The Secret Note

by Lauren Rowe

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “Because . . .” He motions to the entirety of me, like his gesture somehow answers the question.

  I bite my lower lip. “Thank you for texting me. I was blown away when I saw your message. Talk about an unexpected blast from the past.”

  Ben chuckles. “You must have been like, ‘Ben who?’”

  “No, there wasn’t a nanosecond where I wondered Ben who. I was definitely shocked, of course. But I remember our night together like it was yesterday.”

  “Same,” he says, his dark eyes blazing. “Every word. Every touch. Like it was yesterday.” His eyes flash with unmistakable heat. “You not only owned my body that night, you blew my fucking mind.”

  My lips part in surprise.

  “To be honest with you,” he adds, his cheeks flushing, “that night ranks up there as one of the best of my life.”

  For me, too, I think. But I don’t say it. It’d be too big an admission. Too immediate a divestment of my armor. And yet, the earnest look in Ben’s eyes makes me want to give him something. “You blew my mind that night, too,” I say softly.

  He smiles. “I did?”

  I nod. “You didn’t pop my cherry the way I popped yours, obviously, but it was a huge turn-on for me to find out I was your first. The minute I discovered that, I wanted nothing more than to give you the night of your life.”

  He flashes me an adorable smile. “Well, mission accomplished.”

  I blush.

  “It was . . . man, it was amazing, Kaylee. You were an amazing teacher.”

  “And you were a star pupil. A surprisingly quick study, as I recall.”

  He places a muscled forearm on the table. His grin is wicked. “I can’t begin to tell you how many times over the years I’ve fantasized I’d one day be sitting here with you.”

  “You’ve fantasized about one day sitting in a bar with me?” I ask coyly.

  He drags his teeth along his lower lip. “Well, you know. Every fantasy has a beginning, middle, and end. The bar is just the beginning of the fantasy.”

  Before I can reply, the waitress appears at our table with our drinks. We both lean back, our chests visibly rising and falling, as she places our glasses in front of us. The waitress gives us her chirpy recommendations about food. We order a couple appetizers. And finally, she leaves.

  I bring my martini to my lips, eyeing Ben like a lioness on the hunt. “You were saying?”

  He’s undressing me with his dark eyes—and making it abundantly clear he likes what he sees. “Nothing important. I was just making an arse of myself, I’m sure. Talking gibberish again.”

  “Not at all. You’re actually seducing me quite effectively.”

  “Ace!”

  We both laugh.

  “You didn’t really think I wouldn’t remember you, did you?” I ask.

  “I thought it was distinctly within the realm of possibility.”

  “That’s actually fairly offensive. You realize that, right? We spent the entire night together. Had awesome sex three times. And in between actual sex we talked and cuddled and laughed and made out. You really think I’d just forget a night like that? I can’t help feeling like you’re implying I’m either mentally deficient or accustomed to hosting gangbangs every Tuesday night.”

  “Bloody hell. I meant no offense. I just meant you were my first, which means you surely made a bigger impression on me than I made on you. A guy never forgets his first. Ever. But to you, I had to figure I was just another poor guy left brokenhearted in your wake.”

  “Another poor guy left brokenhearted in my wake?” I roll my eyes. “Again with the insults. From what I could plainly see, you couldn’t wipe the goofy smile off your face the next morning, Ben. Nobody has ever gotten his heart broken after a night with me, least of all you.”

  He flashes me a panty-melting smile and takes a sip of his beer, leaving whatever he’s thinking unsaid.

  “You want to talk about someone leaving broken hearts in their wake, I’m sure you’ve been guilty of doing that at least a time or two in your lifetime.” I finger the rim of my glass. “Fess up, Benny Boy. You’ve been quite the heartbreaker for the past seven years, haven’t you?”

  He chuckles. “We’re not talking about me at the moment. We were talking about why I thought it at least possible you might not remember me when I texted you. That’s all we were talking about.”

  “Well, in point of fact, I’ve never forgotten you. You weren’t my first for sex, but you were my first and only virgin. A girl doesn’t forget popping a guy’s cherry, especially when that guy looks like a wet dream.”

