by AC Netzel
His thumb brushes across my nipple, and he gently tugs it between two fingers.
“Mmm,” I moan, raising my arms above my head and hooking my fingers around his neck.
“You like that, Julia?”
“Yes.”
“And this?” He strokes my other nipple, tugging it.
“Yes,” I breathe.
He kisses my neck down to my shoulder again while caressing my breasts. I’m so wound up. It’s painful in a torturously inviting way. He has to fuck me soon or I think I might die.
My body reacts to his kisses, my ass grinding back against his erection.
“You drive me fucking crazy,” he groans.
“Good.”
His hips buck forward, meeting my body.
“I should tell you… I’m a virgin,” I say.
He nods, holding back a smirk. “You won’t be much longer.”
“You’re pretty sure of yourself, Ken.”
“It’s still Ben… and I’m about to fuck you so hard you’ll never forget my name again.”
Chapter 5
I had another disturbing dream last night.
I was wearing an obnoxiously gaudy wedding gown adorned in shoulder-to-floor gift bows, arranged in rainbow order. I looked like a float in the Gay Pride parade. My veil was made of polypropylene curling ribbon. Hundreds of multicolored strings dangled lifelessly in front of my face.
As I walked down the church aisle, elderly Italian women were throwing small kitchen gadgets at me. Once I reached the altar, the priest blessed me, then gave me a mini food processor and the Pope’s secret recipe for pesto.
Wedding planning is seriously messing with my sanity. Vegas sounds better every day.
Ben and I just drove past Exit 105 on the Garden State Parkway, heading south. My stomach is queasier with each mile closer to Exit 82, my hometown exit. Eventually, I knew I’d have to deal with today, and I hoped that through some miracle it wouldn’t happen. I turn in my seat to face Ben, who is uncharacteristically quiet during the entire drive.
“You can stop now.”
“Stop what?” he asks, staring forward at the road.
“Pretending we’re going to look at restaurants for our rehearsal dinner. I know you’re taking me to my bridal shower.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says matter-of-factly, his lips twitching.
“You’re lying twitch just gave you away.”
“I cannot confirm or deny anything.”
“Afraid of my mother’s wrath?”
“Terrified.”
“Oh, God. It’s going to be huge, isn’t it?”
He turns his head and looks at me. “Your mother, sisters, and Allie were in charge.”
I place my hands over my face. “Oh God.”
He chuckles, looking back at the road. “I only have to get you there.”
“You’re leaving me with those women?”
“You’re on your own.”
“This isn’t fair. I shouldn’t be the only one to suffer.”
He shrugs with a big grin plastered across his perfectly smug face.
“Did they send you a questionnaire?” I ask.
“I cannot confirm or deny any…”
“Cut the crap,” I interrupt. “Did you get one?”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe means yes. Dammit. That means they’re going to play stupid Shower games too. Ugh, and the ridiculous hat.”
“What hat?”
“One of the bridesmaids makes a hat out of the bows and ribbons from the gifts. All of them. When the gift opening is over, I have to wear the giant bow hat and smile while everyone is busy clicking their cameras. It’s humiliating, picture an Easter Bonnet on crack. Turn the car around.”
“I’m not turning the car around.”
“Ben, I don’t want this. We don’t need anything. I begged my mother not to throw a shower.”
“She wants to do something nice for you.”
“Take me home. I’m begging you. We’ll go back to your place. I’ll get naked and stay naked. All day. All week. You can have me whenever and however you want. Unzip your fly. I’ll start right now.”
“Are you bribing me with sex?”
“Yes.”
“For as much as I appreciate the offer, I’m going to take a rain check.”
“Afraid of a little old lady?”
“Damn straight.”
I cross my arms in front of my chest and let out an exasperated breath. “Fine. Forget about ever having sex again.”
“Okay,” he answers dryly.
“You don’t believe me?”
“I think we’ve already established your weakness for my body,” he teases.
“You’re a horrible human being, Judas.”
“I’ve been called worse.”
“I hate you,” I snarl.
