The Promise

Chapter Nineteen Long Shot

Ben was pissed off and not because his phone just rang and it had Sal’s number on the display.

Because it was his birthday, the Thursday after Cal and Vi’s wedding, and Frankie was supposed to be down for the entire day, arriving that morning, leaving the next.

But she’d called the day before and said there was a work thing she couldn’t get out of. This meant she was taking a late afternoon flight and he’d have her for dinner and a fuck, then she’d be gone on the first flight in the morning. A flight that left at 6:30, which meant they had to be out of the house before five to get her to her plane.

Technically, she was with him for his birthday so he couldn’t get pissed at her.

That said, he clearly hadn’t expressed the totality of his expectations when it came to special days.

But her work was her work, it meant something to her, and he had to stand down.

This time.

He was just wondering when the fuck the time would come when he wouldn’t. They loved each other. They’d said it. They showed it. When they were apart it was okay, they kept as close as they could with the distance, but it was not near as good as when they were together.

When they were together it was dynamite.

She had to want more, didn’t she?

He had no answer to that question, and was getting increasingly frustrated with Frankie not even bringing it up, which meant he was going to have to and possibly not like her answer.

On these thoughts, he pulled into his garage after going to the gym that morning. Going to the gym when he should have been going to the airport to pick up Frankie.

No, when he should have been home from the airport and having a birthday fuck with his woman in his bed.

And Sal was on his phone.

In other words, so far it’d been a fucking shitty birthday.

He grabbed his phone, took the call, nabbed his workout bag, and rolled out the car door.

“Sal,” he greeted after he put the phone to his ear.

“Benny, figlio.”

Ben clenched his teeth, wishing Sal would quit with the figlio crap.

“I hear Violet made a beautiful bride,” he went on as Benny moved through the side garage door into his backyard.

“Yeah,” Ben agreed, not about to tell him he thought it was cool that Gina and he had declined the invitation Violet had extended, knowing in that small resort gathering they would be hard for the Bianchis to avoid.

It was a kind thing to do for Cal and Vi, not giving them awkwardness, not to mention respect to his ma and pop, who didn’t need that shit on a day they were over the moon happy.

“I’m hoping to see pictures,” Sal muttered.

Ben said nothing. He had pictures on his phone, about three thousand of them, all taken by Frankie whose phone didn’t fit in her miniscule purse, a purse she carried for the sole purpose, that Ben could see, of holding her lip gloss.

Even if he had pictures, he wouldn’t be sending them to Sal.

He let himself in the back door of his house and changed the subject by asking, “There another reason you’re calling?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Sal answered.

He wasn’t big on the “unfortunately.”

Ben dumped his workout bag on the table and went to the fridge to get a water, prompting, “That would be…?”

“Made a number of inquiries, Benny, dug deep. That’s why it took so long. It would seem the job you asked about was done by out of town talent. No trail. I’ve got nothing.”

Ben dropped his head to look at his running shoes.

He didn’t know how to take this news.

On the one hand, Frankie had not mentioned the murder again and everything seemed status quo at her company.

On the other hand, she’d told him she’d had a direct run-in with the dick she worked with, something with that guy that was not status quo. He’d instigated it; Frankie didn’t buy it. She was just doing her job when he’d perpetrated a surprise attack.

However, when she told him this on the Sunday after Vi and Cal’s wedding, she did it acting cagey.

He’d never known Frankie to be cagey. She let it all hang out. Even when she bailed on him, the only reason he didn’t have answers to why she did was because she didn’t know them herself.

And because of that, he didn’t have a good feeling about Frankie’s cagey.

“But you know it was a hit,” Ben stated.

“It was a hit,” Sal confirmed.

“You just don’t know why the hit was called,” Benny went on.

“No, Benny, I don’t know why,” Sal again confirmed.

Not good.

“Would you like me to keep digging?” Sal asked into the silence, and Ben lifted his head but looked unseeing at the old calendar on his wall.

“What’s your gut say?” Benny asked.

“With Frankie?” Sal asked back, then answered, “I keep digging.”

That was what Benny’s gut said.

Fuck.

“This another marker?” he asked.

“Job undone, Benny,” Sal replied. “So no.”

