Brooke & Ben: Before Fate Interrupted (12 page)

“Next time I see
you at Goodson’s I’m buying you a drink…or five.”

He laughed and
squirted a dab of Purel into his hand. “Your happiness is all the thanks I need.”

“Yeah, but five
drinks might be the only way to get you back to my place.”

His face turned
red as he rubbed his hands together and switched tracks, giving her the
post-care rundown one more time before ringing her up and wishing her a good
day. The bell rang as she left the shop and stepped out into the bright sunshine,
freeing him up to start wondering what Brooke was doing at this very moment.
Probably getting ready to serve up some mutton with a side of steamed
vegetables to the
Society of the Haves
at the new convention center downtown.

“Next time talk
her into something bigger.”

Ben’s gut
twisted at the gravelly voice behind him. He slowly wheeled to find Doug and
his fifty-two year old muscles - veins worming through them like rotten apples
and all – waiting for him, arms folded across his ridiculously bulky chest.
Doug stood in front of the black curtain leading to the office and restroom in
the back, glaring at Ben like a pissed off WWE star.

He went to the
glass counter filled with portfolios and earrings and popped open the register
sitting on top. “Bigger tats mean bigger money, Ben,” he said, slipping some
twenties into his faded black jeans. “Come on, man, you know that.”

“She didn’t want
bigger,
Doug
.”

He slammed the
drawer shut. “You have to make her want bigger!” He took a moment to compose
himself and ran a hand through his jelled-up hair. “This job is about more than
just being an artist, which is a big part – I get that – but you also have to
be a salesman and learn to
upsell
.”

Ben returned to
cleaning his station and his thoughts about Brooke, determined not to let Doug
get in the way.

Doug hiked his
pants up, his chest straining his Iowa Hawkeyes t-shirt. “Didn’t you ever take
a business course?”

Ben snorted.
“Yeah, at the University of Tattoo Artistry.”

Doug didn’t
respond so Ben looked up to find him scowling. Doug came closer, a wallet chain
bouncing against his hip. “Look, I know you’re good, Ben. You do some of the
best work I’ve ever seen, but this job is more than that.” His breath reeked of
coffee and cigarettes. “You have to go the extra mile to get from
good
to
great
. Comprende?”

Ben sprayed the
chair down with sanitizer. “I gotcha.”

Doug slapped him
on the back with a meaty smack, and headed for the front door. “Going golfing
for probably the last time of the year. If you need anything I’m busy,” he
said, pushing through a glass door with
Iron
Horse Ink
stenciled across it. “Upsell, Ben!” he shouted just before the
door shut.

Ben watched him
climb into a black Hummer and speed away like he owned the road, swearing to
all that was holy he would never act like that when he owned his own shop
someday.

“Don’t listen to
him, Ben.”

He turned to
Janna with a sheepish smile.

“He’s just nervous
about next weekend’s competition. Man hasn’t had an ounce of sugar in two weeks
and is driving me crazy.” Her high heels that made her almost as tall as he was
clicked closer, a twinkle in her eye. “You just keep doing what you’ve been
doing and I won’t settle for anything less.”

He smiled back
at her and continued wiping down the chair.

Janna was the
shit. She called the shots around here and everyone knew it. Doug was little
more than a lobbyist bully. Always pushing (scheming) to get his way, regardless
of who might get hurt. He didn’t have the power he thought he did - a result of
marrying into a business that wasn’t his to begin with.

Janna sighed. “Man
is going to drive away every employee we have.” Her black high heels added four
inches to her already tall frame and clicked against the concrete floor as she
went to the front door and turned the sign from OPEN to CLOSED. “Let’s go grab
a quick cup of coffee around the corner. I want to talk to you about something.”

His eyebrows
dipped beneath the brim of his ball cap, a bad feeling growing in the pit of
his stomach. “Okay.”

Chapter
Eleven

Saints Patio and
Pub had the best tenderloin in town and Brooke wasn’t above eating the whole
thing either. Fries included. She wasn’t one to pick at her plate but couldn’t
remember the last time she had consumed a full meal. After losing her good
friend and her home, her appetite had been the next thing to hit the bricks.
She took another bite, careful not to drip ketchup and mustard onto her shirt.
The glossy
Cosmopolitan
page swooshed
when she flipped it. Even the guys in the ads reminded her of Ben and she
couldn’t figure out why. They were much skinnier than he was and looked like
they couldn’t open a new jar of mayonnaise. But there his face was, on their
emaciated little model bodies. Actually, she knew why. The
why
in question was bigger than a bread box and took her to cloud
nine every single time.

But there was
something else.

Mrs. Randall’s
words rattled around in her head like loose coins in a dryer, clinking and
clanging with every turn she took.

Luck had nothing to do with it.

The words slashed
through her mind like a cold winter blast, leaving goose bumps across her arms.
She cracked a smile. Even though it made no sense, just thinking about him made
her stomach do somersaults. Brooke knew he was a douchebag player – into public
displays of exhibitionism no less - and definitely no hero like Nathan Randall,
but something kept pulling her back to him. Brooke stopped chewing, abruptly
recalling Ben coming to her rescue at Wooly’s last night.

