Business as Usual (Off The Subject)

by Swank, Denise Grover

  I find a bottle of wine in the refrigerator and decide to open it even though Ben’s not here yet. I need some courage. In fact, I’ve begun to wonder at the wisdom of having him come here at all. I’m clearly distracted and distressed. This evening could turn out horribly.

  But anger bursts inside of me, filling every cell in my body.

  No!

  I’m done playing the victim. I’m done cowering in fear. I’m done letting that jerk ruin my life any more than he already has. I want to see Ben tonight. I’m not going to let Todd Millhouse take this from me.

  By the time dinner is under control, I have twenty minutes left. I go into my room and stand in front of my open closet. What do you wear on a first date with a man who’s already seen you naked?

  Oh, my God. This is a first date.

  I’m not sure why this strikes me as a surprise. Again, he’s already seen me naked, so this should be so simple.

  I pull on a pair of jeans and a silky blue shirt. The color is close to the shade of my eyes and makes them look darker than usual. The blouse clings to my curves and is low cut enough to show off what little cleavage I have, but not too low cut to make me look slutty.

  Too late for that one, Lex.

  I shake my head, refusing to listen to my negative thoughts. I look through my closet for shoes to wear and then remember our conversation about cold feet. I decide to go barefoot.

  After I finish touching up my makeup, I pull my hair out of the bun from this morning and am relieved that it’s not a total disaster. I pull the sides back with two clips and call it good.

  I stare at my reflection, worrying anew. My face it still the same, but I’m definitely not as exotic looking as a blonde. What if Ben doesn’t like me this way?

  I lift my chin. Then it’s his loss.

  As I’m leaving the bathroom, the buzzer to the exterior door fills the apartment. I press my hand against my stomach, hoping to calm the butterflies flapping around inside.

  When I answer, Ben’s confident voice responds. “Alexa, it’s Ben.”

  “Come on up,” I say. “Apartment 306.”

  “I’ll see you in a few moments.”

  And he’s knocking on my front door less than a minute later. My paranoia from earlier still lingers because I look through the peephole to verify that it’s him. When I open the door, he’s standing in front of me with a wine bottle in his hand, looking good in jeans, a solid dark gray T-shirt, and a brown leather jacket. He stares at me, taking me in from the top of my head to the tips of my feet. A smile spreads across his face. “No socks.”

  I shrug and give him a playful grin. “I like a challenge.”

  His smile lights up his eyes. “I’ll be sure to remember that.”

  I step back. “Come on in. The chicken’s still baking, but the water’s boiling and I need to add the pasta.”

  “Let me help.” Ben steps inside and I close the door behind him, making sure to fasten the deadbolt.

  “Making it harder for me to get away?” Ben teases as he takes off his jacket.

  “What?” I shrug. “Reed’s gone so it’s a habit.”

  “It’s a good one,” he says, following me into the kitchen. “Better to be safe.”

  He notices my nearly empty wine glass on the counter. “Got a head start?”

  “Oh.” I clasp my hands together and look up into his face. “I was nervous.” I’m not sure why I feel the need to be this honest with him. Perhaps it’s because I know how much I plan on keeping from him.

  He grabs my left hand with his right, pressing our palms together and linking our fingers. His gaze lands on my face, shifting from my mouth to my eyes. “I’m nervous too…which is why I brought the wine.”

  I smile. “You don’t seem like a wine guy.”

  He winks, the first sign of a devilish charm I’m sure he possesses. “I was trying to impress you. Beer didn’t seem like a good choice for that task.”

  “Good call.” We’re still linked together, but I can’t bring myself to let go of his hand.

  “You’re beautiful, Alexa.” His free hand reaches up to my hair, grabbing several strands and rubbing them between his thumb and index finger. “I think I prefer you as a blonde.”

  “Really?” I ask in genuine disbelief.

  His eyebrows lift. “Why do you sound so surprised?”

  Embarrassment creeps in. “Well… I guess because the wig makes me look so much different…more…”

  “Older?” he asks, studying my lips.

  “That too,” I murmur.

