“Claire,” I cut in. “Sophie hasn’t set me up yet.”
“Oh.”
“There’s this guy from my book club.” I withdraw the deeply creased note from my bag. “I think I should give him a ring. He asked me out for coffee, and I’ve had a pretty big crush on him for a while, and…” I can feel my mind start to wander and my ears warm, picturing Ben with that quirky smile, his newsboy cap, those Harry Potter glasses, that hipster swagger.
“Em? Em?” Claire’s voice trills. “Emily?”
“Sorry.” I shake to. “What were you saying?”
“Anyway.” She exaggeratedly clears her throat. “We need to figure out the baby shower. Does early January sound good to you? That gives us, oh…a month-and-a-half-ish to plan. Yeah.” She sounds like she’s talking more to herself than to me. “Yeah, that’s doable. Plan it in six weeks…”
My mind wanders back to Ben again. When he asked me out for coffee he was so smooth, but also a little vulnerable. He’s not really the vulnerable type, all confident and suave and all, but the way he asked was both a mixture of cool and collected, and a little unsure and maybe nervous. I loved it!
“Em!” Claire’s nearly screaming over the line.
“Sorry,” I rush out. “Sorry. Yes. January for baby shower. Works. Yes.”
“Oh, God,” she growls playfully. “You’re so shnockered on him, aren’t you? The book club guy? That’s where your brain’s at, isn’t it?”
I guffaw once and try to work the heavy album back onto its shelf. “I don’t know what that means exactly,” I say slowly. “‘Schnockered on him.’ But, yeah, I’m going to give Ben a call. I’ve waited so long he’s probably got himself a new girlfriend or something.”
“Have it your way, girly,” she says, still upbeat. “I wish you luck and fun, but I still get a shot at matchmaking. Kay? Conner and I have been working really hard on finding you someone.”
“Yeah, yeah. You’ll get your shot, Claire.”
Seconds after Claire and I disconnect, I key in Ben’s number. Now’s the time! Any more hesitation and I could lose my nerve to call; and right now is the perfect time, before Claire shoots off her Cupid arrow.
I bring the phone back up to my ear and wait with bated breath. After the fourth ring I’m about to disconnect, not wanting to leave a voicemail because I know it’ll be the most awkward message in the world.
I pull the phone away and before I depress the “end call” button, a voice peals through the speaker. “Hey-a, Ben here.”
I rapidly bring the phone up, take a quick swallow, and say, in my most casual voice, “Hey, Ben.” My free hand immediately begins to twist about a braid. “Emily here. How’s things?”
“Emily,” he says. “‘Bout damn time.”
“Yeah, well,” I say somewhat coquettishly. “Been busy.”
“Busy ravishing the club’s assignment, are you?” he says in a debonair tone.
“I actually thought about assigning it.” I crawl a few beats across the living room floor and retrieve my copy of Eat, Pray, Love from the futon. “You steal one of my fave reads from Theroux, then Susie goes and assigns this book. Another great read. What will I choose, then?”
Ben snickers and says, “He’s Just Not That Into You.”
I knit my brow. “What’s that supposed to mean?” I keep to my coquettish, almost schoolgirl voice. “And please don’t tell me you read that. Even knowing about it—”
“In my defense, it was a film, too,” he replies, “and I had to watch it.”
“Aww.” I absentmindedly thumb through the book. I crease my brow again, still not sure what he meant by that comment. “Wait a minute.”
His snickering turns into a bout of hard laughter. “I’m teasing you. I mean He’s Just Not That Into You as a joke with you not calling me. Or, taking forever to call me, I should say. You think I’m not actually into you, or something?”
“Oh.” I wag my head and set the book aside. “No, I just—”
“Was busy, I got it,” he says, still sounding debonair. “No prob. What do you say to that coffee date tomorrow, then? Good for you?”
“Got a certain place in mind?” I can’t fight the joy that’s spreading across my face.
