The Casual Rule (6 page)

I hate when my words come back to bite me in the ass.

“Okay. I’m originally from New Jersey.”

“Where in New Jersey?”

“The Shore. Near Seaside Heights.” I take a sip of sangria then tip the glass, plunging two fingers down in a very unladylike fashion to scoop out a few pieces of fruit. I don’t care. I’m not on a date and I’m starving.

“I know the area,” he says, pretending he doesn’t notice my terrible table manners.

 “Did you go to the Jersey Shore in the summer too?” I take another sip of sangria and fish out the last piece of fruit. Dammit. Where’s our food?

“I went to the Hamptons. My family owns a house in Amagansett. When I was younger we spent most of our summers there.” He grabs the wooden spoon from the pitcher and spoons more fruit into my glass. That was sweet. I didn’t realize my hunger was that obvious. He probably thinks I’m a slob.

“Oh, thanks,” I say, looking down at my glass full of fruit. “You don’t go to the Hamptons anymore?”

“When I can. I hate fighting the summer traffic to Long Island on the weekends.”

“I hate the traffic too.  I have the same issues going to Jersey.”

“Do you go back to the shore at all?” he asks.

“As much as I can. My parents still live there. It’s my home. I could never give up being so close to the ocean.”

“Are your parents close to the beach?”

“Six houses away. It’s not a big town.” I dip my fingers in my glass and pinch a chunk of apple between my index finger and thumb, popping it in my mouth. The fruit is soaked in wine. It’s so freaking good.

“Are you an only child?” he asks.

“Hardly,” I snort.

“How many Conti siblings are there?”

“I’m the youngest of six. Three girls, three boys. Apparently my parents really liked each other.”

“It would seem so.” He chuckles softly. “It must have been a madhouse.”

“Yes it was,” I say fondly. “I miss it sometimes. The chaos. Although it’s nice not fighting for time in front of the bathroom mirror.”

“So you just have the one roommate now?”

“Yes, Allie and I grew up together. We went to the same grammar school, even the same college.”

“You live in the city now?”

“Yup, the West Village.”

The Drooler shows up with our meal. Thank God. I’m less annoyed that she has devoted all of her attention to Ben, because I’m completely focused on our food. Our dinner, like last time, is served on gorgeous intricately patterned ceramic plates. It’s a stunning presentation, but I don’t have time to admire it. I need to eat.

Food! Ben points out each dish and explains what he’s ordered.

“That’s tortilla paisana; it’s a Spanish omelet with ham, potato, onion, and asparagus. These are the shredded chicken empanadas; they make delicious empanadas here. That’s chorizo, it’s cooked in a cider, you can dip that crusty bread next to it in the liquid at the bottom. Believe me, it’s worth it. This dish is the pulpo a la gallega, the octopus. It’s very simple really, just boiled with salt, paprika and olive oil.” A sly grin curls up from his lips as he hands me a salad plate. “I think you know what these are. Spinach free, just for you.”

“Spinach should be outlawed,” I mumble.

The freedom of a non-date dinner out has really relaxed me. I go for it, piling up a little bit of everything on my plate. It smells heavenly. Ben must have a pretty decent palate.

“More sangria, Julia?” Ben asks.

“Yes. Thank you,” I say as I scarf down a piece of octopus.

“I have no fruit to offer. It seems it’s all been taken.” He smirks.
Wise ass
.

“Emilio’s must have gone cheap on the fruit in this pitcher. I’d complain to the manager,” I reply sarcastically.

“Yes, I’m sure that’s it.” He laughs as he pours each of us another glass.

“Thank you.”

We’re both enjoying the gastronomic delights in front of us. I like tapas, a little taste of everything. What a nice way to eat. I look across the table at Ben. He smiles politely, then his expression changes. He looks serious. He tilts his head and looks at me. I can tell he’s debating whether or not he wants to say something.

Good God, don’t tell me there’s something else stuck in my teeth.

“I thought I saw you,” he says quietly as he leans into the table toward me.

I frown.

“At the cheese shop on Bleeker Street, I thought I saw you there,” he explains.

My stomach flips. Should I admit that I saw him there and ran like a coward?

“Oh? I didn’t notice you,” I lie.

“I tried to speak to you, but you left before I could reach you.”

