Oughta Be a Movie: a Sugar-&-Spice romantic comedy (8 page)

Ask him? She wasn’t sure if he meant ask about Cyndy or ask him why he’d downplayed their relationship earlier. But she recognized his angry tone. “It’s not any of my business, Ben. I’m sorry I interrupted your conversation.”

“That wasn’t exactly a conversation.” He was looking at her with such intensity that she glanced away but jerked her head back to face him when his voice softened. “What if I want it to be your business?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “I didn’t lie to you, Ali, but…it wasn’t the truth either. God, what a cop out.”

“Then why are you angry with me?”

“I’m—ah, shit.” He looked up at the ceiling like he’d find an escape hatch. Then he reached over and squeezed her hand before stepping back and leaning against the wall.

“I’m not angry with you. I’m angry with me because it’s something I’m not proud of. It’s embarrass—”

“Ben, you don’t need to explain.”

“Yes, I do. She was rude to you, and I—I should have called her on it. I’m sorry I didn’t, but it’s just…it’s just that in spite of how things turned out, I treated her like crap, and I couldn’t think of anything to say to her back there that wouldn’t have been putting her down, and I won’t do that again.”

“I can’t imagine you treating anyone badly. But whatever it was, you don’t have to tell me about it.” At first, she thought he was going to accept the out she offered, but instead he started talking.

“You’d imagine wrong then. It was a long time ago. Seven years, but I was a world-class dick, and I doubt I would have
ever
told you about it if she hadn’t put it out there between us. Two years after college, in June, I ran into her at Jack and Hannah’s wedding. She’d just finished her MBA and was moving back to Houston to start a job, but she was going to be in Irvine for six weeks, training at the company’s headquarters. That’s about an hour-and-a-half south of where I lived then. She…asked me out. That first Friday night she was in town, she arrived at my house—with a suitcase.”

Ali tried to mask her surprised reaction, but probably wasn’t successful. She didn’t want to know the answer, but she asked the question anyway. “You lived together?”

“No. Well…” He looked away then back at her. “She came up every weekend.” He closed his eyes for a second. “Girls like Cynthia Crawley didn’t even know my name in high school, other than ‘Josh McKenna’s friend Ben.’ So—that may have been the reason, but it’s not an excuse. I should have been over high school long before then, but I guess I wasn’t. Even if it didn’t mean anything, I was flattered by her interest. Vindicated. So I took what she offered even though we had absolutely nothing in common. I knew by the end of that first weekend that she was thinking relationship, but I…it stroked my ego that she wanted me, and I let it go on.”

He shook his head. The light was dim, but Ali thought he was blushing. She waited for him to say more.

“I lived in a guest house on this estate in Hollywood Hills. Had a job as a driver, and that blue bungalow she mentioned came with the job.”

“A driver? But you were working for a studio right after college.”

“I was. The driving was barely part-time. I got free rent for driving Tibbs, this French bulldog, to-and-from doggy daycare when his owners—really owner, he was the wife’s dog—were out of the country. Which they were a lot. Tibbs had his own suite at the house, but he got lonely at nights and on weekends, so he usually just stayed out in the bungalow with me.”

She liked hearing about his life but wasn’t sure what this had to do with Cyndy. “Tibbs, the
dog
, had his own suite.”

“Yeah. Old Hollywood money can be pretty crazy sometimes. The dog’s name was actually Jean Thibodeaux, but I called him Tibbs.”

“As in ‘They call me
Mr.
Tibbs’?”

He smiled. “Right.
In the Heat of the Night
, Sidney Poitier, Virgil Tibbs.” The smile broadened into a grin then faded, and he ran his finger along Ali’s jawline. “You know, she never did get that.”

Ali could see him thinking about what he wanted to say. “Earlier you said in spite of how things turned out.”

“Right. Karma, payback, whatever it was. She wasn’t a big fan of Tibbs, hated the way he’d forget to keep his tongue in his mouth. And she may remember that place as ‘cute’ now but she asked me once how long I planned to live in the servants’ quarters. It was a nice place. A hell of a lot nicer than the crappy apartment I’d lived in since junior year, and I was saving a ton of money for, basically, having a dog. She never out-and-out said it, but the fact that I wasn’t making much money bothered her. Even more so that success as a screenwriter was a real longshot. At least success as she defined it.”

