Oughta Be a Movie: a Sugar-&-Spice romantic comedy (9 page)

“Shit. It’s cold.”

The sidewalk was empty except for the wedding party and dates along with Timothy and Pippa who were still visiting but about to leave. Everyone was shivering and complaining about the cold. Chase slipped on the coat he’d been holding, then held it open and tucked Cynthia under one arm. Opening the other side of the jacket, he offered, “I’ve got enough body heat for one more.”

One of the guys asked, “How come you brought a jacket? It wasn’t cold when we headed down here.”

Chase nodded to Ben who was shrugging his jacket on. “I heard Ali tell Harrison to bring one because a cold front was arriving at 9:30. I may not be a
brain
surgeon…” That got a laugh since he
was
a surgeon. A plastic surgeon. “But I’m smart enough to listen when Ali speaks.”

Everyone looked at her. Then one of the women asked, “How did you know that?”

Her voice was almost timid when she answered. “The weather app on my phone.”

“You have a weather app on your phone?”

She explained quietly. “Everyone does. It comes with the phone.”

Timothy added, “But Ali has three.”

“I have one on my phone?”

“Really?”

“Who knew?”

Ali nodded and shrugged at the surprised questions, but she looked away when Timothy piped up again.

“Only Ali.” Smithfield wasn’t trying to hide his smirk. “And people over the age of sixty-five.”

What an asshat. He’d been with her for two years, and he couldn’t see that she was embarrassed? That or he didn’t give a fuck. What the hell had Ali ever seen in this jerk?

The limos turned the corner at the end of the block, and that ended the weather app conversation, so Ben stifled the instinct to tell the guy what he thought. A street fight at the wedding after-party was
also
not in the Best Man’s Manual.

The group piled in the limos, six and six, and then offered to squeeze Timothy and Pippa in. “Thanks, but our car’s right over there.”

Jack waved for Ali and Ben, but Ben put his arm around Ali’s shoulder and pulled her close, “Nah, we’ll walk.
We
have coats.” He couldn’t resist one last dig. Looking at Tim he added, “And lucky for me, smart women are hot. I’ll be
very
warm.”

Ben draped his arm around Ali’s shoulder and started walking as the limos pulled away. She was quiet, and he thought about apologizing for acting like an adolescent with that last remark, but he couldn’t honestly do it. He was tempted to say something about what a jerk Timothy was, ask her if he’d treated her that way often, but he didn’t want to make any more of the scene. Then out of the blue she said, “Mr. Tibbs must have missed you when you moved.”

“Nope. He moved with me.”

She turned to him in surprise, her lips so close that he stole one sweet kiss. So it was a minute before she picked up the conversation. “Really?”

“Yeah, the owner had started bringing him out for ‘play dates’ even when they were at home and leaving him for ‘overnights’ most weekends. They hadn’t been travelling as much, and when I told them I’d be moving, they shared with me that she was sick. Didn’t have very long. She asked if I wanted to take Tibbs with me. Of course, I did.”

“Do you still have him?”

He shook his head. “The years caught up with him last fall, about four months ago.”

“Aw. You must miss him.” They walked without talking until Ali asked, “Was your ‘diva crisis’ Friday one of the stories you told at dinner?”

“No. If I’d told that story, anyone could have figured out who I’d been talking about when the film came out. I don’t want—or need—a reputation as a gossip.”

“So if you told me, you’d have to kill me?”

He laughed. “Not that extreme. Besides, I’d tell
you
.”

“Why?”

“Because if I asked you not to tell, you wouldn’t.”

“How do you know?

“I just do.” He pulled her closer and whispered, “Natalie Cooper.”

“Holy cow! You know her?”

“I was an intern on her first film. And I’ve been friends with her husband since college. He’s a film editor.”

“What was the crisis?”

“This project’s in early production. One scene wasn’t going well, and she wanted a
small
re-write. The director said no, her manager got involved, I got called in. The problem wasn’t the re-write itself. It really was small and could have been done on the fly, but it would have changed the entire story arc and left the last three-quarters of the film flat, no tension. She said her character wasn’t very likable and only got worse in that scene.”

“Was she right?”

“The audience is supposed to be unsure about whether or not they like the character up to that point. After that scene, they’re pretty sure they don’t. But that’s what sets up the story, makes it work…when she realizes that she has to change to get what she really wants. My job was to talk her down and get them back in production.”

“And you did.”

“Yeah. She
knew
the director was right. But she panicked at going out on a limb. She’s done it before. This was just the first time she ran into a director who meant it when he said no. He would have let her walk. And he would have been right to do it.”

Ali’s wheels were turning. “Do you want to direct? I bet you’d be good at it.”

“Sure. Me and the other 2,784,000 people who drive by the Hollywood sign every day. But thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“How does someone get to be a director?”

“Different ways. Most boil down to knowing somebody that knows somebody, like most things in this business.”
Tell her
. He hadn’t mentioned it to anyone except Josh, but he wanted to tell her. “I might have a shot at something soon.”

She stopped walking and turned to face him. “What?”