Ben drew breath in through his nose and moved to the door to the hall, giving a little for reasons he had no fucking clue. “I’ll get Frankie to send you some wedding photos.”

“Gina would like that.”

Whatever.

“Gotta go,” Ben told him.

“Addio, figlio.”

“Later.”

Ben ended the call and jogged up the stairs, wondering if he should shower first and then take Gus for a walk, or release Gus from the confinement of his kennel, take him for a walk, and then shower with Gus in his bathroom, gnawing on the rug.

He had eyes to his feet and mind on his puppy—Frankie’s puppy, a puppy she should be going with him to take out for a walk—when he moved into his bedroom.

This meant he jerked to a halt and his head snapped up when he heard Frankie say, “Happy birthday, Benny.”

He stood still and stared at her in his bed, wearing a deep plum nightie that had a middle that was sheer material, so even if she was on a hip, her legs curled beside her, he could still see the thin, plum, lace ribbon of her panties that he hoped like fuck led back to a G-string.

Her hair was a big mass of curls tumbling over her shoulders and down her chest, just as he liked it.

Her makeup was heavy but classy, just as he liked it.

And even several feet away, he could smell hints of her perfume.

All of it, all of her, reclining on his bed, smiling at him with that smile of hers, just like he liked it.

“So,” she said and got up to her knees, something that made his cock start to get hard in a way that he knew would break a record. This was because he saw only a small triangle of plum covering her sex and the ribbons riding the swells of her hips through the sheer, not to mention a good view of her creamy thighs spread slightly. “You kicked my birthday’s ass so huge, I had to get creative…” She tipped her head to the side and her hair went with it before she continued, “And tell fibs.”

She reached behind her, her arm came around, and she held in her hand a big plastic bottle of chocolate sauce.

“I came prepared,” she finished, waving the bottle in the air beside her head.

Taking her in, suddenly he had a feeling this was going to be the best birthday he’d ever had.

Not to delay in getting to that part, he walked to the end of his bed, stopped to stand in front of her, and tossed his phone and the water beyond Frankie onto the bed.

As he did this, Frankie put her free hand to his chest and whispered, “Sweaty.”

Ben took the bottle out of her hand and tossed it so it landed with the other shit.

She tipped her head back to catch his eyes and asked, “Not hungry?”

“How long can you stay?” he asked back, and the playful light flickered in her eyes.

“Until morning.”

Disappointing.

For him, and with that light flickering, for her.

“How many nighties did you bring?” he went on.

“Five.”

Now that was something.

“This one the best?” he kept going.

“I don’t know,” she answered. “You’ll have to rate them.”

He’d do that.

But first, he’d have to get better acquainted with this one.

In order to accomplish that, he bent to her, but only to lift the sheer material, find the ribbon of her panties with the tips of his fingers, and trace it over her hip to the top of the cheek of her ass and down until he encountered the portion of ribbon that disappeared in her cleft.

G-string.

Jesus.

Frankie.

She slid her hands into the sides of his tee and up over his skin at the sides of his ribs, her head tipped back, her eyes on his, not playful anymore but something he liked a fuckuva lot better.

He slid his middle finger under the string, dragged the pad down between the cheeks of her ass, and her lids lowered, her lips parted, and his dick jumped.

“I like this, baby,” he murmured.

“Does it say happy birthday?” she asked.

“Fuck yeah.”

“You gonna unwrap your present so you can play with it?”

His finger encountered moist, showing she was ready, and he growled, “Fuck yeah.”

Her hands slid back and down, diving into his workout pants and cupping his ass as she tipped forward so her mouth was brushing his. “Then play, honey.”

Definitely.

This birthday was going to be the fucking best.

He bent deeper and slid the tip of his finger through her wetness and up, gliding it inside.

Her fingers clenched into his ass and she breathed, “Benny.”

He slid it deeper and asked, “What else you got planned, Frankie?”

“Well,” she whispered, and he pushed in deeper, then pulled out and gave it back and again and again so her hands quit clenching his ass and dragged up his back. “I have the chocolate sauce.”

“Saw that, honey.”

“And Mrs. Zambino has the ingredients for the cake I’m gonna bake later.”