Okay, maybe a douchebag
player with a sprinkle of hero.

She washed her
sandwich down with some Pepsi. Ben’s face popped up on the pages of the
magazine, the coaster when she lifted her glass, the TVs lining the walls, the
guy walking into the restaurant with a pretty lady on his arm. Brooke did a
double-take and so did her heart. A surge of adrenaline shot through her and
she almost spilt her drink when she lifted the magazine to cover her reddening
face.

She held her
breath, wondering if he had seen her. Her heart beat so fast she felt
lightheaded and, more than likely, unable to complete a coherent sentence. She
started praying, trying to blend into her surroundings. After a few
excruciatingly painful seconds that lasted forever, she braved to peer over the
top of the magazine like a hardboiled detective on a hot case. Ben sat down in
a booth across the room, talking with the pretty woman in kick ass heels.

Brooke ducked
back down and that’s when it hit her. She had to pee. And bad. She peeked over
the pages again and grimaced when she saw she would have to pass right by their
table to reach the restroom. Same thing went for the front door. She ducked back
down and shut her eyes so tight she saw white spots. Trapped.

“Shit,” she
whispered, contemplating a plan of action for a flawless escape that didn’t
exist.

“Can I get you
anything else?”

Her heart almost
jumped out of her chest at the sound of the waitress’ voice. Brooke’s eyes rose
just above the magazine to see her smiling face. “No thank you.” She dove back behind
the pages and pretended everything was cool.

“I can take this
whenever you’re ready.” The waitress set down the bill and finally walked the
fuck away.

Brooke shifted
in the booth, trying to find a better spot to appease her swollen bladder. It
felt like it would burst at any second and she kicked herself for not going to
the bathroom five minutes ago when she had the chance. She looked down at the
remainder of her tenderloin, which now looked about as appealing as hot chocolate
in August. Time ticked by. She wasn’t sure how much because she was afraid to
look at her watch and give away her position. Jennifer Anniston stared back at
her from the page of an advertisement for vitamin water and seemed to be laughing
at Brooke’s predicament. Brooke searched the pretty celebrity’s face, pleading
for advice because if anyone knew how to get out of a jam like this it was her.
But Jennifer only smiled and waited to see what would happen next.

“Well, well,
well…howdy, freckles.”

Brooke hesitated
before slowly peering over the top of the magazine, Jennifer really laughing
now.

Ben stood there
grinning at her with that damn
scruff
coating his cheeks, thumbs hanging from belt, black leather coat unzipped,
tight Johnny Cash t-shirt running its fingers over Ben’s abs of steel just like
Brooke wanted to do.

“
Freckles
?”

He glided into
the bench opposite her. “Sorry, been knee-deep in a
Lost
marathon lately.”

She glanced to
the table he had been sitting at to find two lonely mugs and the dark haired
woman gone. “You can’t sit here.”

“Why not?”

“Because someone
will see us.”

Ben looked
around. Other than a table of three guys in the far corner, the waitress and a super
tall bartender, they were alone. “Like who?”

“I don’t know,
but this town isn’t
that
big. Mandy
could walk in any minute, or her sister.” She lowered her voice like Mandy had
just walked in.

“Relax, no one
is going to see us, especially if we sneak back to my place for a quickie.”

Brooke’s
forehead wrinkled. “Are you insane? I’m not going back to your place!”

“Then why are
you following me?”

“I was here before
you were, Einstein.”

“Likely story,”
he grumbled, clasping his hands on the table in front of him. “Well, if you’re
not following me and I’m not following you that only leaves one option left.”

“Horrifically
bad luck?”

“I think under
the laws of destiny you have to give me your number now.”

“Think again.”

“Don’t fight
your feelings, Brooke. Last night was amazing.”

“That will never
happen again.”

He smiled that
smile that melted her insides. “Third time’s a charm.”

She leaned
closer, drawing him in. “There is no charm for horrible people, because that’s
what we are. Horrible people. And you know what happens to horrible people?”

He lightly shook
his head from side to side, literally on the edge of his seat.

“Horrible people
have horrible children.” Brooke raised her eyebrows. “Is that what you want,
Dragon
? Serial killers for children?”

He scrunched his
face up and pondered the forbidding prospect. “So now we’re having children? I
think you better slow it down just a tad, sassafras.”

“Don’t patronize
me.”

“Hey, you know
what they say: practice makes perfect.” He jerked his chin toward the front
door. “My place?”

Her face soured.
“Not a snowball’s chance in hell,” she said, barely moving her lips. “That was
a one time thing.”

Ben arched an
eyebrow. “You mean
two time
thing.”

“What are you
doing here anyway?” she asked, ignoring him. “And what happened to your Amazonian
cougar girlfriend you came in with?”

“Janna? She’s my
boss.”

Her eyes moseyed
back to the table near the front door and snapped back to him, her heart
relaxing a sliver or so. “Oh.”