“Take it out on me in bed… which you will, because you can’t resist me.”
“You just made me hate you a little more.”
“I’m game for hate sex.” He reaches across the car seat, takes my hand, and kisses the back of it.
Not going to lie, some of the best sex Ben and I have had was when we were fighting. Hate sex is awesome.
I pull my hand away and twist my neck to look out the passenger side window in mock disgust, hiding my smile. He has this way of making me feel better and turning things around.
Well, except for turning the damn car around.
~o0o~
We sit in the parking lot, staring at the brick building in front of us in complete silence. Angelina’s is an exceptional Italian restaurant that overlooks Barnegat Bay. If you’re lucky enough to eat here when the sun sets over the water, it’s stunning.
Their Southern Italian cuisine is like dining in Sicily. It’s mouth-wateringly superb. I’ve been here dozens of times, mostly with my family. My parents would never step foot into an Italian restaurant unless it was authentic.
My chronically cheating-ass ex-boyfriend Mikehole took me here for a proper date twice. Usually, he’d hand me a corndog and a bucket of fries from the boardwalk and call that a date. I’m a friend to food, all food. Corndogs, pizza, funnel cakes, fries. It’s all good. But I don’t think it’s unreasonable or old-fashioned to treat a girl to a decent place every once in a while.
I was with that sleazeball for years, blind idiot that I was, and all I got was two real dates. You’d think at the very least I’d get a decent meal to offset the guilt he felt while banging every willing leg-spreader who crossed his path.
But then again, Mikehole felt no guilt. Assholes have no feelings.
“Are you ready?” Ben asks, snapping me out of my past-life rage.
I turn and smile at him, leaning over the car’s console to kiss his cheek. “I love you so much.”
He smiles back. “You hated me a minute ago.”
That was before I remembered what’s out there.
“I got over it.”
“That was fast. Does this mean hate-sex is off the table? I was looking forward to it.” he asks, a hint of humor in his voice.
“Don’t worry, Romeo. I’m sure you’ll do something to make me hate you again.” I give him another quick kiss on the cheek. “Let’s get this over with.”
~o0o~
Angelina’s lobby looks just like I remember. Yellow and blue tiled floors, a long rustic mahogany bar on one side and the main dining area on the other. The pale gray walls are adorned with dozens of hideous oil paintings created by none other than Mr. Angelina himself —or whatever his real name is.
Legend has it Angelina tricked her husband to paint them to keep him busy and out of her kitchen.
A few empty wooden benches are lining the entryway where patrons wait up to an hour for their table during the busy summer season. We approach the podium where the hostess is standing, looking down at her cell phone, texting. She sends her text then looks up and smiles.
“Table for two?” she asks, lookin
g anywhere but directly at us. The poor girl. It’s almost comical how hard she’s trying to act blasé. I’m sure my mother gave her an earful about not giving anything away before we arrived.
“Yes, thank you,” Ben answers, snaking his arm around my waist.
She grabs two menus. Nice touch. And we follow her to the upstairs room. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. The main dining room is downstairs. The only room upstairs is a smaller private room, usually reserved for parties. I play dumb and roll with it.
As we’re walking up the creaky wooden staircase, the roar of what sounds like a thousand women quickly quiets down to a hush. We reach the second floor and the chatter I heard less than twenty seconds ago is silent.
The ornately carved mahogany double doors leading into the room are closed. The contents of my stomach are looking for a quick escape. I eye Ben’s shoes, just to get back at him. Then decide that throwing up on him as the doors swing opened probably wouldn’t be a shining moment for me.
“Your table is right inside,” she says, never opening the door.
“Ready?” Ben whispers in my ear.
“Can we fuck around with them a little and make them wait another ten minutes?”
He shakes his head, amused. “No.”
“Fun sucker,” I complain. “Fine, open the door.”
His hand curves around the door handle, and he opens it. I take one step in and…
“SURPRISE!” A gazillion women scream in my direction. Okay, maybe not a gazillion, but it feels that way. I curl into Ben’s chest, temporarily blinded by cameras and cell phones flashing in my face.
