Frayed

With my biggest shit-eating grin I say, “Ben. Ben Covington.”

As she leads me to the table, we pass a granite-topped bar where a few couples perched on the stools are lost in deep conversations—hands on knees, faces a little too close, hooded eyes. I remember thinking just recently the only girl I ever came close to flirting with besides my long-term girlfriend was S’belle. But maybe that wasn’t entirely true. Then again, it depends how you define flirting. To me it means you have game in mind. With the hostess I was just pouring on the charm, not trying to bed her. So I stand by the idea that I’ve never really put myself out there in flirting mode. But something tells me I’m about to before the night ends.

“Let me know if I can help you with anything else,” the hostess says before leaving me at a table near the window with two menus.

I check the time on my phone; it’s seven twenty-seven. I sit here wondering if maybe S’belle isn’t going to show and find my nervousness disconcerting. Not a minute ticks by before I spot her. Her back’s to me and she’s talking to the hostess. The lights from the street cast shadows on her long red hair. But it’s as vibrant as ever against her bare back. She pulls it to one side as she laughs at something the hostess says. Oh, f**k, is that girl blowing it for me? She twists in my direction as the hostess points over to me. Fuck, I think I’m busted.

I stand up and she smiles at me. My body hums at the sight of her approaching me—she’s wearing a halter top that reveals a hint of cle**age and tight jeans that hug her shape perfectly with the highest f**king heels I’ve ever seen. She sashays toward me and the thin gold chains hanging over her shapely chest swing back and forth. She isn’t a girl anyone could pass by without drooling over. I consciously close my jaw that I know is hanging open. At our table her eyes look me over—head to toe. I see it plain as day and I have to pull back the knowing grin from my lips.

“Hi there,” I say with a grin, and lean in to kiss her.

“Hi,” she answers, turning her face so my mouth lands on her cheek.

“You look beautiful.” I’m trying my best not to be affected by the kiss snub.

“Thank you,” she says softly, and there it is—that look of innocence that sets my body ablaze. Okay, I’ll let the snub pass. Who knows? Maybe she has some crazy role-playing game cooking in her head.

I extend my hand and she places hers softly in my palm so that I can bring her hand to my lips and kiss it. Her smile is wide and bright as I let her hand go.

“Madam,” I say as I pull out her chair. Maybe I could be the maître d’ and she could be a demanding patron?

She sits and sets her phone on the table and her purse on the floor. When she sits back up, I breathe in her scent as I take her napkin and place it on her lap. Leaning down, I let my warm breath caress her neck. “In case you want to add it to your collection before it gets dirty.”

She looks up at me. “Very funny.”

“I try to be.”

“Oh, I think you try to be more than that.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Please explain.”

“Kelsie told me how charming you are.”

There must be a puzzled look on my face. “The hostess,” she clarifies.

I shake my head. “Ah yes. She was very . . . helpful.”

Her mouth tilts with the beginning of a smile.

I lean even closer, hovering just above her lips. “I can be . . . very helpful too. Especially to damsels in distress and failing students.”

A slight pink blush colors her skin, and it’s such a turn-on that she can play dirty but gets embarrassed talking about it.

Our eyes lock for a few intense moments until I break the spell. “So, how was your Sunday?” Just like that the night begins like a real date. The funny conversation leads into discussions about our day, and when the waitress approaches to take our order, we both ask for sparkling water with lemon and peppered beef skewers.

S’belle looks over toward me when the waters are placed in front of us. “You don’t drink?”

I cast her a tentative look. “I do. Well, I don’t.”

She scrunches her eyebrows in confusion.

I laugh. “That sounded moronic. What I mean is I don’t have a problem or anything. I just think it’s healthier for me to abstain.”

She doesn’t laugh or question why, but instead she says, “I get it. Same here. I had fallen into a rut where I was drinking more than I should and I found I wasn’t moving forward in my life.”

I nod and swallow the lump in my throat at how much what she just said mimics my life over the past three years. I look at her and raise my glass. “Perfectly said.”

We end the topic there, but that short conversation tells me we might have more in common than either of us realizes. I look across the table at her. The glow of the candle, the intimacy of the small space, the seductive outfit she’s wearing—everything makes me want to get closer to her.

Her phone buzzes and I can see the name Tate Wyatt flash across the screen. She silences it and switches her phone to vibrate. “Sorry. We have a big wedding next weekend and I’m sure Tate is already pondering the to-do list.”

I try to read her. She seems nervous or maybe just uncomfortable. “Well, that only proves my point—he’s an ass**le.”

“Ben. You don’t even know him.”

“I’ve seen and heard enough.”

She shakes her head. “Tell me something about your job.”

“Well, I got awesome news today. My buddy Beck finally found someone to run his father’s bar and is coming to work for me full-time this week.” I lower my voice as I finish the sentence. It’s a casual move. Almost too smooth. With the overhead music providing ambience and the bar so close to us, it is loud and I’m keeping my voice softer than I normally speak.