Chapter Twenty-Four
I take a look at myself in the full-length mirror. I’ve slipped on a forest green, knit sweater dress, a pair of brown leggings, and a well-worn pair of Uggs. To add a little bit of that sparkle factor Jackie and Lara insist I add when on any first date, I’m wearing a bunch of clunky, bronze bracelets and have on two really long bronze necklaces, one with an inlaid onyx stone.
I’ve got my date with Ben tonight, and I’m so excited! I don’t feel at all nervous. I think since I’ve been eyeing him for a while, imagining how fabulous fate would be if we could go out on a date, now that the moment is here I’m more than ready!
I reach for the pot of Carmex from my leather hobo bag and butter up my lips. I consider a quick swipe of blush, but that means I’d have to dash into the bathroom, root about for the compact, apply and—I’m ready for my date already. I’m out of here!
“Thanks,” I say to the cabbie, handing him a twenty once he pulls up to the coffee shop. “Have a nice night.”
I climb from the back of the cab, arriving smack-dab at the front steps of The Rembrandt, the low-slung coffee shop Ben suggested. The light wind that’s just begun to roll through the city whips some of my braids about. I tuck the stragglers behind my earring-studded ears and approach the front door.
I slip into the dusky coffee shop, the strong scents of incense and espresso whirling about my nostrils. I carefully survey the room.
There he is, sitting at a small wooden table in the back corner. He’s wearing a hat, but it’s not the newsboy. This time it’s an old-fashioned Homburg.
God, how can he look hotter and hotter each time I see him? I think as I smooth the seat of my dress.
I sashay over to Ben, dropping my bag from my shoulder and flirtatiously draping it over the back of the empty chair. “Well if it isn’t Linus Larrabee,” I sing. “What’s with the Homburg?”
“I think it’s cool,” Ben says smoothly. He stands up and leans over the table, giving me two European-style kisses on my cheeks.
I take a seat, my eyes locked with Ben’s. Did they get bluer since I last saw him?
“Kind of worried you’d stand me up, Emily,” he says, sitting down. He leans on his elbows, folding his hands. “Taking so long to act on my advances…”
For a moment I glance down at his arms. He has got to have the most sinewy forearms, and that cross tattoo of his is so dreamy.
I swallow the forming lump in my throat and meet his strong gaze. Operation Blind Date’s been an adventure, and the contenders easy on the eyes, but Ben! Oh, Ben… I can’t recall the last time I went out with a guy this hot. Hotter than Jaime? You wouldn’t think it possible, but absolutely!
“I wouldn’t dream of standing you up,” I say with a frisson of excitement.
If our date consists of nothing but me running my eyes up and down Ben’s body, flirting so obviously like this all night long, I’ll be satisfied.
“Actually,” I say, resting my hands, folded, on the table, inches from Ben’s, “I’ve kind of had a crush on you—as elementary school as that may sound—for a while now.”
Ben takes off his hat and ruffles his hazel-colored hair. “Why do you think I never miss a book club meeting?” He leans farther over the table. I can feel his breath, he’s so close.
“We meet once a month,” I say. “It can’t be that difficult to make it.”
“Would you believe me if I said you make the meetings more enjoyable?” His pinky inches out of the fold of his hands; he’s tapping it on the table.
“You think my eyes are always stuffed in the book when we’re meeting?” I flirt back, also leaning across the table.
“I’m really glad we could do this.”
I don’t know why the thought
enters my head, and I hate to kill the really intense moment we’ve got going on, but I can’t help myself.
I leisurely ease myself back a bit. “You know,” I say, still trying to keep about an air of flirtation, “you had a girlfriend not that long ago.”
He shrugs. “It’s complicated.”
“You’re eyeballing me when you have a girlfriend?” I raise a suspecting but still coquettish eyebrow.
“And you’re dating someone?” His response is quick.
“Not the same. There’s dating, there’s relationships.”
“We had a falling out,” he says, unfolding his hands. “As always.” He rolls his eyes in a glib way. “I’m not going to sit and sulk forever, missing out on getting to know an amazing woman like you.”
I lean back into the table. “All right, that’s fair.” I nip at the corner of my lip.
“Come on,” he says with a knock to the aged, wooden table. “Let’s order some java.”