“Just…a director I’ve worked with a couple of times pitched me a vague story idea. I liked it, ran with it on spec. When I sent it over a couple of weeks ago…” Ben glanced over her shoulder. “I threw in a note that said I’d like to assist. Wednesday I got a call from his office. Nothing definite but I guess it’s a strong maybe.”

“Ben! That’s, that’s…that’s big.”

He shrugged with a nonchalance he didn’t feel.

“What does assist mean? What would you be doing?”

“I have no idea. Anything from
de facto
co-directing to talking to the extras to arranging cross-country transportation.” He raised his eyebrows. “I might get to say ‘Quiet on the set.’”

“No, I’m serious.”

“So am I. The first AD—assistant director, not to be confused with the Assistant
to
the Director—is the one that says that. The job is kind of an underpaid mash-up of gofer, drill sergeant, and army logistics tech. And it’s still a long shot. So we’ll see.” He tugged on a wayward curl and pulled her around to start walking again. “
If
this works out, I’ll tell you all about it in excruciating and boring detail.”

“Boring? I doubt it. Remember you’re talking to someone with three weather apps on her phone.”

He stopped almost in mid-stride and bit back a smile as he turned her to face him. “Did you just call yourself boring?”

“Yep, boring as a weather a…oh.”

Ben glanced around, tugged Ali into the dark, recessed entry of the book store, and maneuvered her until her back was against the wall. She was talking so fast her words ran together. “I was only remarking on facts. I mean compared to writing movies and hanging out with stars and directing and, and…”

He rested his forearms on either side of her head. “You can keep talking, sweetness, but however you spin it, you just lost a bet. Thirteen is feeling like my lucky number.”

His lips brushed across hers, silencing her rationalizations. When he felt her tremble and open her mouth, he pushed inside, reigniting their hallway kiss as easily as a smoldering ember. One hand dropped to the back of her thigh and brought it to his hip. When he felt her leg wrap around him, his hands went to her bottom and lifted her up, cradling his length against her. “Do I feel bored to you?”

“This isn’t about the bet, is it? About teaching me to stop saying those things.”

Ben didn’t answer, but his hold on her tightened, and he turned around, reversing their positions. Leaning against the wall, he let her slide down his body until she was standing, his hands at her waist steadying her.

He was searching her face for answers, but she didn’t know the questions. Finally he spoke. “No. It’s not.” He pulled her closer. “I don’t like hearing you talk about yourself that way. More, I hate that you doubt yourself. It’s…it’s not you, Ali. You’ve never doubted yourself. And somehow I think I’m hearing your jackass ex in those putdowns and not because of the break up. But you’re an adult. An intelligent, competent woman. You’ll figure it out. You don’t need me—or anybody else—to be daddy.”

“So you’re not—”

He interrupted her, not trying to hide a small smile. “I didn’t say that. But when I do, it’ll be all about pleasure. Yours. Mine. It’s what I want.” He rubbed his thumb on her chin, tilted it up slightly. “And what you want, too, I think.”

Her face and neck flushed, and she could hear the hitch in her breath. Was sure he could, too. Some part of her felt the need to deny what he’d said. But she couldn’t. “Will I have a safeword?” She asked the question as if there were no doubt where they were heading.

His smile grew, big enough to show a dimple, but he sucked in his cheeks, pushing it back. His serious expression all an act. “You know about safewords?”

“A little.”

His smile dissolved into a frown until she added, “I mean I don’t
know
about them. I, uh…read stuff. I thought manganese would be a good choice.”

The frown disappeared as quickly as it had come, and one corner of his mouth curved up. “Manganese, huh?”

“Because it’s not a word you’d say when you’re…you know. But then some people get manganese and magnesium confused which doesn’t make sense to me because besides both being metals and sounding kinda alike, they’re really very different. Manganese is approximately four-and-a-half times as dense as magnesium and has a much higher melting point.”

She should stop talking, but then she’d have to think about what they were really discussing.

“Manganese, but not magnesium, can be a free element in nature. So really it’s more like iron. But if I said it—manganese—and you—I mean the other person—thought I was saying magnesium, you might think I was just commenting on a muscle cramp or something and that maybe I was saying I need more magnesium in my diet and not realize—”

“Ali.” He tapped his finger on her lips but didn’t say anything until her eyes met his. “‘Stop, Ben’ will almost always get my attention, but it’s a good idea not to count on it. How about the classics? Red for stop, yellow for slow down or talk. And green.”

“Green?”

“Green when I check in with you to make sure you’re okay.”

Ah, jeez
. Were they really talking about this? How could he be so matter-of-fact? Because this wasn’t anything new for him. And how did she get in so far over her head? Because it’s what she wanted. Because it’s Ben.

She turned her eyes to the street but managed to nod.

“We’re not going to do anything tonight—or, for that matter, any other night—that you don’t want to do. Understand?”

What was wrong with her? She wasn’t some teenage virgin. She’d had boyfriends before Timothy. She’d even tried a casual hook-up. Okay, that was once and a mistake. But still, she had experience even if most of it, especially with Timothy, was pretty routine and predictable. And she had fantasies. Lots of fantasies. Who better to explore those with than Ben? She trusted him. She
knew
him. Didn’t she? Except her life had gotten smaller over the last few years while his had gotten bigger and bigger.

