Text Wars: May the Text be With You ... (An Accidentally in Love Story Book 3)

by Whitney Dineen

  It’s not that I’m actually looking to date anyone now that things have changed between me and Ben, but I still need to figure out why my app isn’t working. I can’t go public with it until I know I can stand behind the matches it makes, and the only way to do that is to pretend that I’m looking.

  When Charley leaves for the day, I hurry to take a quick shower and then I pore over takeout menus. Ben and I are eating in tonight, which means romance is definitely a possibility. Therefore I want to make sure my food selection is a romantic one. I settle on sushi from a Japanese restaurant down the street with appetizers from an Italian restaurant. Then I order dessert from the Sunshine Bakery.

  Twenty minutes before Ben is due to arrive, I slip into a pair of super soft capri pants and a sleeveless cotton blouse that ties in the front. Then I put on some big silver hoop earrings, a delicate bracelet, and my mood ring.

  When I look myself over in the mirror, my stomach starts to jump around like it’s hosting a Mexican jumping bean tournament. I make a kissy face just for practice, then go into the living room to light some candles.

  I’m full of excitement and trepidation. I really, really want tonight to go well. It’s one thing to connect with someone while you’re away — I mean, that saying “What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas” is a saying for a reason. Getting back to your own space is the true test, though.

  Having said that, I already knew Ben was an exceptional man before we went to Florida (even though I did find him inordinately irritating). But all that head butting is behind us. From here on out, our path should be smooth sailing.

  Thirty-Two

  Ben

  “Hi! How was the big trip?” Gwen asks.

  My stomach tightens as I think about all the things I’m not going to tell her. Not because I was cheating on her or anything. We’ve only had one date, but I still need to let her know we aren’t going to have anymore. “Good, yeah. How’ve you been?”

  “A bit stressed, to be honest,” she says. “I had to pull five teeth from a nine-year-old sugar-addict. Five. Can you imagine? Poor little guy has a condition that makes him high risk for anesthetic, so he had to be awake for it. It was not fun. Also, two of my sister’s bridesmaids got into a huge fight yesterday when we were at my parents’ house working on guest favors.”

  “Really?” I ask, my heart sinking a little. How am I going to tell her I’m not able to make it on Saturday?

  “Oh, yes, it was delightful. There were even some clumps of hair on the kitchen floor by the time we got them separated. And I ended up with a black eye out of it, so that’s lovely.”

  “That’s terrible. Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. Honestly, the only thought that’s kept me going is that I’ll have you with me at the party. Thanks for that, by the way. You’re my knight in a shining space suit.”

  I rub the bridge of my nose as the pressure in my head builds. Glancing at my watch, I see I should be on my way to Serafina’s already. I have to just say it. “So, Gwen, there is something I need to tell you …”

  I’m currently in a cab heading to Serafina’s place in SoHo. I’ve already texted her that I’m running seven minutes late (which is actually nineteen minutes late in my books, but since she doesn’t share the same sense of time as me, I’m calling it seven). My conversation with Gwen went so much better than I thought it would. She took the news like an absolute champ. She actually said she wasn’t feeling the whole romantic vibe with me either, but that she’d love to add me to her friend group, which is a massive relief. She even admitted she’d been wondering if Serafina and I had something going on between us based on all the bantering we do.

  I decide that maybe I’ll have Serafina come with me to The Salty Nuts one evening to meet Gwen (and maybe see if we can bring a fourth for my new buddy). The only fly in the ointment is that I’m still going with Gwen to the engagement party, but as a friend only. Well, she may let her busybody aunt think we’re an item, but other than that, no strings attached. Except, of course, finding a way to tell Serafina, which I am not looking forward to.

  When we pull up in front of her building, I step out and take a good look at it. It’s a ten-story modern structure with huge windows and I’m sure a price tag to match. She really must make twelve times as much as me to afford this place.

  Serafina buzzes me up and I step into a freight elevator, then I’m whisked upstairs to the third floor. She’s standing in the doorway when the elevator door opens. “Hey, handsome,” she says with a grin that any man would be honored to be on the receiving end of.