  His eyes flash with heat. “Do women have wet dreams?”

  “This woman does.”

  His breathing visibly hitches. He licks his lips and brings his drink to them, his eyes locked with mine. He puts down his drink. I wait. He’s undressing me with his eyes again. The sexual energy between us is palpable.

  “Why’d you refuse to give me your number that next morning?” he finally says. “I couldn’t understand it. We’d had such an amazing night. Why not keep in touch?”

  “The night was too amazing. Too hot. What was the point? You were heading back to Australia with no plans of returning any time soon. I figured better to not tarnish the spectacular memory with lackluster FaceTime sex.”

  He cocks his head to the side. “Bloody hell, you’ve got a hard outer shell, don’t you?”

  I’m floored. “I’m just pragmatic.”

  He stares at me for a long beat. “No, it’s something else.”

  I shrug.

  He leans forward. “You’re not like other girls I’ve met, Kaylee.”

  “In what way?”

  “Other women say one thing and mean another. They play games.”

  “Oh, make no mistake about it: I play games. Well and often.”

  He laughs.

  “I’m just so damned good at my diabolical games, the average male brain can’t detect my sorcery.”

  His smile widens. “You’re implying I’ve got an average male brain, are you?”

  I wrap a strand of my dark hair around my finger and smile coyly. “If you think I don’t play games, then, yes, that would be the logical conclusion.”

  He takes a sip of his beer. “Tell me about your games, Kaylee Rae. What am I in for here with you, if I’m lucky enough to get a shot?”

  I bite my lip. “A magician never reveals her secrets, Ben.”

  He suddenly looks very much like a man pretending not to have a hard-on under the table. His chocolate eyes darken with heat. “I find you incredibly sexy. Even more than I did seven years ago. And that’s saying a lot.”

  “Good. Because I find you utterly panty-melting.”

  “Jesus Christ.” His chest heaves. He licks his lips. “Kaylee, I’ve honestly never—”

  The waitress is suddenly standing at the table, laying plates of food in front of us. We thank her politely and dig into the food, our eyes blazing.

  “Good,” he says, referring to the chicken kabob he’s chomping on.

  I nod my agreement. “So tell me something,” I say, putting my half-eaten kabob down. “After I relieved you of your pesky virginity, did you go on an epic tear when you got back home?”

  Ben laughs. “Bloody hell, did I ever. But only after getting back together with my ex for a bit first.”

  “The one you broke up with before coming to the States?”

  “That’s the one. But it didn’t last. We were doomed. But, yeah, I went on a bit of a tear after that, trying out all the cool tricks my hot teacher taught me.”

  I can’t help smiling at that. “And did all the cool tricks I taught you work like gangbusters?”

  “Not nearly as well as they’d worked on you, to be honest. Turns out, you’re a bit of a . . . How shall I put this delicately?”

  “Careful.”

  “Live wire.”

  I nod my approval of his word choice. “Why did
n’t it last with the girlfriend? Was she pissed you’d lost your virginity to some random American girl while she sat at home, piously pining for you, her hymen neatly intact?”

  Ben puts down his beer, a snarky expression on his gorgeous face. “Wrong on all counts, sweetheart. First off, you weren’t some random American girl. I’d perved hard at your photo on Carter’s Instagram way before the camping trip. Asked about you. I wasn’t planning to go on that camping trip at all, actually—I’d had some ‘hot date’ lined up for that weekend. But then I found out you’d decided to come at the last minute, and I dropped that other girl like a hot potato.” He smiles devilishly at my flabbergasted reaction. “And second off, my ex-girlfriend wasn’t sitting around piously pining for me, her hymen intact. Quite the opposite. When I got home, I found out she’d started dating a mate of mine pretty much the minute I’d left and wound up losing her virginity to him a couple weeks after my departure.”

  “Holy shit. That was quick.”

  “I thought so, especially considering I’d waited two months after leaving, out of respect.”

