Rob skimmed his hands down my back. "I can't tell whether you're being serious or snarky right now."
"That's my charm."
Chapter Twenty-One
My date crossed his arms over his chest and declared, "Bullshit."
"What's bullshit?" I asked, my hands flat on the bar top. "What? Why?"
Riley Walsh shook his head and stared at the televisions suspended over the bar. We hadn't met up for drinks or a game in months but the stars aligned today. The Red Sox were in Tampa and a summer storm had dropped a dark blanket of clouds and fog over the city. Tampa was beating the piss out of the Sox and the bar was mostly empty, two conditions ripe for a review of my adventures in dating.
"You're with two guys—at the same fucking time—and you're trying to tell me they're both decent. I'm calling bullshit on that."
"And I'm asking why you're calling bullshit," I said, more than a little indignant.
Riley went on shaking his head as if he had an eternity of frustration to work out with that one motion. "Because, Gigi, sweetheart, I've known you for nearly five years and you've never once given me a reason to trust the guys you bring around. If anything, you give me reason to send them on a long walk off a short pier."
Few people were allowed to put my track record on trial without finding themselves on the receiving end of a death glare. Riley was one of them, Andy was another.
"They're different," I remarked. "I know I've said that before but it's true this time."
"You told me Peter was different." He held up his index finger, a sure sign I was getting a list out of him. God help me. Always with the lists. "Then we discover Peter has a wife and a kid, and he's awaiting trial for money laundering. Did you ever get paid for that last set of penthouse roof gardens?"
I groaned. "The Feds froze his assets."
"Uh huh. Yeah." He kept shaking his head. "Will they be calling you as a witness?"
"He's going to plead out," I replied. "No trial."
"That's a bright spot in the shitshow." He glanced up at the game and then back at me. "You told me that fuckbag who stole your dog had changed. You said that not too long before he stole your fucking dog, Gigi."
"And I was wrong," I admitted. "I know I've made bad choices, Riley."
He reached for his beer, getting in another head shake. "Really bad choices," he muttered. "I don't know if I can take on two dudes when this goes tits up."
"If," I argued. "If this goes tits up."
"Fine, if," he said with one more head shake. "All right, then. Tell me. What makes these two so fucking different? Why won't I be cold-cocking them one of these days?"
"Because they're—they're different, Riley," I argued.
He shifted on his stool, turning to face me. "I want to believe you. I really do. And it's not you I doubt. It's them."
I turned my attention back to the game. I didn't know how to explain that Rob and Ben were nothing like the men of my past. "Different" just didn't sum it up. But Rob and Ben weren't the only differences. I was different too.
I wasn't the same woman who'd dated a client despite a million warning signs.
I wasn't the same woman who went back to her ex after he'd "borrowed" her social security number to open credit cards and rack up tons of debt.
I wasn't the same woman who'd interpreted a collaborative professional relationship as hardcore flirting and attacked Riley's brother Sam with her mouth.
Somewhere along the way, between the dog kidnapping and the federal indictments and the online dating pleasure cruise, I'd changed. I learned—finally—that I was better than men who forgot my name and told half-truths and never texted first. I was better than all of it and I could demand better too.
"I like black cherry seltzer," I said.
"You've mentioned this," Riley answered, his eyebrow arched up. He blinked at me before glancing at the game.
"There's a brand I like that's only available in vending machines," I said. "I must've mentioned that to Rob at some point."
"I imagine you're going somewhere with this." He rolled his hand in my direction. "Proceed."
"Rob tracked down the bottling company and the distributor, and he bought a few cases of my favorite black cherry seltzer."
Riley bobbed his head. "Rob sounds like a detail-oriented guy. Cheers to him and his details."
"I'm not trying to sell you on him," I said. And I wasn't. Really. I wanted him to understand that these guys were light years away from the douchewaffles I used to date. It seemed insignificant but vending machine seltzer was my proof. That move took work. That took time. Yeah, maybe he'd delegated it to one of his assistants or underlings but he was the one who marched into my office with an armful of black cherry goodness like a goddamn superhero. If I called up all the men I'd ever dated and asked them my preferred nonalcoholic beverage, I wasn't convinced any of them would even name seltzer. Let alone black cherry and this specific variety. It was tiny, fallible proof.