  “I’ll agree that you look more…sophisticated in the wig. But this—” his fingers comb through my locks “—is the real you. And I’d prefer the real you any day.”

  I’m speechless, unsure of how to respond. “Thank you,” I finally say.

  “No, thank you,” he answers, his eyes darkening. “I keep worrying that I’ve blown it with you, yet you keep giving me another chance. That’s all I ask—for a chance.”

  The timer goes off for the oven and I jump, dropping his hand. “The chicken’s done.”

  He puts his hands on his hips and looks around. “What can I do to help?”

  “You were serious?”

  He scoffs. “Hell, yeah, I was serious.”

  I slide a wooden cutting board toward him and hand him the loaf of French bread. “Then you can cut this into slices for garlic bread.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he drawls in a thick southern accent.

  “You southerners are so polite,” I say as I pull the chicken out of the oven. “Yes, ma’am. Yes, sir. And all the thank yous and excuse mes.”

  “What?” Ben asks, looking over his shoulder with a grin. “They aren’t polite on the upper east coast?”

  I start to bristle—he knows that I’m from the east coast—but he works with Reed. Of course he knows. “Let’s just say they have their own type of formal politeness. You southerners take it to a whole other level.”

  I cook the pasta as he finishes up the bread. We talk about our childhoods and our experiences in high school. When Ben speaks of his family, at first I think I imagine the pain in his voice. I’ve been through enough to recognize such things, though, and before long I’m certain. His family has hurt him and it happened recently.

  As I set the table, I say, “This is unusual. We rarely eat at the table.”

  “You live with your brother and his fiancée, right?” he asks, setting silverware next to the plates I’ve put down on top of placemats.

  “Yes,” I say, refusing to address the fact that Caroline doesn’t live with us right now. “And we do eat together a lot—Reed’s an excellent cook—but we usually sit at the bar.”

  He motions his thumb over his shoulder. “We can eat at the bar if you want to.”

  I shake my head as I fold a napkin. “No, I want this to be special.”

  He sets the wine glass in his hand down next to a plate. “Alexa, we could be eating hot dogs in a parking lot. It would be special as long as I was with you.”

  I search his face for a sign that he’s bullshitting me, but he seems genuine. “Thank you,” I finally say.

  We stare into each other’s eyes for several seconds and even though we’re on opposite corners of the table, I wonder if he’s going to kiss me. But he grins, his face lighting up. He looks like he’s full of happiness and sunshine, and I’m amazed to realize that’s exactly how I feel too. Like anything is possible when I’m with him, even love.

  Another timer goes off and I laugh. “I’m beginning to regret not going with hot dogs.” I brush past him into the kitchen and turn off the buzzer.

  He winks. “I’m not. I get to see your culinary skills at work.”

  “Interviewing for potential wife material?” I ask before I think. Then I cringe and my cheeks start to burn.

  He reaches around my waist and pulls my back to his chest. “Maybe I am,” he whispers into my ear. “Maybe I’m one of those guys who wants my woman barefoot, pregnant, and
slaving in the kitchen. Lucky me, I’ve got two out of three right now.” He laughs.

  I spin around in his arms, giggling, and swat at his chest. Cocking an eyebrow, I give him a mischievous grin. “Maybe I have an ulterior motive of my own.” But I’m hyperaware that our chests are pressed together and he’s holding me close. He smells good and I resist the sudden urge to taste the skin on his neck, right under his jaw.

  His voice turns husky. “If it’s anything like what transpired last night, consider me your willing victim.” His arms tighten, but then he releases me. “We’re going to burn my delicious garlic bread. Someday when you’re taking an inventory of all my good traits versus my bad ones, the deciding factor could boil down to this very moment.”

  “Whether or not your garlic bread burned?”

  “Exactly.” His eyebrows rise playfully. “Some women love a man who can cook in the kitchen. It could be the deciding factor on whether to cut me loose or keep me around. I think I need all the help I can get.”

  I laugh. “Cook in the kitchen? Isn’t that redundant?”