She leans forward. “I’m so sorry, but I can’t hear you very well.”

I slide into the empty chair next to her and repeat myself. “My buddy Beck finally found someone to run his father’s bar and is coming to work for me full-time next week.” This time I speak directly into her ear and savor the closeness. I’m supposed to be flirting with her, in charge here, but her scent overwhelms me and the thumping in my heart seems to have spread throughout my body. She’s turning me on beyond control.

She inches away from me, but I can see her pulse beating in her neck. “What does he do?” she asks a little hoarsely. I’ve heard that tone before.

Her hands are on her glass gripping it tightly. One slides to the table.

I grab my water and our hands graze but don’t fully touch. The heat of her hand seeps down my arm—electric. “He’s a whiz at social media. He’s just what I need to push forward and embrace the technology side of journalism.”

Her breathing picks up and her green eyes bore into me. “You mean like apps, Twitter, and Facebook—social media?”

“Yes. Both Surfer’s End and Sound Music are so behind they don’t even have issues available online or apps to accompany them.”

“Oh, you don’t know how to do that yourself?”

Our salads arrive. I take my fork in my hand. “No, I have no idea how to do something like that.”

She stabs her fork into a cherry tomato. “I do. I taught myself. It’s really fun. Last week I created one for my event-planning company,” she says, and this surprises me for some reason.

I lean forward on the table, bringing our bodies even closer together. “Are we role-playing?”

She breathes a breathy sigh. “No, I’m serious.”

Now I’m really curious. “I’d love to hear about it.”

“It’s no big deal. I designed an app for clients to download so they can create their dream event. I use it as a start for planning. Most of the time clients have no idea what they want, so the app helps me understand them a little better.”

I ponder what she’s talking about for a moment. “So you know what your clients want before they do?”

A huge smile crosses her lips. “Yeah, I guess I do.”

“That’s f**king brilliant.”

She shrugs. “It was easy.”

“Maybe I should hire you, then?”

“I’m not interested in running a magazine.”

I nearly spit a piece of lettuce out of my mouth. “I mean to help launch Plan B’s holdings into the social media arena.”

“Oh, I could show Aerie.”

A devilish smile crosses my lips at the thought of the outburst that would come if I gave Aerie one more thing to be responsible for. Rattling her can be so much fun. “I think she has enough on her plate.”

S’belle sets her fork down. “You get along with her?”

I nod. “Yes, we work well together.”

“Have you met Jagger?”

“I actually met him when I lived in New York City. Small world that we’re both here now.”

“He’s my cousin.”

“I know.” I smile.

“You do?”

“Yeah, he told me. He stops by the office once in a while to have lunch with Aerie, so we’ve kind of reconnected.”

“How did you meet? In New York City, I mean.”

At this point I’m not sure how much to tell her but decide to just tell the truth. “He was dating the sister of a girl I was somewhat seeing back then.”

“Oh.” Her face drops. Then her phone vibrates on the table and she glances at the screen. “Excuse me one minute. I really should take this.”

I nod, thinking I’d love to know what that ass**le’s problem is.

She gets up and walks over toward the bar. I watch her body tense, but she quickly ends the call. When she comes back to the table, she doesn’t make mention of him but resumes eating her salad quietly and I do the same. She squeezes more lemon into her drink and then onto her lettuce. I’m so intrigued by her I can’t resist staring.

“What?” she asks.

“It’s nothing.”

She sips the glass of sparkling water and her head tips back slightly to expose the seductive lines of her throat and chest. I think for a moment she’s moving that way on purpose—maybe flirting with me.

I drag my mind off her body and bring my eyes back to hers. “So, you’re pretty busy at work?”

“Busy isn’t even the right word. It’s crazy right now. So many weddings and Tate keeps pushing more onto me. Plus, I’m trying to get my own business off the ground.”

“Do you have a name for it?”

She laughs. “Believe it or not, no. I’m not so sure it’s what I want to do. Giving it a name and then abandoning it somehow seems more like a failure. I have one more event planned for the rest of the year and it’s Ivy’s release party. And I got that job because she’s my brother’s girlfriend. I actually got the job with Tate because he knows my stepfather.”

“But you love it? Event planning?”

“It’s what my family thinks I’m good at.”

“What about you? What do you think?”

She shrugs. “Some direction is better than none.”

At that I want to take her into my arms, to reassure her that she should do what she wants. She’s strong, confident, and has what it takes to succeed in anything. But just as I reach across the table, two steaming plates of peppered beef skewers and island rice are placed in front of us. We both push our salads to the side.

“Smells so good,” she says, and from the look in her eyes she’s hungry for more than food.

“You just ate them a few days ago,” I point out. “I hope you aren’t going to be sick of them.”

“Oh, I never eat the food I cater in.”