***
“So what do you think of the book?” Ben asks, leaning in his seat, balancing back on two chair legs. “Eat, Pray, Love. A pretty big chick book, eh?”
I sip on my hot cocoa, my third beverage of the night. “I love the book,” I say. “Was seriously considering recommending it come my turn to suggest a book, you know?”
He nods long and slow, lips slightly parted in interest.
“And sure,” I say with an air of casualty, “it’s a bit of a girly book, but you’ve got to admit—you’ve already started it, haven’t you?” He nods. “You’ve got to admit,” I pick back up, “it’s intriguing and has the appeal for both men and women. I mean, talk about adventure!”
“You said you could relate to Jude in our last read,” he says. He keeps balancing on the chair legs, his hands cupping the back of his head. “You definitely relate to this author, don’t you?”
I take another sip, looking down at the small remains of the whipped cream coating the circumference of the chocolatey drink. “I suppose so.” I set the mug down. “I admire her. I admire her will to leave her life up to fate, to chance.”
“You’re one of those wanderlust types, aren’t you, Emily?” He squints his eyes slightly, almost appraisingly.
I take another contemplative sip, trying to catch the tasty whipped cream.
“You are,” he says. He brings his chair down onto all fours with a low thud and hunkers forward.
I look at his arms, the tendons and muscles defined, his lightly tanned skin emphasizing their definition. I return the mug to my lips to stamp out my urge to playfully bite down on my bottom lip. If I keep resorting to sipping on my hot cocoa like this, I’ll be up for a fourth beverage fast.
“You’re a traveler at heart, Emily.” Ben inches closer, resting much of his weight on those strong arms. “Paul Theroux; Eat, Pray, Love; those worry beads I saw you with at the club—”
“Kombolói,” I add. “They’re Kombolói worry or prayer beads.”
“Kombolói,” he repeats, his lips twisting funnily.
I giggle. “Yeah, and?”
“And, of course, some of the stories of your travels you’ve shared at the club.”
“I’m not one to show off.” I set my mug down and begin to fiddle with one of my rings by habit. “If the discussion merits one of my stories—my experiences and opinion—then…”
He rests one hand comfortably on his hip, stretching out his legs and crossing his ankles, revealing another pair of snazzy argyle socks. “I like you, Emily.” He puts his other hand, palm up, on the table. “Kinda got it bad for you.”
Immediately an intense heat climbs to my cheeks, and I feel myself blush at my blushing. I must be firetruck-red right now. I discreetly bring a cool hand to one cheek and lean on my elbow.
“I like your adventurous style,” he says. “Your free spirit, will to give in to…” His eyes search my face. “…Fate.” He moves his fingers about, motioning for me to take his hand in mine.
I don’t oblige; instead I give him a flirtatious smile and say, “I’m always up for a good adventure.”
He continues to dance his fingers about, and I look down at them for a brief moment. At last I turn my eyes to Ben and drop my hand from my still-flushed cheek, right into his open palm.
“What do you say to getting out of here?” he says huskily. He grips my hand tightly, pulling himself nearer to me, our lips mere inches away. “My place?”
I slowly pull my head back, my gaze transfixed on Ben, on those enticing bedroom eyes of his. I swallow the new lump and say, “To carry on our discussion of the book?”
He releases my hand and swiftly puts his Homburg back on, tipping and thumbing it to fit it just right. “Somethin’ like that.”
***
I try to catch my breath, bringing a hand to my damp forehead.
“Holy shit,” I say in a guttural voice. “That was amazing.”
I bring my other hand to my chest, also damp, and run my fingers along my black lace camisole.
Not able to hold back, I let a giggle slip, turning my head on the pillow. I bite down on the end of one of my braids and say, “She was so right.”
“Who?” Ben asks, turning his head on his pillow towards me.
“One of my friends. She told me I should get some sexy lingerie for my hot date. Convinced me I needed them.” I toss my braid back. “Wear some black lace lingerie for when I’d get lucky.” I chuckle again, feeling both embarrassed and sexy.