  He lowers his voice and presses a kiss to my earlobe. “I know plenty of places to cook.” His tongue traces the edge of my jaw. “On the patio with a grill.” He grins against my cheek and trails kisses back to my ear. “Grilling at a tailgate party.”

  He’s teasing me, but his mouth is still making my breath come in shallow pants. “Why am I noticing a grilling theme here?”

  He takes my earlobe into his mouth and gently bites and licks the tender skin. A white hot bolt of lightning shoots from my abdomen to between my legs and I resist the urge to gasp. “My cooking involves a trifecta of skills.”

  “And the first is grilling?” I ask, my voice breathless.

  “Yes.” His mouth is moving downward again, to the side of my neck.

  “The second is garlic bread.”

  “Do not underestimate the effects of the perfect garlic bread on a beautiful woman.” His hand is in my hair, tilting my head to the side to give him better access.

  “And the third?”

  His mouth trails back to my ear. “I’m saving that one for later.”

  “Does it involve dessert?”

  “Oh, it definitely involves dessert.” He raises his head and grins. “So you can see how imperative it is for me to present you with the perfect garlic bread.”

  “Yes,” I murmur, staring at the pair of lips that just drove me mad with need. “I can see that.” But he’s still holding me in his arms.

  “I’m about to say fuck the bread and hope my other two skills speak for themselves.”

  I step back, breaking free of his hold. “No,” I say with a laugh. “I think you’re right. At some point in the not-so-distant future, our relationship could hinge on your garlic bread. Are you willing to take that risk?”

  He laughs and places his hands over his heart. “I’m wounded. You’ve used my own words against me.”

  “Let’s let your garlic bread speak for itself.”

  We put the food on the table and Ben finds a corkscrew in a drawer and starts to open the wine he brought.

  I remember his earlier statement about bringing beer. “If you’d rather have beer, Reed has a couple in the fridge.”

  He shakes his head and laughs derisively. “Somehow I don’t think Reed would appreciate me drinking his beer.” He pours the liquid into my wine glass. “I’ll just drink wine with you.”

  I’m starting to sit down, but I stop and look up at him. “Does he really dislike you that much?”

  Ben sighs as he pours wine into his own glass. “It’s not so much that he dislikes me, Alexa. He seems to hold a grudge against the world. He thinks everyone is untrustworthy until they prove otherwise.”

  I look down the table, my stomach sinking. I could see how others would read him that way.

  “Hey.” He’s next to me, wrapping an arm around my back. His other hand tips up my chin. “I’m sorry. Let’s not to discuss your brother. Forgive me?”

  I shake my head. “There’s nothing to forgive.” I offer a smile. “Let’s eat.”

  He pulls out my chair. I sit and watch as he takes the seat beside me.

  We start to eat and an awkward silence hangs over us. Ben takes a bite of the chicken and makes an “mmm” sound. “This is delicious.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Did I mention I can grill?” he gives me a teasing grin.

  I laugh. “You might have.”

  “Next time I’ll grill steaks and bake potatoes.”

  “But it’s freezing outside.”

  He looks at me like I’m crazy. “So?”

  “You grill in thirty-degree weather?”

  He cuts a piece of chicken and stabs it with his fork. “Hell, yeah.”

  “Okay,” I say, suddenly feeling shy. “You can cook next time.”

  “You’re agreeing to a second date when we’re not done with the first one yet?” A grin spreads across his face. “I feel like one of those bachelor dudes on TV who get a rose on a date.”

  “You watch The Bachelorette?” I ask in disbelief

  “Oh, yeah.” He nods in mock seriousness. “Every Friday night. I own the first five seasons on DVD.”

  I laugh. “I may have to reconsider that second date.”

  He holds up a hand. “Wait. Don’t cancel yet. They belong to one of my roommates. He tied me up and forced me to watch them. It was a form of torture for missing my turn with the dishes.”

  “I’ll let it slide this time, although I’m still slightly troubled that you know about the Bachelorette.”

  We continue eating and joking around and I’m amazed that I can feel this elation considering everything else that’s going on around me.