He kisses my forehead and tightens his arm around me. “You’re okay,” he whispers.
I nod and turn back to the waiting room. “Oh my goodness! You got me.” I twist back to Ben, faking a scowl, and smack his chest. “You told me this was for our rehearsal dinner.”
He chuckles and gives me a swift peck on the lips.
My mother makes a beeline for us, practically knocking over my aunts. “Juju!” she hollers, flailing her arms wildly in the air and making a spectacle of herself. She reaches up and wraps her arms around both Ben and me, in her infamous, and mostly dreaded, Rose Conti mother-of-all bear hugs.
“Were you surprised?” she asks, her eyes sparkling with delight.
“Yes. Totally,” I lie. “I had no clue.”
She smiles wide, and it warms my heart. I love seeing my mom happy.
She grins at Ben and goes in for the kill by pinching his cheeks. “Look at my son-in-law. So handsome. You and Julia are going to have beautiful babies.”
“Can you cut it out with the baby talk? That’s a long time away.”
Ben laughs and kisses her cheek. “Some day, Rose. Some day.” He’s brilliant at placating my mother. I wonder if he handles me the same way. He’s so smooth, I probably wouldn’t notice.
“Mom, we’re going to make the rounds.”
“Of course. Go, go.” She waves her hand and shoos us away.
Once my temporary flash blindness wears off, I get a better look at my surroundings. The room’s decorations are beautiful. The tables are festive with crisp white tablecloths and vibrant delphinium, pink peonies, and purple rose floral arrangements. No doubt, Stuart had a hand in them. His ‘enormously extravagant’ signature is written all over them.
The remnants of what I’m sure were once full bread baskets are on each table. Now they’re mostly crumbs, a few pats of butter, and empty olive oil dipping bowls.
To the side is a small bar with champagne flutes lined on top, complete with an attractive bartender making Bellinis. The poor guy. There’s a shitload of estrogen and booze in this room. Once these ladies are liquored up, he’s going to regret accepting this gig. My brothers must be on standby to drive everyone home. My family doesn’t discriminate over what time to imbibe, especially when the alcohol is free. There’s a small dais set up at the front of the room for me, my maid-of-honor, Allie, and my two bridesmaids, my sisters, Isabelle and Sophie.
And the best part of Angelina’s: The comforting aroma of freshly baked bread and tomato sauce wafting in the air. It reminds me of Sunday dinners at my parents’ house. I can sit here and inhale all day.
Ben and I make our way around the room, saying our hellos to what has to be at least sixty female-only family and friends. We greet my two sisters who are keeping my grandmother and three sisters-in-law’s company and liquored up. After a quick kiss hello, we continue, with friendly smiles splashed across our faces.
We reach the table where Ben’s mom, Beverly, is seated. She’s still channeling Jackie O—but we’ve slipped back to the Kennedy years. She’s dressed in head-to-toe black and big rimmed sunglasses. It’s probably her way to avoid making eye contact with my family.
There’s something familiar about her dress. I know I’ve seen it before. Yes, in history class when we studied President Kennedy’s assassination. That’s the dress she wore to JFK’s funeral. She’s wearing a fucking funeral dress to my bridal shower.
Lovely woman.
“Mrs. Martin, I’m so happy to see you. Thank you for coming.” I tried for weeks to bring myself to call her ‘mom’. But I can’t. It feels weird. I doubt she’d be down with it anyway. She’s not exactly warm and fuzzy. Her own kids call her ‘Mother’.
“Of course, Julia dear,” she says, stiffly offering me her cheek. I kiss her politely and pray my mother didn’t catch this exchange. She’d freak out over such a civilized greeting, especially from family. Ben kisses her cheek and chats a little bit while I move on. Thirty seconds with Beverly was plenty.
Seated next to Bev is Ben’s Stealth Bitch sister, Elizabeth, also dressed in head-to-toe black. Planted right next to her is…
God give me strength.