  “Hey yourself,” I tell her. See? I can do the flirting. I hand her the bottle of Sancerre I brought from home, and we give each other an I’ve-missed-you-so-much-even-though-it’s-only-been-a-few-hours kiss before she pulls me into her apartment and slams the door with her foot. We stay right in the entry and make out like I imagine a couple would after one of them has spent several months in space.

  “Wow, that was quite the hello,” I tell her. “I hope you don’t greet all your dinner guests that way.”

  “Only the hot ones,” she says, holding her free hand on my chest. “Supper will be here any minute.”

  “Fondue, I hope,” I tell her with a mock-hopeful expression.

  She laughs, then pulls a face. “Never again.” Holding up the bottle of wine, she asks, “Should we crack open this baby while we wait?”

  “Sounds good.” I get my first real look at her apartment — it’s a veritable colorfest in here, filled with paintings and bean bag chairs and the most comfy-looking sofa I’ve ever seen. Everywhere I look is bright and happy, just like Serafina.

  “What do you think?” she asks as she glances around her own home. “Is it too much for you?”

  “I love it. It reminds me of you,” I say before I think through my words. My cheeks heat up and I feel a slight panic. Abort! Abort! It’s too early for this. You’re going to freak her out. “I mean, it’s bright and happy, like you … which is … very welcoming.”

  Serafina laughs while she pulls the cork out of the bottle. “Relax. I don’t think you just said you love me.”

  Letting out a breath, I tell her, “Thank God, because I was nervous I may have scared you off there.”

  She pours us each a glass, then walks over to me and hands me one. “You can’t scare me. I’m a Libra. We’re very resilient creatures.”

  I chuckle. “I’m starting to see that.”

  “Really?” she asks, raising her eyebrow excitedly.

  “Really,” I tell her, pulling her to me and brushing my lips along her neck. “If you’re a typical Libra woman, then I’m totally sold on that star sign.” Then I put my finger to my mouth in an exaggerated Dr. Evil manner, and add, “Although, I have seen you let two tiny octogenarians boss you around.”

  “That doesn’t count. They’re my grandparents,” she tells me, putting her arms around my neck and pulling me toward her. “I have to let them boss me around. But I’m afraid you won’t have those same privileges.”

  “I’d never dream of telling you what to do.” We kiss again, and I have a very good feeling tonight is going to be one of the best of my entire life.

  “Glad we got that straight,” she says. We’re just about to do some more delicious smooching when the buzzer goes off. “Dinner’s here.”

  Serafina starts for the door, but I pull her back and give her one more quick kiss. “I’m actually more excited about dessert.”

  “Oh, there’s going to be some dessert. Believe me.”

  Thirty-Three

  Serafina

  I’m not a kiss and tell kind of girl, but suffice it to say, if I were, I could write a really steamy romance novel based on Ben’s and my recent activities. He stayed over at my house and we barely slept. In fact, he called in sick to work, claiming that he must have caught a bug on the plane. The entire next day was spent napping and relishing in the new sensations we’ve unlocked in each other. While I would never say this to B
en, I’m starting to believe in Charley’s insta-love voodoo. Not that we just met, but it has been less than a month and most of that time has been spent sparring.

  When Ben got up and went to work this morning, I promised to go over to his place tonight to meet Mr. Spock. I’ve been warned there are about seven hundred behaviors his tabby will perceive as an act of war, so I’m a little nervous. Which is why I plan on having a little baggie of lunch meat in my pocket. I need this cat to love me.

  Charley and I spend the day poring over the feedback that our test-daters are emailing to us about our app. Most of them are glowingly positive. Meanwhile, I get another email from a potential suitor. Bob is a proctologist who felt it necessary to tell me that the human rectum is the most under-appreciated part of the human body. While this may be true, it’s also not the most romantic lead-in. I messaged him back that I’m a nostril girl, so I don’t think it’ll work out.