"Ben bought a renovation house," I continued. "He wanted to move his grandmother into that house. She passed away before he could finish the work."
My last few boyfriends never would've done that. Peter might've bought a building and given his grandmother a condo for free but he never would've lifted a finger to make it just right for her. And the dude before that…well, he didn't give anything to anyone.
"I'm sorry to hear about Ben's grandmother," he replied.
"They're good guys, Riley," I said. "They're good guys but I don't have to prove that to you. I've figured out a lot of things in the past few months. I think I get it now and…and I don't think you have to worry about me anymore. I don't think I'm going to make those same mistakes anymore. I know that's probably hard for you to believe since you've watched me crash and burn so many times but I believe it this time."
Riley propped his arm on the bar and rested his head on his palm. He stared at me for a long moment, his jaw working as he studied me. "Have your brothers met these guys?"
I dragged my teeth over my lower lip, humming. He wasn't asking after Ash and Linden as an exercise in patriarchal approval. He knew my brothers would find extraordinary levels of amusement in this and they'd stay amused for actual decades. "No. I don't know how to explain this to my family so I haven't."
He tipped his head to the side as he considered this. "I'll allow that excuse, but if you do tell your family, please let me be there so I can watch them pop like piñatas."
"Only if you promise to get me out of there before my father asks whether I'm using protection," I said with a laugh. "Because that would be his only comment and you know it."
"Done." He reached for his beer and asked, "Is your mom still swiping for you?"
"Mmhmm." I nodded, grimacing. "Yeah. She's having a lot of fun so I haven't stopped her yet. I'm not talking to anyone new. I have my hands full with these two."
Wincing, he said, "I'd rather not think about you having your hands full, Gigi."
"Sorry," I replied. I wasn't sorry. I was mostly amused at Riley's newfound inability to talk about sex without growing uncomfortable. The committed life had changed him.
With his glass raised to his mouth, he paused. "Wait a second. Do they know about each other? Or are they none the wiser?"
"They know about each other." I couldn't stop the eyeroll. "They've met. We all kept running into each other at the same places so I laid down the ground rules. Sometimes I send group texts and just tell them I need alone time. I mean, a girl's gotta do laundry and eat an entire box of mac and cheese and watch The Real Housewives. I don't need them around for that. But then again, I tell them that and then get nonstop texts checking in on me because they're worried about something ridiculous." Still holding the glass, he smiled at me. It wasn't a regular Riley smile, the kind with a dash of devil. It was surprised, maybe a little…proud? That was strange and confusing. I wasn't certain I wanted his pride. That wasn't our relationship. "What? What is that face?"
"You're running t
he game," he said. "You…you're in charge this time."
"Yeah, I am," I said, as if it was no big deal. "It's not a big deal."
"You're not sitting in my seat, Gigi," he replied softly.
The moment shifted, a weight sliding over us like the heavy, black clouds outside pressing the sky down, down into the city. Riley and I didn't do heavy. If we did, we did it with a thick layer of humor. No big emotional moments, no exposed souls. We made outrageous bets over sports and argued about renovations and sandwiches. This wasn't how we operated and I wanted it to stop.
If it didn't stop right now, I'd have to turn around and face the century of growth I'd crammed into recent months. I wasn't ready to look back at the path behind me. I wasn't ready for the full frontal view of my mistakes and missteps.
"Hey, you're engaged!" I yelled, swatting his arm to break the spell. "You're getting married! We haven't talked about this yet!"
"Has it been that long since I've seen you? That's old news," he said.
"Give me the whole engagement story, not just the cute pics and captions Alex posted on Facebook. She's adorable, by the way."
"She really is," he agreed. "She's at some doctor conference this weekend. She told me I could go along with her but I didn't want to accidentally see surgery photos or walk in on something bloody. But now I kinda wish I'd gone."
