Fade In (16 page)

“They are,” I confess shyly, “in small doses. Don't get me wrong. I wouldn't trade them in or anything, but they can be flighty. However, they love each other and that was nice to be around growing up. Winnies’ parents divorced when we were at NYU and it was vicious. I love my mom and dad, but they are hippies.”

He almost gets away without finishing our terms for his secret road trip.

“You're doing well at distracting me from your five things. Care to share number three?” I put my arms on my hips, not leaving room for argument.

“I don't like storms. No, let me be clear. I'm a pussy when it comes to storms. Tornadoes. Typhoons,” he lists. Then in a smaller voice, he adds, “Thunderstorms.”

“You are scared of storms?! That's priceless. What do you do when it storms out then?” I pretend to be sympathetic and place my hand on his arm. “Do you cry?”

“No. I don't cry. I usually just put my earbuds in and go to bed. I've never liked them. I was in a tornado once when I was a kid at camp. It scared the shit out of me. I haven't been right since.” Ben's smile shows his embarrassment. It's endearing and my favorite secret so far.

“What else? Two more. You're almost there. I'm almost totally yours for the day.”

Ben's eyes catch fire at the mention of me being his but it's fleeting. “Just for one day, huh?” His face sobers, and I realize that my hand is still touching his bicep. I look at it and feel it flex under my grip. Something in the way he said his last words changed the air around us.

“You know what I mean.” I retract my hand and steadily say, “I'll go with you tomorrow. No questions. Two more.”

He steps up to me. “I left Washington because my best friend, Keith, committed suicide and I couldn't stay. I couldn't be there anymore.”

I don't know how to react to that one. I've never felt maternal or nurturing. I've never had reasons to. But hearing him actually tell me something like that almost knocks the wind out of me. I heart feels pained for him.

“I'm sorry. I'll go with you tomorrow. You don't have to tell me anything else. It was a stupid game.” I move to start cleaning up the wine glasses and straighten up the couch pillows.

I feel almost trapped. I want to comfort him and haven't the slightest inkling about how. So I do the Tatum thing and get out of the situation.

When I reach the kitchen, I turn to see Ben still standing in front of the mantle, both of his large hands bracing himself and his head bowed. He's breathing so heavily that I can see the rise and fall of his shoulders from here.

He collects himself and joins me in the kitchen, gathering his things and acting like he's about to pull the ripcord on our evening and bolt. It is a bit relieving, honestly. I never know what to say in times like this.

“Ben, I'll walk you to the elevator,” I offer, needing to at least make some sort of gesture that says I care. I care.

He nods. His mood is sullen. I hate feeling responsible for prodding for information. I was just trying to be playful while getting details on this man who has my life on view in front of him on a daily basis. I should tell him that.

It's quiet on the way to the elevators. When we get there and he's pushed for down button, I begin my plight. “Benny, I apologize for prying. I simply want to know you better and thought it was a good way to pull at your particulars.”
Benny? Where did that come from?
I fidget with my fingers. “I would have gone with you anyway. I trust you. I know it will be fun.”

He smiles, and the acid I felt in the pit of my stomach drains away. “Don't feel like that. I'm sorry I slipped away like that.” He leans in and kisses my cheek. “I would have answered ten.”

The door to the elevator rings its arrival, and I step back as he moves forward. “You only answered four.”

When he turns, his grin is still spread unashamedly across his beautiful face. “Number five. I like you calling me Benny.”

The door closes.

My phone vibrates a few minutes later with a text from Ben while I'm getting ready for bed.

Ben
: Be ready at 9. Bring a jacket and wear reasonable shoes.

I'll be Benny's tomorrow.

Saturday morning, I wake up feeling much better than the day before. I make myself coffee, and I'm happy to see that I have a few hours before Ben will pick me up.

I take my time showering and dressing for our day. I choose a pair of skinny jeans and a silk tank top. The weather is supposed to be warm, and with a jacket in tow, I'll be safe for anything. I finish the look off with a pair of suede flats. They are the most sensible footwear I have except for my running shoes. And those are just not happening.