  “That was delicious, Alexa,” Ben says, pushing his plate away from him. “Although I may need to have more to be sure. Two helpings wasn’t enough to completely convince me.”

  “That can be arranged.”

  He looks up at me, his expression turning serious. “We’ll have to wait until next week for me to cook for you. My nights off are Monday and Wednesday.”

  “How long have you kept this crazy schedule?” I ask.

  He tenses, the smile falling from his face. He picks up the wine glass and studies it. “Only since December.”

  While I’m relieved to hear that, I’m curious too. “So why start right before your last semester?”

  He takes a deep breath and looks into my face. “I had a full-ride scholarship, but they took it away from me at the end of last semester.”

  “Budget cuts?” I ask. When he doesn’t answer, I shake my head. “I’m sorry. That sucks. So you’re working to pay for your last semester?”

  He nods. “I could have transferred somewhere cheaper, but not all of my credits would have counted.” He takes a sip of wine and then raises his glass. “Either way, I would have been in debt. So I sucked it up and took the six months of hard labor.” He looks at me. “I figured I could do anything for six months.”

  “And you’re halfway done.”

  “Yeah.” His face softens. “That’s a good way of looking at it.”

  I stand and pick up my plate. “Do you want dessert?”

  He shoots me a devilish grin as he stands too. “Not yet.”

  I shake my head. “Then you can show me your dishwashing skills. Have I mentioned how sexy it is to see a man washing dishes?”

  “Will there be dirty talk involved?”

  I put a hand on my hip, smirking. “Do you want dirty talk to be involved?”

  “Ah, I guess we’ll see.” He picks up his plate and carries it into the kitchen then he stands in the middle and looks around, gesturing the plate toward the dishwasher. “Now I’m a bit rusty, but if you put dirty plates and silverware in there, I think it will miraculously clean them for you.”

  “No wonder your roommate tortured you.”

  He moves past me and grabs both wine glasses and the half-full bottle.

  I star
t to rinse off my plate, but he reaches around and takes it from my hands. “Oh, no, Ms. Pendergraft. You put on a show for me last night that nearly made ejaculate before you even touched me. Now it’s my turn to return the favor.” He puts the plate in the sink and lowers his mouth to my neck, wrapping one arm around my waist and planting his palm on my lower abdomen. His other hand skims my waist, brushing against the underside of my ribs.

  “You want me to ejaculate prematurely?” I ask as a tingling shoots to my pelvis.

  He laughs and spins me around and happiness spreads through me with a fizzy effervescence. “You have no idea how much I need you.”

  Before I can figure out what he means, let alone how to respond, he’s gripping my waist and lifting me up. I shriek and grab his shoulders. “Now you sit there,” he says, setting me on the counter. “You said watching a man doing dishes was sexy, so I aim to please.” He grabs the wine bottle and pours more into my glass and hands it to me.

  “Are you trying to get me drunk?” I ask, chuckling.

  “Yes, if it helps.”

  I turn serious. “I don’t need to be drunk to want to be with you, Ben.”

  His grin fades and a certain gentleness fills his eyes. “Are you still nervous?”

  Am I? “No. Everything’s perfect.”

  His eyes fill with lust and I’m sure he’s about to kiss me, but he grabs my glass. “Then I need your wine.” He takes a gulp.

  “You’re nervous?” I tease.

  “Hell, yeah,” he says as though I’ve lost my mind. “Do you know how many sexy dishwashing shows I’ve put on?”

  I laugh. “Two?”

  “Ha!” He points a finger at me. “See! I’ve fooled you into thinking I’m an expert, when really I’m a virgin.”

  I cock my head to the side. “You don’t have to do this, Ben.”

  “Just stacking up those bonus points.”

  “Then let’s get this show on the road,” I say. “Why do I think I’ll need dollar bills?”

  His eyes bulge in mock-insult. “Dollar bills? I’ll have you know I’ll accept nothing less than a five.”

  “Good to know, but so far all I see is talking, no washing.”

  He turns on the water and picks up a plate, then looks at me with hooded eyes. “There’s a way to washes dishes and a way to seduce a woman with them.”