“What did you want?” At the time, I assumed it was to pour salt in my wounds and embarrass me. But after getting to know Ben a little better…I’m rethinking that was his intention.

“I wanted to apologize for teasing you about the watch. I was an ass.” His expression softens. I can tell he’s sincere.

 “Oh. I only asked you on a dare from Allie. It’s my biggest downfall. I can’t say no to a dare.”

“It shows you have an adventurous side,” he asserts.

“Or I’m just plain dumb,” I counter.

“Let’s stick with adventurous,” he says, looking amused.

“That works for me. By the way, this omelet is delicious,” I say as I devour another mouth-watering bite off my fork. “Why were you in the Village?”

“My friend Camille lives in the Village. I was visiting her.”

“The brunette?” I frown.

“I thought you didn’t see me,” he teases.

Crap. I was right. I’m just plain dumb.

“Okay, you got me. I saw you but I thought you were an ass at the park, so I left before you could speak to me.”

“Do you still think I’m an ass?” He tilts his head raising a brow.

“I’m still deciding.” I grin.

“Well, let me know when you figure it out.” He raises his sangria glass to me, winks, then takes a sip.

“Okay, maybe after dinner.” I laugh. “So, what about you, Ben? Where’s your family from?”

“Here actually. My parents live on the Upper East Side. My place is a few blocks from here.”

“Any siblings?” I ask, eyeing the crusty bread on the side of his plate.

“An older sister. She’s married and lives in Connecticut,” he says as he passes the piece of bread to me. He’s very observant. He must have noticed me lusting after it. Then again, maybe I’m just too obvious.

I nod as I dip the bread in the liquid at the bottom of the chorizo plate then in a very unladylike fashion, shove the last bite in my mouth.

“This is refreshing,” Ben says.

“What?”

“You. Seeing a girl eat like a person who is hungry. It’s nice. Most women eat two lettuce leaves when they’re out with a man. I like that you actually eat your meal.”

“That’s because we’re not on a date,” I point out, although there’s a lot of truth to that. “Can you pass the dish with the octopus?”

“Sure, here.” He passes the dish to me. As I take the plate from him our fingers briefly brush up against each other sending an instant charge through my body. Our eyes momentarily lock; I quickly look down and place the plate next to me.

“Thank you,” I whisper. It feels like the wind was just knocked out of me.

He nods. “Can I ask you a personal question?”

“I thought you already did.”

“More personal.” He leans in toward me.

“Ask and we’ll see.” I shrug.
Where is he going with this
?

“How could it possibly be that you don’t have a boyfriend? I honestly don’t get it,” he asks, running his fingers through his hair.

“I already told you. I have no interest in one,” I state simply.

“May I ask why?”

I sigh. “Oh, the drama, the strings attached, the hurt feelings, the mistrust. I could go on and on. I guess it comes down to me wanting to focus on me. I don’t want the hassle.”
Or the pain when my heart eventually gets broken.

“I could ask the same about you, Ben. You said you don’t want a girlfriend. Why not?”

He leans back in his chair and tilts his head. “Same reasons. I like keeping things simple in my life, casual, you know? Relationships tend to complicate things and ruin what could be a good time between two people. Keeping things casual insures no misunderstandings or hurt feelings.”

“I suppose I never thought of it like that, but I can see your point. No expectations means no one gets hurt. Strangely that makes sense to me.”

I look down at the table and notice we’ve cleaned our plates. Marcy the Drooler comes back and clears our plates away, handing us dessert menus.

“Dessert?” Ben asks.

“Oh no. I couldn’t possibly fit another morsel in my mouth.”

“Julia, you have to try Emilio’s flan. It’s the best in the city. You left before we got to dessert last time we were here.”

“I honestly don’t have the room for another bite. Thanks.”

“Suit yourself.” He orders a serving of flan for himself. While we wait for his dessert, I finish my third glass of sangria. “You better be careful with that sangria,” he warns.

“It’s just a little wine and fruit, it’s fine.”

“And brandy.”

“There’s brandy in this?” I ask.

He nods. “Yes, it sneaks up on you.”

“Thanks for the warning.” I slide the glass across the table, far away from me.
You could have given me this information two glasses ago.