I drink my coffee and surf the net while listening to morning television. I reply to a few emails for work and finalize some things for Winnie and Cooper's party, approving the proof of the invitation we got back from the printers.

At a quarter until nine, my phone rings. I see that it's Cooper and I answer. “What's up?”

“Good morning. What are you doing today?”

“I'm going with Ben somewhere.”

“Somewhere? That sounds vague. Where are you going?”

I know that I don't have to tell him that I don't know, but I sort of want to get his take on it. “I don't know where I'm going, only that I'm leaving at nine, I need a jacket, and it was recommended that I wear sensible—his words, not mine—shoes.”

“Oh, sounds fun. How's the rib?”

I expected a bit more pestering from him. “It's much better. I took it pretty easy yesterday.” My wayward thoughts revert back to what I said. “You're not worried that I'm unknowingly going somewhere with a man I've only known for merely a week?” I question, reviewing his best big brother card.

“No. Not really. I like Ben,” he says rather plainly.

“You like him? You've only met him, like, once.”

“You don't like him? I don't get where you're going with this.”

Men! And this one in particular is confusing the hell out of me.

“I just thought that you'd have more to say about it is all. He's a great P.A.”

“And you like him.” This is the badgering ass I was missing? I need to learn to pick my battles more wisely.

“I like him enough to employ him.” He's going to see right through me. I rinse my coffee cup out and place it in the dishwasher.

“What else do you like him enough for?” I hear the telltale smooching sound of Winnie in the background.

“Is Winnie there?”

I can tell that he moves the phone away from his mouth to talk to her. “Win, she likes Ben and she is wearing sensible shoes.”

“I don't like him. I mean, I like him. I—” And my other line rings through. “I have to go. Ben's calling on the other line. I'll call you guys later or tomorrow or never again.”

I hang up, not worried about offending them and answer Ben's call. “Hi.”

“Good morning. Are you ready?” Am I ready? Every minute I spend with this enigma of a man, I become more and more ready for something, but I just don't know what.

“Yeah, I'll be right down. Do I need to bring anything?” I look around for something that I'm forgetting.

“Nope. Did you dress like I said? Comfy shoes?” he nags.

“Yes, sir. But for the record, all of my shoes are comfy. These shoes are comfy and sensible, I think. They're flats. That's what you meant right?”

“Right. Just get down here. I have coffee and a bagel for you.”

Making it down to the lobby in record time and without any clumsy bumps or tumbles, I wave at Phil as I walk out the doors. I find Ben leaning on a jet-black Jeep with hinted windows. The man is wearing loosely fitting jeans and a Muse t-shirt.

“You like Muse?” I ask, inwardly delighted that he has great taste in music. Bad music can really sour a car ride.

“Oh yeah. Do you?” A megawatt beam shoots at me.

“Oooh yeah.”

He opens the door for me, and I have to do a quick bounce to lift myself into the vehicle. Ben stands close behind, waiting to see if I need help. When I don't, he closes my door and strides around to his side.

“Is this your Jeep?” I wonder out loud. I think to myself that I've never asked what he drives or if he even had a car.

“It's mine. I don't get to drive it much here in the city. It's just as easy to walk or take the subway as it is to find a place to park. I love it though.” He flexes his right arm and pumps his fist low. “Tough, huh?”

“Very tough. So where are we going?” I can't even wait until the damn Jeep is in motion to ask.

“Pennsylvania. That's all you’re getting from me.”

“What the hell is in Pennsylvania?” I'm puzzled. “Philly?”

“Nope. Just sit there and enjoy the ride. Your coffee is hot, you have a bagel and schmear in the bag by your feet, and my iPod is ready to go. Relax and enjoy.”

“Okay.” I look him straight in the eye and give over a piece of my control to him. What am I in for?

He starts driving, so I open the bag, and damn, he got the good stuff. My favorite bagel. I like him.