  “How long had you two dated?”

  “Well over a year. During which she always said she was waiting for marriage. It blew my mind to think that, in the end, she lost her virginity way before I did, not that I knew it at the time.”

  I chuckle. “That’s funny.”

  He shakes his head. “I certainly didn’t see the humor in it then.”

  “And now?”

  He smiles. “I think it’s hilarious.”

  “Did you find out she’d banged your buddy before or after you had sex with her?”

  “Before.”

  “And you still banged her when you got home?”

  He shrugs. “She offered and I couldn’t pass it up. After a full year of waiting on her, I wasn’t gonna turn down an opportunity to taste that fruit, even if I felt hurt and betrayed she’d fucked my mate. We’d broken up, after all—so I felt her conduct was shitty, but not, you know, flat-out wrong. At least, that’s how I rationalized it to convince myself to give it a whirl with her.”

  “And how was it when you had sex with her? Everything you’d dreamed it would be?”

  “Not at all. Turns out, I felt nothing but angry and betrayed. Plus, she was boring as hell. It was absolutely nothing like it was with you.”

  My skin pricks to think he was in Australia, comparing sex with another girl to sex with me . . . because, truth be told, I was in America, doing the exact same thing with my next partner. And the next one. And the next. “I’m sure she felt betrayed by you, too, though, you know?”

  “Why?”

  “You broke up with her and went to America and fucked some nobody you didn’t even care about.”

  “I didn’t sleep with her best mate.”

  I nod, acknowledging he’s made a good point.

  “In the end,” he continues, “I couldn’t fully enjoy it with her. I had too many weird thoughts going through my head while I fucked her. It was my first lesson that the physical act isn’t the biggest turn-on for me. It’s more what’s going on between my ears at the time.”

  Again, my skin pricks. This man is turning me on like crazy. I can feel a wet spot forming on the crotch of my panties.

  Ben continues, “Plus, like I said, even if my mind had been right with her, she just wasn’t like you in the sack. No fun. Totally repressed.”

  “Well, she wasn’t experienced.”

  “It was more than that. She was all hung up. Felt guilty and dirty. She wasn’t carefree and fun like you.” He looks sheepish. “Honestly, I couldn’t get her to come. Don’t know if it was her or me, but it was just a train wreck. With you, it was exciting. Thrilling. I felt like a god.”

  I laugh.

  Ben continues, “You knew exactly what to do to get me off. You showed me how to get you off. And that made me get off even harder. With you, it was like the earth moved. With her, it was just, you know, clinical.”

  I nod. It’s not the first time a guy has told me sex with me was heads and shoulders better than sex with any other girl he’s ever been with, to be honest. But it’s the first time the words are making me feel like bursting into tears of joy. I take a long sip of my martini to steady myself. “I hope to God you’ve had better luck through the years, making women come.”

  “You bet.” He winks. “But still, nobody’s ever held a candle to you. Don’t know if it was because you were my first, or if you’re just a unicorn, but I can honestly say, you’re still the gold standard to this day.”

  Warmth spreads through my core. “Thank you.”

  “Just speaking the truth.”

  Holy shit. I clear my throat. “So what’s the job that brought you to LA?”

  “A role on a soap opera.”

  “You’re an actor?”

  “I pretend to be.” He grins. “So far, I’ve got ’em all fooled, it seems.”

  I laugh. “Which soap opera?”

  “It’s called General Hospital.”

  “Get the fuck outta here!”

  He laughs. “You know it?”

  “Of course I do! I used to watch that with my grandma! I haven’t watched it in forever, but it’s super famous here. Oh my gosh, Ben! Congratulations.”

  “Thanks.”

  “How’d you get into acting? I remember you being shy.”