He stopped to breathe in and exhaled slowly. “The last weekend she was in town, she was talking about getting together in Houston when I came to see my dad in a couple of weeks. I’d convinced myself that breaking it off when I was there was a good way to end it. Sort of an it’s-not-you-it’s-the-long-distance-thing.”

He cleared his throat. “She told me she’d set it up with her dad to talk with me while I was there because he was always looking for ‘bright, capable people.’ She didn’t spell it out, but I knew she was trying to find me a better job.”

“Wait. I thought Cyndy’s dad was a real estate developer.”

“That’s right.”

“What kind of work would you have done for him?”

“I guess push papers around, do deals, make money. Hell, I don’t know what real estate developers do. But that was the point. It hit me like a runaway train. She might have liked the package I came in then, but that was it. She didn’t want
me
—she couldn’t. She didn’t even
know
me. No more than she had in high school.”

He shrugged. “It certainly wasn’t some grand passion on my part, but I’d been feeding on her attention. I was deflated, felt as invisible as I’d been in high school, and that pissed me off. And I was pissed at myself for how I’d used her. We fought, and I—you know, she always had a big group, a crowd, the In Crowd, the It Girls, but I’d realized as we spent time together that she didn’t really have friends.”

Ali glanced at the door leading back to the bar and dance floor and tried to keep a neutral expression, but Ben saw it. “I know. There’s a reason she doesn’t, but…she’s really not a bad person. I’d been a dick for weeks, but that afternoon I was just flat-out cruel, pointing out stuff like her having no friends. And truthfully she’d never been anything but honest about what she wanted. It escalated into a war of words, and she was outgunned. She left in tears.”

Standing up straight, he pushed away from the wall and stepped in front of Ali, absently running his hand up and down her arm. “It was weeks before I could look at myself in the mirror. It’s been years now, but I’m never going to forget what I did. And the moral of this story, boys and girls, is that if you’re a dick to someone—and I was—then you shouldn’t be surprised when it comes back on you. I’m just sorry you were in the crossfire tonight.”

Ali pictured the look Cyndy gave her, daring her. “Sounded like she’s forgiven you, wants to give it another chance.”

He shook his head. “It took me a week or two, but I called her, emailed, texted, sent flowers…she wouldn’t answer. I owed her an apology, but she wouldn’t give me a chance.” He shrugged. “I even wrote an actual letter, but I doubt that she ever read it. I think this was about making trouble for me. But it doesn’t matter what she wants. There’ll be no sequels for that story.”

In spite of his self-deprecating grin and attempt at humor, Ali caught a glimpse of his shame, but also the hurts he remembered. Cuts heal, scars fade to nothing more than fine silvery lines, but they’re always there to remind us. “You hurt someone, learned something about yourself, never ran from the regret. The whole being human thing sucks sometimes.”

“I doubt you have a matching story.”

She scrunched up her nose to keep from grinning. Remembered the girl Ben took to prom. “Oh, I do, but you’re never going to hear it.” She covered his hand with hers, lacing her fingers through his. “If Cyndy didn’t know you—in high school or that summer—it was her loss, Ben. Both times.”

One second he was frowning, looking at her with that same intensity she’d seen when they first came into the hallway. Then the next second, he clasped her hand and walked her back until she bumped against the wall. He pushed her hand over her head, and with the other he fisted her shirt and pulled her against him. His mouth on hers was almost painful, crushing, demanding that she let him in. Only when she opened for him did he gentle the kiss. Exploring, tasting. He dropped her hand to his shoulder, and both his arms wrapped around her, squeezing her so tightly it was hard to breathe. Her hands went to his face, framing it and controlling the kiss, her tongue exploring his warmth. And when his hand slid over her backside, she felt his heat in her core. She wasn’t sure what just happened, but she was positive she didn’t want it to end.

Her words were so simple. So accepting. She hadn’t let him off the hook for what he’d done, but she hadn’t judged him.

It was her loss.
So sweetly telling him that even if he’d been wrong, she didn’t think less of him. This wasn’t a game, some kind of let’s see where this thing goes. This was everything. She was everything. Always had been.