Wait. I think I pay him to know that.

“I hope you saved the receipt for the breakfast and all that stuff yesterday, too. You don't need to be buying my meals,” I say with a mouth that's half full.

He quickly pulls the Jeep into a parking lot and smoothly parks in an available space. He turns the engine off and turns to face me.

“Okay. We need to get a few things straight for today, Tatum.” Emerald eyes look at me with utmost determination. “Today, I'm not working. Neither are you. Today we are Ben and Tatum, out and about, having a good time. Think of it like a date.”

“A date?” Is this a date? Hold up. When did I agree to a date? Then again, what could it hurt? It's one day-date.

“A date. I'm paying. I'm driving. I'm in control. Do you agree or disagree to this arrangement?”

“No one has ever asked me to go on a date while I'm already on the date.” I can't help but smile and be a little excited that he wants to be on a date with me—and he didn't mind telling me so either.

“Will this date interfere with our working relationship?” That's the responsible question I needed to ask.

He shakes his head no.

“Is this like a friends-buddies kind of date?” My eyebrows rise and I lean forward, trying to gauge where he's at in this whole thing.

“Not for me, but I can't answer that for you. You don't even have to think about that right now. Just relax and let me show you a good time. Deal?” He says this with such confidence that I'm speechless.

And
not for him?
He doesn't want to be my friend or buddy? Then the little dinger-bell goes off in my head with the answer.

Ding.
He likes me.

I'm in. “Deal.”

We drive west out of the city. He opts for county highways as opposed to the major thoroughfare. He looks strong and peaceful while driving. The radio has been turned down so far, and now that my bagel is gone and my coffee buzz has set in, I plan to test our musical compatibility. You can learn a lot about someone from the music they listen to, and I am about to see what Benny is into.

“May I see your iPod, please?” I ask rhetorically as I grab it from the perch it sits on. I scroll through the artists first. He does like the oldies. He's got everything from Sam Cooke to Alice in Chains. I'm very pleased.

I ask, “Wanna hear anything? I'm taking requests.”

“Surprise me.”

I make it my mission. I run across a band when I am browsing by artists but can’t remember what song it is that was so popular until I select them. Remembering how much I loved it, I choose “Got You Where I Want You” by The Flys.

The single guitar riff begins and I turn it up.

“Great song.” Ben taps his fingers on the steering wheel to the steady beat. Both of our heads bob in time to the music. Just as the chorus begins to bellow from the speakers, we both start a second too early with, “Ooooooooh, got you where I want you” and laugh in concert, picking up the lyrics on time the second go-around.

The song ends and he does a ‘gimme’ gesture with his hand. He takes the player and pulls over onto the side of the road. He jumps out of his door and turns to ask me. “Do you mind if we pull the top off? It's a good day for a topless ride.” He wags his eyebrows.

Facetious bastard. “By all means, the top has to go.” I know this double entendre well. It sounds like something I would have said. Reaching down to grab my sunglasses and lip gloss, I'm brought back to reality with the thump of my head off the oh-shit handle on the console in front of me.

Before I can bring my hand into contact with the smarting spot on my head, he's there by me with an ‘ouch’ face, gently rubbing the spot back and forth. I'm busted and busted.

“Yeah. My bad,” I confess, biting my lip as a distraction from my newest injury. “At least it's out of the way now. I do that about once a day. I'm a klutz.” I know that sweeping this under the rug won't work, but it comes as second nature for me to play it off that way.

“Got you good, didn't it?” Ben’s mouth closes in on my forehead and I fossilize in my seat. His lips are warm and soft as they affix to my thumping skull.

These kinds of kisses really are magic. They're “all-better kisses.” I think the healing powers come from endorphins that kick in from the sheer knowledge of someone's pure affection for you. I try to memorize the feeling. My close-paid attention individually registers first his top lip pulling away while his lower lips stays stuck to my bruised skin for just a few seconds longer.