"Great," I said flatly. "Glad I'm such good company."
"I didn't mean it like that," he argued.
"I know, I know," I said. "Okay, I want the story. When did you pop the question?"
"Opening day at Fenway," he replied with a nod. "It wasn't the plan but there were some extenuating circumstances that forced my hand." He blinked up at the game. "It was Batman underwear. Batman panties forced my hand. No regrets though. It was time and I'm happy."
"Have you set a date or made any plans or—" My gaze darted to the bar door as it opened, filling the room with the sound of thunder and pouring rain. Through the doorway came a group of soaked men, all busy wiping away the rain and wringing out their clothes and complaining about the downpour. Just as I started to needle Riley for wedding details, one of the men pulled a ball cap from his head. He looked up and our eyes met across the bar.
Ben.
I hadn't realized I'd missed him this week until seeing him now. Despite his soggy condition, a warm grin pulled at his lips. I motioned him over but he was already striding in our direction, his wet shoes squeaking as he walked.
"Are you even listening to me complain about these shenanigans? Her family truly, honestly believes we're going to roll on out to Nevada and get married in some randomly significant chapel despite the fact Alex has no desire to do that. It's a whole thing and I'm beginning to think my sister Shannon had the right idea with eloping." Riley paused, turning to follow my gaze. He spotted Ben and both eyebrows shot up. "What is this shambles?"
"What kind of magic are you, pretty girl?" Ben asked as he approached. "Because I was just thinking about you and here you are."
He stepped between me and Riley, and leaned in to press a kiss on my temple. "Look at you," I murmured, pushing damp hair off his forehead.
"Please do," he replied. "I really was thinking about you. I was gonna call you once I got out of that storm. See if I could take you out tonight. Dinner, movie, whatever you want."
Riley cleared his throat. "Which one is this?"
I dropped my hand onto Ben's hard—but very wet—chest and eased him back. "Ben, this is one of my best friends and occasional business partner Riley Walsh. Riley, this is Ben Brock. He's renovating the house across the street from mine. When he's not running the tile saw at all hours, he's fighting fires."
The men shook hands, regarding each other with a metric ton of skepticism. I loved it.
"Riley was just telling me about his upcoming wedding," I said. "He proposed on opening day. Can't imagine anything better."
That did the trick. Ben's grin returned and he nodded, saying, "Nothing better than opening day."
"Yeah, well, nothing better than finding the right girl," Riley murmured. He reached into his back pocket and pulled a few bills from his wallet. He tossed them on the bar, glanced at me. "I'm heading out now." He turned to face Ben, clapping his palm on the other man's shoulder. "There are a lot of spots in this town to bury a body and I keep a shovel in my car. You feel me, son?"
"Believe it," Ben replied.
Riley shifted off the barstool and gifted Ben with another smack on the back. "Good," Riley replied. He pointed at me. "Text me this week. I need your advice on my North End project. It's shenanigans left and right."
"Andy already told me all about it," I replied. "I think I blocked some time on Wednesday to check it out."
"Lunch?" he asked.
"Of course," I said. "Stay dry out there."
Riley held up his hand in a wave and left us at the bar. Ben reached for my beer, taking a pull before glancing back to me.
"Did I pass?" he asked.
I shrugged. Riley wouldn't have left if he didn't approve. Not that I required his approval but that was how friends worked. He would've stayed, third-wheeling it until the end, if he had any issues with Ben. At the minimum, he didn't disapprove and that was something. "Maybe."
Ben took another sip and then set the empty glass on the bar. "He threatened to kill me," he mused. "I like him."
"Good," I said, laughing. "He's one of my best friends and before you ask, no, our relationship has never been more than friendly. We go to ball games and drink beer and work on old houses together. That's it. That's all it's ever been."
"Small blessings," he murmured. "Can I take you out tonight, pretty magic girl?"
I ran my hand down Ben's arm, wiping away more rainwater. "No, not tonight," I said with a decisive head shake.
"Oh. Okay, then," he said, his shoulders slumping a bit.