The feel of her body pressed against his, the sweet exploration of her tongue—he was trembling with the need to have her right then. In the hallway, a club full of people only twenty feet away. He took one more taste and eased away. His voice was hoarse when he said, “Later. We’re going to finish this later.”

She nodded, but her eyes were glassy; her need matching his. Bit by bit, the sound of Newell’s voice registered, not singing, but telling the crowd they were taking a short break. Ben took another step back.

“Right now—” He cleared his throat. “Right now, we need to get back out there. Can you go find Bree and Josh, give it five or six minutes then bring them back to that room to meet the band?” He pointed to the door closest to where they were standing. “I need to take care of one thing and get the photographer back here.”

“Okay.” The shakiness in her voice almost undid his resolve. If it hadn’t been for needing to handle things for Josh, he wasn’t sure he would have walked away.

The band was leaving the stage as Ben and Ali re-entered the club and split off in opposite directions. He looked for Cynthia and saw her still at the bar with another drink and another guy, someone he didn’t know. He was pretty sure she’d had one too many when she made her earlier remarks. He looked around for someone to keep an eye on her and saw Chase on the fringe of a group standing around talking.

“Collins.”

Chase turned at his name, surprised. With comic exaggeration, he looked around where Ben was standing like he was searching for something then put his hands up, palms out. “I don’t have her. I swear it.”

Ben just shook his head. “I know where she is. I could use your help with something.”

“Sure.”

He nodded to the bar. “Do you know the guy sitting by Cynthia?”

Chase checked then shook his head. “Never seen him before today. He’s probably another lawyer from either Josh’s or Bree’s firm. This place is crawling with attorneys.”

“I hear that. She’s a pretty lightweight drinker, and I’m guessing she’s either at or over her limit. Would you keep an eye on her?”

Studying Ben and hesitating before answering, Chase narrowed his eyes. “Aren’t you worried that’s—what’s that expression? That’s like letting the fox guard the hen house?”

The two men stood looking at each other, seconds ticking by, before Ben answered, “No. I’m not worried.”

Chase nodded and looked over at Cynthia. “I’ve got this.”

“Thanks, man.” Ben saw the photographer and headed over to snag the guy for some pictures of Josh and Bree with the band.

Minutes later, Ben was opening the door to the small lounge and saw Ali talking to the bass player, the only unattached guy in the band. No surprise that he’d zeroed right in on her. Intending to stake his claim, Ben made his way to where they stood talking, noticing Bree, unusually quiet and engrossed in something Newell was saying.

Just as Ben stepped up beside Ali and brushed a kiss on her forehead, Ellen Tremont, Newell’s wife, joined them. “Ben, good to see you, I wanted to tell you that we got a notice this week about an anonymous and
very generous
donation in our honor to Perfect Harmony. It came with the sweetest, funniest dedication. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that would you? I mean being a man of words and all.”

Smiling but not answering her question except with a wink, he said, “Good to see you, Ellen.” He pulled Ali closer, “Ellen, this is Ali McKenna. Ali, Ellen Tremont, Newell’s wife who attempts to provide him with adult supervision. Ali is the maid of honor and both the groom’s sister and the bride’s best friend.”

“Sister, brother, best friends, the four of you must go back quite a ways.” Newell came over just then and Ben repeated the introductions. The singer clapped Ben on the shoulder before thanking him for the donation.

Ben shook his head and turned to Ali, asking her in a fake whisper, “What part of anonymous don’t they understand?”

The group laughed and Newell added, “It’s much appreciated but wasn’t necessary. And this spread is also appreciated.” He pointed to the buffet table at the end of the room.

“That’s all Josh’s doing.”

Ali looked skeptical. “Really? Josh? Josh thought of that?” She shook her head, but let it drop and turned to Newell. “I love your music, and it’s—I don’t know the right word, amazing?—to hear you guys so up close and personal.”

“Nice of you to say that. But I’m telling ya, I can’t see the dance floor real well, pretty lady, but I think I could be singing ‘Farmer in the Dell,’ and you two wouldn’t notice.”

Ben saw Ali’s blush and turned to Newell. “Do you blame me?”

“Not one bit.”

“New, behave yourself. You’re embarrassing her.” Ellen turned to Ali. “He’s never been one to resist giving love a little nudge.”

