Antonio and heads to the other side of the bar.
Tabitha snickers and jabs him mercilessly in the side.
“What?” Antonio protests.
“Rhymes with corn dog,” Tabitha says.
“Mi uccidi con queste cose che dici!” he exclaims. “You’re killing me! You are!”
Jada is just laughing. Both she and Kelsey have had flings with Antonio but have remained fast friends with him. We all tease Antonio mercilessly about his position as most active and popular bachelor in Hell’s Kitchen. What can he say? He is the most active and popular bachelor in Hell’s Kitchen and he knows it. He doesn’t even need Tinder; life is his Tinder, with women accosting him nonstop for him to swipe right or left on. His charm and great looks and sexy Italian accent are a bachelor superpower here in Manhattan.
I sit back and sip my new drink. “Benny’s being such a bully.”
I should tell them the truth about the kiss—these are my dear friends, after all. But I didn’t even tell Noelle. I just feel so stupid for how into it I was. And then he turned out to be faking it. A show for neighborhood bystanders.
“And he thinks I’m so into him,” I add. “It’s the worst. Seriously, what kind of person does this?”
“Benny, apparently,” Noelle says. “But really, couldn’t you just reason with him? On this whole forced cohabitation arrangement?”
I shrug. “I haven’t tried that hard, I guess.”
“Interesting,” Noelle says.
“Oh, please!” I say, but she has a point. I can’t recall the last time I felt so alive, so optimistic. I feel this easy camaraderie with him in spite of our animosity—or maybe because of it. All of that sparring and that humor—I’d miss those sparks.
“Mr. Billionaire Bluebeard,” Tabitha says.
“You don’t know the half of it!” I slam down my drink, nearly spilling it. “He literally has a room I’m not supposed to go into, and it’s full of mysterious boxes!” This gets everybody’s attention. I describe the boxes piled up to the ceiling, all the same size. Just this massive jumble of boxes that I’m never to open or even to touch. People are fascinated and excited because it’s deliciously weird. Benny is not like other guys. It’s something I love about him.
“Do the boxes have any kind of writing on them?” Antonio asks.
“Nonsensical letters and numbers. SKU sort of stuff. And they’re all the same size. Large. The size of a washing machine.”
“So let me get this straight,” Jada says in full gossip mode. “One part of the room is completely bare, all pristine floors with some workout stuff, and the other side is full-on hoarder madness?”
“Correctamundo,” I say, shaking my head.
“Washing machine. In other words, human-sized boxes,” Antonio says.
“But it wouldn’t be anything psycho like that,” I say.
“Because you’d smell it,” Jada says.
“There’s always mummified remains,” Antonio says.
“Oh please, stop,” I say. “He’s not like that. I’m thinking more like…maybe a failed invention stuff?” I say. “Benny is really sensitive, and he has exacting standards for himself.”
“But he must need access to whatever is in there, or else why not put it in storage?” Tabitha says. “You don’t buy a kabillion-dollar condo just to stuff it with boxes.”
“Perhaps it’s a great quantity of something he likes to roll in,” Jada says. “Maybe hundred-dollar bills.”
“Or maybe it’s something incredibly endearing…like Toys for Tots donations,” Noelle says.
“Or a product that got discontinued,” Antonio suggests. “Invite me over and I’ll get it out of him. I’ll be sneaky.”
“Antonio, don’t even think it!” I say, laughing. Antonio is an amazing model and friend, but not the best actor. Though he is the best over-actor.
Jada turns to me. “Benny said that you can’t set foot in there, but a friend could. You could stand in the doorway and a friend could look through the boxes.”
“No way!” I say. I forbid anybody looking in Benny’s boxes and the conversation rolls on to Tabitha’s style storefront empire as we like to call it. I listen, loving my friends extra hard.
But she’s given me an idea: I promised Benny that I wouldn’t ever go in that room, but I could stand in the doorway and teach, couldn’t I? And Kelsey and the girls could be in there. Nobody would have to touch the boxes. There’s enough room in there to rehearse without having to go near the boxes. It’s such a brilliant idea!
I text Mac, instructing him to arrange it, complete with a link to the parents-and-guardian contact info on Dropbox. He can always say “no.”
Rex arrives and kisses Tabitha and proceeds to order several baskets of deep-fried tater tots for the group. Tabitha is just beaming, because that’s how much she loves them—almost as much as she loves Rex.
“I understand congratulations are in order,” Rex says to me.
“Uh! Don’t get me started!” I say. “But I couldn’t be more excited about the tots!”
I don’t eat that kind of thing while in rehearsal mode—I have to worry about weigh-ins and bloating and keeping my energy level up, but I allow myself to have a few when the baskets arrive. And then a few more, because they are so delicious, they blow my mind.
And then a few more.
Eventually, I force myself out of my chair and excuse myself to go to the restroom to stop myself from consuming the whole basket. In-town performances start soon, and I have to be good.
I get in line behind a couple, thinking about the boxes, and suddenly I’m replaying the kiss, snapping back to the fierce gravitational force of the scene, every deliciously sexy, edgy, exciting moment of it.
I work the stuffing out of my assets.
I breathe in the memory of it, filling myself with the goodness of it.
And I know I think wishfully, but it really seemed like he was into the kiss for a while there. And for that matter, I still think he remembers “Alejandro.” There’s no way he doesn’t, considering his amazing memory and how many times we all heard the song. Why would he lie about it? It’s one of my favorite memories of him.
Argh!
I send a text to Benny.