"But I can take you home with me and toss those wet clothes in the dryer if you want," I suggested. "Maybe order takeout. Watch another game."
Ben stared at me. A glass shattered on the other side of the bar. A bolt of thunder cracked overhead and the power flickered. A rivulet of rain ran over his forehead, around his nose, down the scar on his cheek. He went on staring.
Then he drove his fingers into my hair and brought his lips a breath from mine. "Yeah," he whispered, pressing a tiny kiss to the corner of my mouth. "Take me home, pretty magic girl."
Chapter Twenty-Two
My date was dripping wet. I wasn't much better.
"Um, okay." I watched as rainwater pooled at Ben's feet. The drive from the bar to my house did little to dry his clothes and now my entryway was experiencing flood conditions. Hurricane Ben, making landfall. "You need to take those clothes off."
"Took the words right outta my mouth," Ben said.
I raked my hand through my damp hair. The storm was bearing down hard and even the quick sprint from the driveway to the door had my t-shirt plastered to my skin. I banded my arm over my chest to keep the print of my bra from screaming through the now-sheer fabric.
"You're going to catch your death like that," I said, waving a vague hand at his chest. "And—and wet jeans are super uncomfortable. I've walked around Canobie Lake Park after getting soaked on the log ride enough times to know how unpleasant wet jeans can be. I remember spending most of my eighth grade class trip sitting on a bench, cursing my friends for insisting on hitting the log ride first and wishing my pants were dry." Another vague gesture. "You need to take those off."
Ben motioned up and down his body. "I want to be extremely clear about what you're suggesting before getting naked in your living room because I'm not gonna fuck things up with you over a misunderstanding," he said. "You're asking me to strip, pretty girl? That's what you want? Right here? Right now?"
My dog Gronk, that lazy bones, chose this moment to wander out of my bedroom with a jaw-popping yawn. He eyed me with mild interest, a half-hearted Oh, you're back? Do you plan on feeding me now? snort but then he s
potted Ben and the bark-a-thon commenced.
"Hey, buddy," Ben called to the pup. "Remember me from across the street? We met a couple of weeks ago. You marked my yard in fifteen or twenty spots and I gave you carrots. I thought we were friends."
Gronk stopped barking for a second, his body vibrating and his little paws tap dancing in place as he regarded Ben.
"Friend," I said to Gronk, my hand pressed to Ben's chest. "Quiet down. You don't need to defend the fortress from this guy."
That didn't stop Gronk. He went on huffing and snorting, shaking with each bark.
"I get it, buddy. You're just protecting your mama," Ben said. He knelt down, holding out his palm to Gronk. The pup stared at Ben, his barks quieting to low snarls. Then Gronk inched closer. "That's right, buddy. Come here, give me a sniff, give me some licks." Gronk lapped at Ben's palm. Then he growled with delight when Ben shifted to scratch his head. "We can be friends, can't we?"
"He doesn't usually like men," I said, an arm still shielding my bra from view. Leave it to me to wear a cute sailor-striped bra with a white t-shirt on a stormy day. Brilliant. "He's had some bad experiences."
"No, we're gonna be good friends," Ben argued, pushing him onto his back. He scratched the dog's belly and head at the same time and yeah, he was charming Gronk like a dog whisperer with bacon in his pocket. "Me and this guy, we're on the same team."
Ben gifted Gronk a full-body rub and ear scratch before standing up. The dog was lying on his side, his tongue lolling out as he panted. Blissed out.
Gronk wasn't the kind of dog who fell for cheap tricks like belly rubbing and head scratching. No, Gronk made people work for his affections and he rarely granted them to men. After the situation with my ex—the dognapper—Gronk turned his back on anyone with a penis. Not that I blamed him. I did the same thing, mostly.
"Still want me to strip?" Ben asked, his thumb hooked around his belt buckle.
I reached for him, bringing my palm to his chest for a second as if I needed to confirm he was actually wet. Done. Confirmed. But I didn't pull my hand back. No, I went on rubbing all over him like I was marinating meat.
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