His smile
returned in full force, pulling back into his two day stubble. “Just gave me a
huge raise.” He stretched an arm along the back of the booth like it was no big
deal. “She’s an awesome boss. Her husband’s an a-hole but you didn’t hear that
from me.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, guy’s a
total meathead dick.”

“No, I mean
about the raise.”

“Yep, probably
going to buy another bike, maybe a new one this time.”

“How many bikes
do you have?”

“Just one and
she is a real beaut! Vintage Triumph that you’d look amazing on the back of.”

Brooke didn’t
look impressed.

“Black on black
anniversary edition.”

She cocked an
eyebrow.

“One of only two
hundred made.”

“Well, good for
you. Congratulations.”

“You like
bikes?”

She raised an
indifferent shoulder to her ear. “They’re okay,” she lied, trying to downplay
how much guys with bikes turned her on.

“Wanna go for a
quick ride out to the lake? I’m parked over at the shop.”

“No thanks.”

“Could be the
last chance this year.”

“Mmm, I guess
not.”

He peered deeply
into her eyes and made her squirm. Or maybe it was her bladder making her squirm.
Brooke wasn’t sure. “Hey, what do you say you help me celebrate tonight?”

“Celebrate?”

“Yeah, my raise.
Maybe some stimulating conversation about how great I am over dinner and
drinks.”

Brooke glanced
at her watch. “I have to get back to work.”

His wry grin
deteriorated. “How about tomorrow then? I’ve got the whole day off.”

She pushed her
lips into the side of her face. “You’re not so hot at taking hints, are you?”

“Au contraire,
mon frère,” he said. “I’m very good at taking the hints your eyes are giving
me.”

She folded her
arms across her chest. “And just what are my eyes telling you?”

“The exact
opposite of everything you say.”

“That is so not
true.”

“See? They just
did it again.”

Brooke fought
off the image of him lying naked in his bed spontaneously flickering through
her mind. “You wish, Leatherface.”

He studied her
eyes until she looked away. “Windows to the soul.”

She dismissed
his comment with an offended
harrumph
.

“What time is
good? I’ll pick you up, and, don’t worry, we’ll take the truck.”

“Goodbye, Ben,”
she said, grabbing her purse and sliding out of the booth. “Have a nice day and
congratulations again.” With a twist of her hips, she power walked to the
restroom with her head held high, praying she wouldn’t pee her pants along the
way.

Brooke pushed
through the door and cornered a stall, yanked her jeans down and sat on the
toilet. Relief flooded her insides almost immediately. Her mind drifted back to
Ben while an endless stream sprayed loudly off the toilet’s bowl. She pulled
her cell from the purse in her lap and scrolled to his name and number. Her
thumb tapped at the screen, bringing up the delete button. Her eyes blurred it
into an electric smudge as she debated with herself in her head. A deep breath
filled her lungs and she focused in on the delete button and tapped it, part of
her regretting it as soon as she did. A bigger part, however, assured her it
was for the best. Her life had gone off the rails and Ben
whatever his last name was
would only make things worse. He and his
cocky little grin could take a flying leap. Same went for those yoked up arms
and that chest her hands yearned to explore. And don’t even bring up that thing
in his pants. Oh, no. That thing is a menace to society and needs to be stopped.

A moment later, Brooke
examined herself in the mirror as she washed her hands, hoping he would be just
as gone as his “alleged” Amazonian boss was when she came back out. She took
her time, giving him all the encouragement in the world to (for once in his
life) take a fucking hint. After a calming breath and some minor hair
adjustments, she pulled the door back and reemerged into the restaurant.

Ben stood there
waiting with a smile to greet her, his leg propped against the wall, trying on
his best James Dean for size. “Thought you might’ve fallen in. I was about to
see if you needed any assistance.”

“I’m surprised
you don’t have secret cameras installed in there to find out, ya perve.” She
pushed past him. He grabbed her arm and spun her around to face him. A tiny
gasp skidded past her lips when his body pressed up against hers.

He stared hard
into her upturned face. “I can’t stop thinking about you. And I know you feel
the same.”

She swam in his chocolate
milk colored eyes, looking for something to hang onto, fighting the flush of
heat between her legs, desperate for breath. “You’re insufferable.”

The touch of a
smile tugged at one corner of his lips. “See? Your eyes just gave you away
again.”

She jerked her
arm back and shoved him in the chest, feeling those rounded pecs against her
palms one last time.

He stepped aside
and watched her storm off, grappling for something to say before she simultaneously
burst out the front door and his life. “You’re making a big mistake!”

Brooke stopped
with her hand on the glass door and watched a red Jeep Wrangler with the top
down whip into the lot. His self-assuredness made her blood boil. She stomped
back over to him, a heavy scowl stealing her normally sweet disposition. “No,
this
is making a big mistake.” She
wadded his t-shirt into her fist, pulled him to her lips and kissed him hard. Her
hands pressed against his chest of their own volition with a mind of their own.
Sparks streaked across her closed eyes.