“I’m glad you listened to her.” He quickly pulls himself up onto his forearm. He nips at the lacy strap of the camisole. “It most definitely is sexy, I am a hot date, and you did get lucky.”
“Ha!” I screech as he takes another nip, this time pinching a bit of my shoulder. He slides over me, the yellow glow of the moon peering through his bedroom window and casting just enough light onto his face for me to see the small mole under his eye, those supple lips, that sexy smirk.
“Kiss me,” I moan. I run a hand along his arm and grip it tightly. “Kiss me and—”
He lowers himself down and presses his lips to mine. I wind my fingers in his hair, moaning as he takes his kisses from my lips, to my shoulder, to the edge of my camisole.
I close my eyes as his hands and lips travel my body. He rubs a hand against my thigh, and I gasp. I don’t know what has come over me, but it’s a feeling I’ve had a few times. It’s that feeling of giving in, of not really thinking past the here, the now, the feeling that your life is a fleeting moment in the history of the world, that sometimes when passion strikes you have to heed its presence, even give in sometimes. It’s that feeling that—
Ben places soft and tickling kisses along my jaw.
Yes, it’s that feeling that—
He entwines his hands in mine, over my head, continuing to kiss me tenderly, leaving me wanting more.
It’s that feeling that, well…
The kissing tickles so much I quickly dart my head to the side. I close my eyes for a second and breathe in the musky scent of Ben that’s on his pillows, in his sheets. I slowly open my eyes as his lips make their way to mine, my hands fall, and I see my Truth tattoo.
Aw, hell. It’s the truth. It’s that feeling that, well… That sometimes a girl just needs to go home with the hottie after one date and just get laid.
***
I awake the next morning to the bright light of the sun beaming through the window, right onto my face. The strong scent of coffee wafts about the air, and—
Propping myself up onto my elbows, I squint, surveying the unfamiliar bedroom.
The coffee scent seems stronger, and is that—it is. Dean Martin’s crooning from a radio just outside the bedroom. I hear the clang of dishes coming from the kitchen, the water running.
I rub at my eyes and look around the room again. I spot Ben’s Homburg on the bedroom doorknob, his tie on the opposing knob, then I sink back into the plushness of the pillow.
“Phew,” I say under my breath. “What a night.”
/>
I think for a while on the pure passion and lust and who-gives-a-damn actions of the previous night…well on into the wee hours of the morning, actually…and a smile covers my face. Ben was fabulous. (I was fabulous, too, if I may be so bold.)
Suddenly, I fully realize where I am and what day it is. I quickly look at my watch. “Damn.” I’m due to be at The Cup and the Cake in thirty minutes. I’ve just enough time to gather my bearings—I look down at myself—put some clothes on and…
I peer as far to my right as I can without falling off the bed, trying to catch sight of the kitchen. No good. Can’t see a thing. As I’m about to fall from the bed, I spot my clothes in a pile on the floor a few feet off. I scramble over and hurriedly begin to pull on my leggings.
“What a night,” I whisper. I throw on my sweater dress, and as the cowl neck grazes past my ears, I hear footsteps nearing. I pull down my dress and reach for my boots. I’m about to call out Ben’s name when the footsteps lighten, then disappear altogether.
So, I’ll be honest. I can count quite a few times that I’ve been in this exact situation back in college. The whole walk of shame thing? Yeah, I’m kind of the Heidi Klum of that runway gig.
“God,” I groan as I slip into my second warm and fuzzy Ugg. “Sometimes.”
I spot my necklaces on the chair in the corner and quickly loop them round. Grabbing my bag, I sling it over one shoulder and hurriedly dash into the attached bathroom.
“Emily,” I say in a hushed, scolding tone to my reflection in the mirror. “First date!” I quickly splash some water on my face.
I may have that walk of shame down pat, but rarely, and I mean rarely does it happen after the first date. That was college stuff. Crazy college stuff.
Okay, so there was the DJ at Claire’s wedding… Whatever.
I hurriedly towel dry my face, apply some Carmex, and clear the sleep from my eyes.
“Okay.” I look at the time again. “Time to get to work.”
When Girlfriends Take Chances Page 22