I squeeze my eyes shut and grimace. There’s no way she’d come here. This must be another one of my disturbing pre-wedding dreams. I crack open an eye slowly, silently praying it was all a mirage.
Nope.
My arch enemy Cam-eel, the girl who’s in love with my man, is sitting in front of me. To top it off, she’s wearing a long white lace dress. She looks like a delusional bride. Why is she here? On my damn day?
She detests me. I detest her. There’s mutual loathing. Hate plus hate equals stay-the-hell-away-from-my-bridal-shower. Well, she’s here. There’s nothing I can do except run with it.
“Hi, Elizabeth,” I say to Ben’s sister. “Thank you for coming all this way.” I take a chance and go in for a hug, cautiously wrapping my arms around her. Surprisingly, she hugs me back. Sorta. Awkwardly, she wraps one arm around me and pats my shoulder. I guess that’s progress.
“Not a problem,” she says cordially.
“Did Stuart make the flower arrangements?”
“Yes,” she answers proudly.
“They’re gorgeous. Please thank him for us.”
“I will.” Okay, I’m getting short answers, but at least she’s trying to be civil.
For as much as I’d love to ignore her, I have no choice but to acknowledge my nemesis. “Camille, what a surprise to see you,” I say, purposely leaving out the word ‘pleasant’.
“Hi, Ben.” She grins as he rejoins me, wrapping his arm around my waist. He looks as confused to see her here as I do. She turns to me with a stupid, phony smile plastered across her stupid, phony face. “Oh, hello Julia.”
Apparently, I’m an afterthought. It’s my damn shower. I know her smile is completely fake because I’m mirroring the same fake expression back at her. And what’s with the ‘Oh, hello Julia’? She said it like she’s stunned to see me here.
I’m going to murder whoever invited her.
“Nice of you to come out to New Jersey,” I say, trying to adhere to the old saying ‘kill her with kindness’. Although, revising it to just ‘kill her’ sounds a whole lot better.
“I’d do anything for Ben.”
I bet you would. I cross my hands behind my back and flip her the bird.<
br />
While Ben chats with his sister and the Ice Queen, I spot Allie holding a champagne flute. I excuse myself and hightail it over to her, grabbing the drink out of her hand and down it in one quick unladylike gulp.
“Guess you saw the Bitch Twins,” she says flatly.
“Who invited Camille? I need to know who to put the hit on.”
“I had nothing to do with the invites. Ben’s mother gave a list to your mother, and your mother mailed them. I’m as shocked as you are. Even if she scored an invitation, why would she come?” Allie asks.
“No clue. We hate each other. She’s always throwing herself at him. When his grandmother died, she offered him her own special brand of comfort, the sexual kind— right in front of me. She crossed a line and ever since then, he’s kept clear of her. It pissed him off. It’s strange she’d come here.” I turn my head and watch her staring at Ben like he’s the only person in the room. He’s cordial but at a polite distance.
“She’s probably trying to get back into his good graces by playing nice with you.” Allie shakes her head then scowls in Cam-eels direction.
“Look at her. The bitch is eye fucking him.”
“He doesn’t look like he gives a rat’s ass she’s here. So technically she’s eyesturbating. See What I did there? Masturbating, Eye…”
I hold up a hand, stopping her midway. “Got it, Al. I’m going to ignore her. I don’t like her. I don’t trust her and want no part of her games.”
“If she fucks with you, she fucks with me. That girl doesn’t stand a chance.”
Ben rejoins us, giving Allie a quick kiss on her cheek. “Thanks for doing all this. I know Julia appreciates it.”
“You both know I hate this,” I say.
Allie locks her arm in mine. “Don’t worry, Jules. I made sure we won’t get bored.”
“Now I’m afraid.”
“Would I do anything you wouldn’t like?”
I glare at her skeptically. “Yes.”
She laughs. “You got that right. That’s why I’ll never marry. No chance of me ever dealing with this crapola. Finish saying your hellos to the snooty section. Then we’ll have a little fun.”