  “Yeah, I still am in big groups. But thanks to a lot of acting classes, I’ve learned how to, you know, fake it till I make it. I got started as a fitness model back home when a scout saw me on campus. That led to a bunch of print work. Then TV commercials. From there, I started getting small roles here and there on the telly. I got a small role on the most popular soap opera in Australia, and then my part got expanded after the producers got a flood of emails about me. That led to me getting an agent here in LA and finally getting offered a role on General Hospital. My contract is for six months, but my agent says they might renew for another six months if things go well—if I still want to continue on the show by then, that is. My agent says she’s positive she can get me lots of auditions for movies and TV shows out here, so who knows what might happen.”

  I palm my forehead. “Ben, that’s incredible. I’m so happy for you.”

  “Thanks. I’m pretty chuffed about it.”

  “Is your character Australian or will you be doing an American accent on the show?”

  “The part was written to be American, but my American accent is so damned terrible they decided to make the character Australian.”

  I laugh. “Wow, they must really love you.”

  He smiles broadly but doesn’t deny it.

  “Let’s hear your American accent,” I say.

  “Oh, God, it’s terrible.”

  “That’s why I want to hear it. Tell me about your family or something.”

  Ben babbles a bit about his family back home, using an American accent, and I swoon and giggle and correct him now and again on his pronunciation.

  “Told you I’m terrible,” he says, a huge smile on his gorgeous face.

  “I wouldn’t say terrible,” I say. “You’re not perfect by any stretch, but you’re not nearly as bad as you think. I’d be happy to help you with your accent whenever you like, if you think you’ll need it for any upcoming auditions.”

  His face lights up . . . and, suddenly, I realize what I’ve just implied—that tonight isn’t a one-shot deal for us.

  “Cheers, that’d be great, thanks,” he says.

  “I mean, you know, if we see each other again after tonight,” I say, just before bringing my glass to my lips to hide my smile.

  Ben rolls his eyes. “So you do play games.”

  “Told ya.” I grin.

  He leans forward. “Just to be clear, there’s no doubt we’re gonna be seeing each other again after tonight. In fact, I’m already planning our second date in my head.”

  I blush. “Is that so?”

  “Fuckin’ oath.”

  I laugh. �
��How can you be so sure? You don’t even know me. Maybe I’m a nightmare.”

  “Sweetheart, if you’re a nightmare, I never want to wake up.”

  I laugh.

  “And as far as getting to know you, that’s precisely why I invited you for drinks. To get to know you. Which I intend to do—inside and out.”

  I blush. There’s no mistaking his sexual innuendo. “Oh. I thought you invited me to seduce me.”

  “I’m multitasking.” He winks.

  Heat floods my crotch. “You multitask quite well.”

  “I do a lot of things quite well. Can’t wait to show you.”

  I blush again.

  Ben flashes me an outrageously sexy smile. “So what do you do for a living, Kaylee?”

  “You don’t already know?”

  “I do. I asked Carter. But I don’t want to come across as a creeper, so I’m pretending I don’t know.”

  “Good thinking,” I say. I grin. “That strategy is totally working.”

  “Good.”

  “Yeah, I work as a fitness instructor at a boutique gym here in Santa Monica. Yoga and spin classes. And I’m studying to become a nutritionist.”

  He asks me some questions about my job and aspirations and I answer him. He laughs whenever I tell a joke. We swap stories. Laugh some more. We order another round of drinks. More easy conversation follows. And I can’t stop staring at his lips the whole time. At the movement of his tongue when he swigs his beer. I’m dying to kiss him. And feel that sexy tongue and lips on my clit. He tells me about some auditions he’s had in Australia. The godawful ones and the successful ones. And we laugh and swoon and undress each other with our eyes. Clearly, this conversation is foreplay. He knows it. I know it. Tonight, Ben and I are going to fuck. Hard. Long. Deliciously. And I can’t wait.

  Finally, our third drinks are drained. The food is gone. Our eyes are locked. And there’s a sudden and unmistakable lull in the conversation. Clearly, we’re both thinking the same thing. Let’s get out of here.

  “You want another drink?” Ben asks, motioning to my empty.

  “No, I’m good.”

  Ben motions to the waitress for the check. She comes to the table and he quickly pays her. And then he shoves his wallet back into his jeans and smiles at me. “Kaylee.”