Ali’s blushed deepened, and she glanced at Ben before she spoke to both of the Tremonts. “Thank you so much for doing this. I’m thinking you have the picture of how much it means to Bree and making her happy is what makes Josh happy.”

“That’s the way it’s supposed to be. But we’re having fun. It’s been a while since we’ve gotten to play a house like this. Those were some good times. Unfortunately security makes that pretty much impossible now. Got Harrison here to thank for that.”

Ben shook his head. “My part was pretty small.” The talk turned to the Tremonts’ new ranch and the new house they’d built on the land and to their two almost-teenaged daughters.

“I’m telling you. With girls that age of your own, all your wild oats come back to haunt you.”

Ben laughed. “I bet. Got a shotgun?”

“Three. And they’re all loaded.”

“It’s been, I guess, two years since I’ve seen the girls, and they were heartbreakers then.”

“We get a tour break in early September. Come out and visit. See the girls and the new house.”

“I’d like that. I, uh, may have something going about then, but I can certainly manage a long weekend.”

Ellen spoke up. “Be warned. He’ll have you out building fence if you let him.”

The photographer started arranging people for group pictures. As soon as the pictures were done, Ben said, “Let’s get out of here and give the band a few minutes before they head back to the stage.” After another round of thank you’s, they headed back into the club with Bree and Josh, but at the entrance, Bree stopped Ben.

“Thank you. Josh told me you’re the one that made this happen. I’ve never, ever had a bigger or better surprise.”

“You’re welcome, but it was Josh’s idea.”

Josh grabbed Bree around the waist. “Never had bigger and better, huh? That sounds like a challenge, Mrs. McKenna.” With that he tossed her over his shoulder again and carried her to the buffet table, ignoring her protests and shrieks. And laughs.

Ali looked at Ben, “You’ve made them so happy. They’ll tell this story for the rest of their lives.”

“Just what Newell said. ‘The way it’s supposed to be.’”

“And the Tremonts are so nice. They seem just like regular people.”

He laughed. “Because they
are
regular people. Newell was a trim carpenter when I met him. I didn’t know him—them—too well before things started rolling for the band, but I don’t think they’ve changed.”

Ali looked thoughtful when she nodded but didn’t say anything else.

For the next hour, there was more visiting with old friends and dancing. When Ben kept holding Ali at the end of one song, Newell played a quick riff on “Farmer in the Dell.” Then before anyone realized how much time had passed, the singer was announcing the last song. And as it ended, Josh and Bree made their way to the door of the club and the limo waiting out front.

With the band leaving the stage and the newlyweds departed, the party-goers started drifting out. Ben and Ali went to the lounge to check that the band was all set and that their cars were waiting at the back door. When they came back to the front, the club had emptied out except for the roadies packing up.

He picked up their jackets, and she reached for hers. “You want it on?”

With a sassy smile on her face, she answered. “Yes, I’ll need it.”

He shook his head but held it for her as she slipped her arms in. His hands on her shoulders, he pulled her back against him, burying his face in her hair. It smelled like grass and rain and…the beach. The image—this fantasy one of many—came swift and vivid. He was lying on his side beside her on a deserted stretch of sand, propped on his elbow, his body partially shielding her. His hand caressed the nape of her neck. Then he slowly untied her bikini top. Her eyes flashed when she realized what he was doing, flickered, almost shifting away to check that they were still alone. Instead she kept them on him—the way she knew he wanted. He pulled one strap to the front, not exposing her, but she was hyper aware, vulnerable. He could imagine the pulse beating just below her jaw, could see her draw a deep breath before she forced herself to swallow. Afraid, but trusting him and wanting to please him.

If this were any other woman—a submissive he’d never played with before—by the time they’d gotten to this point, they’d be talking about expectations and limits, negotiating the terms of an unwritten contract. But it had never been like this with any other woman. Not even close. He wanted Ali’s body, her submission, but he didn’t want a contract. He wanted her heart and soul.

She looked over her shoulder and smiled, that familiar sparkle in her eyes. “It’s gonna be cold out there.”

“You say.”

He turned her around and buttoned her coat. Starting to kiss her, a sound from the stage stopped him. “Let’s get back to the hotel.” With his jacket slung over his shoulder and the other hand on her neck, he steered her to the front door.

Later. We’re going to finish this later.