  Lying prone on the floor in front of one of the eight-foot windows in my apartment, I bemoan, “How can everyone else seem to love our dating app, but I’ve attracted every weirdo in the metro area?”

  Charley laughs, “Maybe it’s you and not the app.” She clicks away on her computer before saying, “It says here that you are open-minded. That could be part of the problem.”

  “Being open-minded in no way suggests I’m easy, into orgies, happy to pay all the bills, or that I encourage butthole fixations. Open-minded is good. It means I’m tolerant, and caring of my fellow man…”

  Before I can finish my thought, Charley interrupts, “Oh, look. You just got another message.” Click, click. “It’s from a woman who read your profile. That’s weird.” Then my young friend starts laughing. “She thinks you might be her soulmate.”

  “I’m not gay!” Not that there’s anything wrong with that. I’m just not looking for women.

  “You want me to remove ‘open-minded’ now?”

  “Please,” I tell her, wondering if people really think open-minded is an invitation to, well, everything.

  After Charley leaves, I make myself pretty for my date with Ben. I curl my hair in beach waves which causes me to fantasize about how much fun we’d have on a tropical vacation. Then I put on my best red lipstick, Russian Red, and dream about all the places I can leave my mark on him.

  By the time I get into a cab and head uptown, I’m not sure I want to bother with dinner. I’d much rather take a tour of my new boyfriend’s bedroom, living room, kitchen counter …

  It isn’t until I get to Ben’s building near the Columbia campus that I realize I forgot Mr. Spock’s treats. I hurry to a deli a few buildings away hoping to find something suitable. On the advice of the woman behind the counter, I buy a can of Cheez Whiz. According to her, cats can’t get enough of the stuff. It isn’t until I’m back on the street that I wonder how I’m going to surreptitiously pull out a can of processed cheese and offer it to Mr. Spock without Ben noticing.

  Ben is standing in front of his building when I get there, looking around. “Lose something?” I call out when I’m about ten feet away.

  He runs toward me. “I saw you get out of the cab and walk down the street. I was afraid you were lost.”

  “You were looking out the window for me? That’s pretty cute.” I take a step toward him. Then I reach up and leave the first of what I’m sure will be many lipstick prints on his person.

  When we pull apart, he says, “I missed you.”

  “I missed you too,” I practically purr. “Now let’s go inside so we don’t get arrested for indecent exposure.” His look of confusion prompts me to add, “I want to see you in less clothing.”

  Grabbing my hand, Ben practically pulls me into his building. It’s not quite as impressive as my loft, but it has some solid pre-war charm. By the time we get off the elevator, I’m already working on the buttons of his shirt. I’m in such a fog of need that I don’t even look at his apartment until a ball of fur launches itself across the room and lands on Ben’s head.

  “Hey there, Mr. Spock,” he greets the orange and brown cannonball. “I want you to meet Serafina.”

  Mr. Spock eyes me with what I can only interpret as scorn. I don’t make any false moves, and instead I whisper, “Mr. Spock, it’s a pleasure.” I heard somewhere that you shouldn’t talk loudly when you first meet an animal. That could be utter nonsense, but so far Mr. Spock hasn’t hissed at me, so…

  “Why don’t you go sit on the couch and hang with Spock while I open a bottle of wine,” Ben suggests.

  I reach into my purse to assure myself that the Cheez Whiz is still there. Then I walk across the small living space with a tabby on my heels. These pre-WWII buildings are not open concept, so I can’t see Ben in the kitchen. This allows me to pop the top off Mr. Spock’s treat and spray a small amount on my finger. He attacks it like I go at a hot fudge sundae. Nice.

  I spray several more dollops until he’s perched on my lap and purring like I’m his favorite person in this world. Ben walks in and whistles, “Wow, look at you two. Fast friends already.”

  “Cats appreciate my innate balance,” I tell him. Liar, liar, pants on fire.

  Ben sits down next to me and hands me a glass of wine. He raises it in the air and toasts, “To the perfection of the Libra woman.” My insides turn into molten lava. While I know he doesn’t believe in the zodiac, I still find it endearing that he no longer seems antagonized by it.