Me: You’re such a liar. You totally know ‘Alejandro’ still!
Which comes out as “Yours such a life” thanks to autocorrect and predictive text and me hitting the send button early.
Me: Scratch that.
Which comes out as “such that” due to those same factors.
I amend the text yet again with similar results, and suddenly my phone is ringing.
And naturally my attempt to send his call to voicemail ends with his voice saying, “Francine? Is that you? Where are you?”
I press the thing to my ear. “Screw you, you know that you still know ‘Alejandro.’ And so do I. We both know that you know ‘Alejandro.’ We both know that song perfectly well, that’s all I’m saying.”
I’m all about getting off the line, but he wants to know where I am and if I’m okay and with friends.
“Yes to all of the above. Your asset is well and good!” With that I hang up.
Why did I contact him? Why would I do that? How embarrassing is it that I’m acting like a besotted schoolgirl?
Several minutes later, I’m back with the gang. They’ve left a last tater tot for me, and it makes me feel weepy, so touched and tipsy am I. “You guys are the best. The absolute best. You would never think I’m an asset!”
“I think you’re a wonderful asset,” Tabitha says.
“You’re an asset to this group, stellina mia!” Antonio says.
“Fine,” I say, savoring the last delicious bite. “But I’m not convenient!”
Tabitha tilts her head, thinking hard about this.
“I’m not,” I assure her. She looks like she wants to argue, but right then, Kelsey and Mia and their “Anything Goes” gang all arrive. There are hugs all around, and the sound level rises dramatically like it always does with an influx of theater people. They crowd around the bar; a few of them still have dramatic stage makeup on, a few just have intense eyebrows. The crowd at The Wilder Club is used to that kind of thing.
Max is suddenly there—he’s telling some funny and highly entertaining story, and more drinks are ordered. Somehow I end up with a fresh drink, too, and I’m drinking it and losing myself in the scene. Kelsey can’t believe I’m drinking more than one drink, and I’m telling Kelsey that maybe my punishing and spartan training regimen will benefit from some variation. She thinks I won’t think that tomorrow, and I disagree.
“Dynamite” comes on and she screams that we have to dance. There’s no dance floor, but that doesn’t stop somebody like Kelsey—or Max or Mia, for that matter, and suddenly we’re all dancing in the middle of the bar, all wild and free. Even in my drunken state, I know how to dance with mostly upper body movements, to have fun and protect my knee. Years of living with this knee pain on and off has settled that knowledge into my bones. Everybody is always telling me not to do this and that, but they are looking at the outside in. They don’t see how I can make things work.
I take a break and grab some water and share a bubbly drink with Noelle while informing her that I really, really need to go. Instead I pull her back out into the dance area.
Two songs later, I feel Mia’s grip on my arm. And people have stopped dancing even though the music is still playing.
“What?” I say.
“He’s here,” she says.
“What?” I ask, even though I heard her perfectly well.
“He’s here,” she repeats.
I don’t need to look around. I can feel him. And then he’s in my line of sight, pushing past people wearing his Wolf Benny face, coming in all hardass. My heart beats happily.
My friends let him through, but stay hovering.
“Francine,” he says.
I narrow my eyes. “Shouldn’t you be out dressed as people’s grandmothers delivering things in baskets?”
“What are you doing?” he asks.
“Drinking, dancing. Tater tots were recently involved,” I say.
He scowls, and it just makes me happy. I link arms with him and turn to my friends. “My husband is here!” I say it as a joke, but it feels nice—to the same idiot part of me that thought the kiss in the park was nice, anyway.
I introduce him to my friends as we all head off of the
dance floor.
Antonio is acting especially chummy. “We’re brainstorming strange collections to start,” he says. “Do you have a favorite thing to collect, Benny? I bet a man like you has a collection of some sort.”
Benny frowns. “Not really.”
“Some people collect products that have been discontinued,” Antonio says. “I know a guy who collects Smartwater!”
Benny nods. “Uh-huh.”
I laugh, keeping his arm locked up in mine.
Antonio puts on a stormy and tragic expression, brow furrowed, very Shakespearean. “If they ever discontinued Barnabus light hair texture hair cream, I don’t know what I’d do,” he growls darkly. “I would want to buy it all.”
“You must really love that hair gel,” Benny says politely, mystified by Antonio’s strange passion.
“I do,” Antonio says. “And if it were to be discontinued…” He stares intently at Benny.
Benny nods.
I’m just grinning stupidly at him. My face has a mind of its own at this point. “Don’t mind Antonio!” I say.
Benny gives me a strange look. “Somebody’s boisterous tonight,” he says.
“If that’s a euphemism, then yes, I am boisterous,” I say.
“Seconding boisterous,” Kelsey says.
I pull Benny closer, so happy he came. “We are so deeply in love,” I say to my friends. Then I turn to him and our gazes lock. It does something to me deep down. “He cannot stand to be without me. That is the kind of marriage that we have. He realizes his mistake what with the Swiss chalet. The bluebeard workout room. The wifely conscription.”
He gives me a warning look that may or may not be playful. It’s so wrong to think he’s sexy.
“He couldn’t be without me,” I continue. “So he came out into the night.”
Menacing heat emanates from Benny’s adorable face. Excitement skitters in my stomach.
“His penthouse feels empty without his sweet wife,” I continue. “A house that is not a home.”
The delicious heat beams on. I watch, lost in his eyes. My friends are chattering about something else, but all I can see is Benny.
Just Not That Into Billionaires Page 13