Ben’s flan arrives quickly. It’s served in a simple white fluted ceramic ramekin. He’s salivating over the flan the same way half of the wait staff is salivating over him, not so indiscreetly in the corner of the room. “Try it Julia, you’ll love it. Trust me.”

“What exactly is it?” I ask.

“It’s vanilla custard with a sweet layer of soft caramel on top. It looks simple, but there’s an understated decadence to it. It’s secretly sinful.”

“Okay, I’ll try it.”

He scoops a spoonful, playfully swirling it in front of me until it finally reaches my lips. I open my mouth and taste it.

“Mmmm,” I groan, closing my eyes, savoring the sweetness of the custard and caramel as it smoothly slides down my throat.

“You like?” he murmurs, his eyes locked on mine.

“I like very much,” I answer, returning his intense gaze.

He takes a spoonful for himself and groans. “I could eat this every day. Would you like more?”

I nod, gliding the tip of my tongue across the top of my lip in anticipation of the next sweet spoonful.

“They only gave me one spoon, is it all right with you if we share it?” he asks.

“Do you promise you don’t have any wicked germs that will get me sick?” I playfully tease.

“Germs are not the wicked part of me you have to worry about.” His voice is husky as he raises a brow.

“Okay.” I laugh.

He dips his spoon back into the ramekin and feeds me another delicious bite. I lick my lips and moan.

“You’re right, it’s secretly sinful. Quietly indulgent.”

“Some of the best indulgences are the one’s you didn’t see coming,” he says softly.

“You may be right about that.” I casually twirl a few strands of hair around my finger, trying desperately not to stare at his perfectly kissable mouth.

Ben looks at me and frowns. Now what?

“I’m sorry, there’s a tiny drip of caramel sauce on your…” He politely points to my chest.

“Oh?” I look down and there’s a tiny golden drip, right on my cleavage. Damn. I should add caramel sauce to my enemy list, but I can’t do that to caramel. I grab my napkin and dip it in the glass of water that’s been sitting on the table and never touched. As I’m dabbing my cleavage to remove the drip before it gets on my dress, I hear Ben inhale a quick breath. I look up and he squirms a little in his seat. Maybe I’m affecting him the same way he’s affecting me. Oh, it doesn’t matter, it’s never going anywhere. We both have the same opinion on relationships. No thank you.

I can’t help but smile to myself. This has turned out to be a really nice night. Ben has another spoonful then offers me more, but I’m truly stuffed this time. I hold up my hands indicating I’m done.

“Your loss, the rest is all mine,” he says as he finishes the flan.

I watch him dip his spoon into the remaining flan. I can’t help but find myself jealous of the spoon. After the last mouthful, he licks the spoon clean. Lucky spoon.

Our server comes with the bill in a red billfold. Fluttering her eyelashes, she hands it to Ben.
Give it a break, honey.
He slides his credit card in the billfold and gives it right back to her. She leaves to have it processed.

“Let me at least pay for half,” I insist.

“No, I told you before we got here. Dinner is my treat. A thank you for saving me from eating alone.”

“You know, we never did talk business,” I remind him.

“Next time.”

Next time?

The bill is back, Ben signs it and stands. “Are you ready to go?”

“Yes.” I stand up and wobble. “Whoa.”
Damn you, third glass of sangria.

“Hey, are you all right?” Ben asks, grabbing on to my arm.

“I’m fine. Just lost my footing.”
Smooth, Julia. Real Smooth.

He holds my coat up for me to slip on. I catch him sneaking a lingering peek at my cleavage. I pretend I didn’t notice and let it slide. I stiffen when his hands brush against my shoulder. There’s something about his touch…

“Thank you,” I breathe.

He slides on his leather jacket and we leave. As we’re walking, I feel the effects of the sangria. I’m not drunk, but I may be a little tipsy.
Spinach and brandy are bad.

“I’ll hail a cab for you,” Ben says as he raises his arm, calling for a taxi.

“It’s okay. There’s the subway station I use every day. I’ll just take a train downtown.”
It’ll save me a few bucks.

“You’ve had three glasses of sangria. You are not taking the subway home alone,” he scolds.

A taxi stops and Ben opens the door. He probably has a point. I am a little unsteady and these four-and-a-half inch heels are killing me. I slide into the cab. Ben slides in next to me.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“I’m ensuring you get home safely,” he answers matter-of-factly.