  After we toast and sip, he leans over to kiss me. Just as our lips touch, we’re enveloped by a stench so intense I immediately start to gag. Ben leans back and looks at me with an alarmed expression. “Are you okay?”

  He thinks I did this? “Are you?” I counter.

  We both look down at Mr. Spock. “Spock, was that you?” Ben demands. The cat lies down on my lap and rolls over before releasing more noxious fumes.

  “Does he do that often?” I ask in total horror.

  “Only when he has milk products. Much like your grandfather, he’s lactose intolerant.”

  Holy. Crap. I’ve just fed this little feline a good half-cup of Cheez Whiz and he’s lactose intolerant? This cannot end well.

  As I’m about to confess my crime, Mr. Spock jumps off my lap and makes a run for what I’m assuming is the bathroom (or wherever people have their litter boxes set up). Ben says, “I better go check on him.” I know he doesn’t make it when Ben yells out, “No, Spock, not on the rug.”

  “Do you need some help?” I call, hoping against hope Ben turns down my offer.

  “No! I mean, no, thank you, this is not how I want you to see my little guy here.” If he only knew I was the responsible party…

  I reach over and grab my wine glass when Ben’s phone starts pinging away. Just to be clear, I’m not a snoop. I firmly believe that all people have a right to privacy, but on the sixth ping, I start to think there might be an emergency, so I pick up the phone and take a peek.

  Gwen: Hey, Ben, I just got off the phone with my aunt and she can’t wait to meet you.

  * * *

  Gwen: She says that it’s about time I found myself a good man. -smiley face-

  * * *

  Gwen: We’re going to have so much fun at the engagement party this weekend.

  * * *

  Gwen: Be warned though, my family is going to want to know when our big day is. -laughing face- What do you think, would a winter wedding work for you?

  * * *

  Gwen: …

  What in the fresh hell is going on here? Is Ben seeing someone else? What kind of question is that? Of course, he’s seeing someone, and apparently her name is Gwen and she’s planning their wedding.

  Oh. My. God. Ben is a cheater. And he’s cheating with me! Which makes me the other woman. No way am I on board for that. This upsets my delicate balance to the point where I want to scream. But instead of alerting him, I simply pick up my purse and storm to the front door.

  Before I can leave, I walk back to the coffee table, pull out the Cheez Whiz and spray it all over. T
hat’ll show him not to mess with me. I really want to slam the door as I leave but I don’t want Ben running after me. I don’t need a major scene at the moment. I just need to go home and have a great big, fat cry.

  Thirty-Four

  Ben

  “Poor Mr. Spock. What happened to you, buddy?” I ask, as my cat arches his back to do his business while maintaining eye contact. I glance up at the ceiling, wondering if this is as awkward for him as it is for me. The timing literally could not be worse. Well, I suppose that’s not true. It would be worse if it happened about two hours from now.

  “Sorry, Serafina!” I call down the hall, while opening the bathroom window to let the smell out. “I’m afraid he’s really not feeling well.”

  Hurrying to the medicine cabinet, I get out my bottle of emergency kaolin-pectin for just such an occasion. I pour some onto a small plastic plate and set it down for him to lap up when he’s done in the litter box. Then I get on my rubber gloves and get ready to change out his litter. It’s got to be done immediately to stop the smell from lingering. I’ve probably been in the bathroom for a good ten minutes. I yell out an apology to Serafina and tell her I’ll be there as soon as possible. “I don’t think we should go out for dinner though!” I say. “Just in case Mr. Spock needs me.”

  Serafina doesn’t answer, which I find a little odd. She’s not exactly what you’d call a quiet person, so I’m not sure what’s going on. Could she be mad that we’re not going out to eat?

  Finally, Spock seems to be okay. He lies down on the cool tile floor and rests his face on my bathmat. I crouch and give him a few scratches. Then, after refreshing his litter box, I tie up the garbage bag, wash my hands, and hurry down the hall with the bag held as far from my person as possible. “I’m just going to run this to the trash chute and be right back.”