She turned back to look at him. Did they know each other at all?

“Ali-Cat?”

Like a bobble-head doll, she nodded again.

“I’d feel better if you answered.”

“Yes, I understand.”

“Good.”

His lips brushed hers, soft then firm. It wasn’t the fiery demand of their last kiss. Instead it was a warm, slow connection that felt like an embrace. His hands stroked her arms before they came up to frame her face, holding her carefully, gently tilting her head where he wanted it. She opened her lips, but he didn’t accept the invitation. Instead he pushed away from the wall and took her hand.

“Let’s walk.”

Neither one of them said anything as they continued on to the hotel. She tried to calm her runaway mind—think about lesson plans or that she really should call her grandmother—but the doubts wouldn’t go away. His hand tightened on hers for a second. The tick in his jaw said he had his own jumble of thoughts. But he didn’t explain, just gave her a small smile. Then a half block from the hotel, he stopped.

“Ali…just so we’re clear. When we get to the hotel, I want you to come with me to my room. But no expectation. No pressure.” He ran the back of his hand along her jaw. “Actually I’d
like
to pressure you. Maybe toss you over my shoulder like Josh did Bree, but I won’t. It’s your choice.”

“It might be easier if you—”

“I…no. Easier yes, but you have a choice to make.”

“It’s just…everything’s gone so fast. We haven’t seen each other in over a year. Then in just a few hours everything we’ve been…it’s all turned upside down.”

“We’re still just us.” He opened his mouth to say more, but didn’t. Squeezed her hand again and started walking toward the hotel.

Inside the lobby, Ben pushed the elevator button, and the door opened immediately. She didn’t even get a few extra seconds of waiting.

Her choice to make.

She’d been with Timothy because what she really wanted was out of reach. But now Ben was here, offering passion, exploration, fantasy. That scared her, but it wasn’t what held her back. His life was filled with movie stars and famous bands and leggy blondes and movies to be directed. She was a high school teacher, soon to be a biochem grad student. And a geek that checked the weather app on her phone. It was foolish to think this could ever be more than just one night. Maybe one weekend. How could she handle that when there was so damn much to lose?

He held the door back as she stepped inside the elevator then followed her in. His hand hovered over the control panel.

“Your floor or mine?”

She turned her head away, not able to look at him and not wanting him to see her lip trembling.

“Mine.”

She tried to wipe away the tears before he saw her crying. But he saw. His arm came around her shoulder and pulled her against him.

“I’m sorry. I can’t.”

“Shhh.” He brushed a kiss on her forehead. “It’s okay, Peanut. We’re okay.”

He got off on her floor and walked her to her room, taking her key from her and opening her door, but when she stepped inside he didn’t follow.

His smile looked forced, but his voice was even. “I’ll see you at the brunch in the morning. Save me a seat.”

Still fighting back tears, the best she could manage was another bobble-head impersonation. She stood at the door and watched him walk to the stairway at the end of the hall. He didn’t look back.

One shoe went flying across the room as she kicked them off, stripping off her clothes as she made her way to the shower. She leaned against the tiles and let the hot water run over her, not trying any longer to stop the sobs.

She wanted Ben. She wanted the sex. The teasing. The laughing. The listening. The friendship. The understanding. He didn’t even grimace when she started giving her mini science seminars. Or care that she had three weather apps on her phone. Timothy grimaced
every
time, even when he was the one that triggered it. He always said if—

She turned off the water and wrapped a towel around herself, digging in her cosmetic case for a hair brush. And why had she listened to what Timothy said? Why had she stayed with someone who thought she needed fixing?

Even when Ben had put himself on the line and she’d said no, he hadn’t made her feel wrong. He didn’t want to fix her. He wanted her the way she was. And when he goes back to LA, then what? Or what if he’s just curious after all these years, and it’s just sex. She could get hurt. But maybe not. Because what if it’s
not
only one night? And even if it is, isn’t this one night better than never knowing?

All she had to do was grab for
what she wanted. And ignore the doubts. She could handle tomorrow.

She tossed the towel on the floor and riffled through a drawer for underwear, t-shirt, and shorts, putting them on without even looking at what she’d picked up. She searched for the flats she’d kicked off, but could only find one. Her wedding heels were sitting by the bureau, so she stepped into those, stuffed her room key in her shorts pocket, and dashed out the door and up the stairs.

Just as she raised her hand to knock on his door, it opened. Ben stood there in jeans and nothing else, holding a t-shirt in his hand. His hair was wet, so he must have showered. She glimpsed the surprised look on his face before she was momentarily transfixed by his bare chest. Still had the six-pack.

“You’re going somewhere.” Could she have found anything dumber to say?

“Yes.”

Where was he going dressed—or rather not dressed—like that? Heat rushed across her face when it dawned on her that he was obviously going to someone’s room.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come without texting first.” She started to take a step back, but his hand snaked out so fast and grabbed her arm that she didn’t have a chance to move.

“I was coming to see you.”

“Why?”

“To change your mind. If that didn’t work, Plan B was to toss you over my shoulder.”