He kept fucking her with his finger, looking into her eyes, feeling his dick begin to ache, watching her get excited, feeling it coat his finger as he said, “I’ll look forward to that.”

“She also has all the stuff for the dinner I’m gonna make you later. A deux, just you and me. I called Theresa and she and Vinnie are happy to wait to celebrate with you on the weekend.”

Just you and me.

Yeah.

She was kicking birthday ass.

“Sounds good,” he rumbled, continuing to thrust into her wet with his finger.

“And, of course, I bought you a present,” she went on huskily.

He drove his finger in deep, got her gasp, and noted, “Thought my present was right here.”

“I got you another one,” she breathed.

He didn’t need another one. But for her, he’d take it.

“What else, Frankie?”

She slid one hand from his back, over his stomach, and down over his hard cock, her hips moving with his finger, ready to move on, and he knew it when she begged, “Need you to fuck me, Benny.”

“What else you got planned, baby?”

“What do you want, honey?”

“You gonna sit on my face while you suck me off?”

Her hips jerked and her lips whispered, “Yeah.”

“You gonna ride me naked while you play with your tits and clit?”

Her hand at his cock started rubbing as she repeated a breathy, “Yeah, Benny.”

He slid his finger out, rubbed it hard over her clit, and watched her eyes roll back as a moan rolled up her throat.

“You gonna let me do anything I want to you?”

“Yes, Ben.”

“Then turn around, stay on your knees, face to the mattress, ass in the air, and give me that pussy,” he ordered.

She did as told instantly, knees to the edge of the bed, head down, ass up, the sight of all that was her, and the flawless skin of the cheeks of her ass in that G-string nearly making him come in his pants.

He didn’t.

He got the G-string down her thighs as he pulled his cock out, positioned, and drove it inside her.

Her head shot back, her dark, shining hair flying all over the place. He reached out, caught it, and pulled hard.

“Yes,” she said on a clipped cry.

“What you want?” he asked, driving deep and doing it hard.

“Fuck me, Benny.”

“Hard?”

“Yes.”

He drove in, stayed, and ground deep.

“My baby want it rough?” he pushed.

“Please,” she begged.

He tugged on her hair.

Her pussy convulsed around his cock and her hips started moving in opposite tandem to his so she was slamming that sweet, tight, slick cunt onto his dick.

Fucking ecstasy.

He dropped her hair but bent further over her to curl his fingers around her shoulder, and even as she powered back, he drove her into him, using his other hand to slap her thigh, making her jump.

“Faster, baby,” he ordered, his voice thick, his dick ready to explode.

He fucked her hard as she fucked herself fast.

“Faster,” he repeated on another slap to her thigh. Her head shot back, her body reared back, and he heard her cry out as he felt her come around his cock.

He drove her with his hips and hands up the bed, coming onto it on his knees, kept taking her pussy, and not long after, hands clenching her hips, his head went back on a grunt as he thrust deep and shot himself deeper.

He’d barely come down before he pulled out, flipped her to her back, and fell forward between her legs, settling some of his weight into her soft body, some of it on a forearm.

Still breathing heavy, feeling her chest rise and fall with her own breaths, he lifted a hand and trailed his thumb over her lower lip before he lifted his eyes to hers and whispered, “Gonna have to step it up.”

“Wh-what?” she stammered.

“What I do for your birthday next year. Spent weeks planning, runnin’ around, doin’ shit, and in twenty minutes, you kicked its ass.”

Her eyes warmed. She pressed her thighs tight to his sides and circled him with her arms, everything about her telling him that’s what she wanted to give him and everything about Benny liked it.

“Love you, Ben,” she whispered.

He liked that better.

He dipped down, touched his mouth to hers, lifted up, and whispered back, “Love you too, cara.”

“Happy birthday,” she said softly in a tone that meant it.

“Thank you, baby,” he replied quietly in that same tone.

Then he kissed her.

After that, they both got dressed so they could release Gus from his kennel prison and take their puppy for a walk.

***

Ben walked into his kitchen to see Frankie in his tee at the counter with all sorts of shit that said “birthday cake” surrounding the bowl in front of her.

Gus was at his food dish, face stuck in it. Even with his attention on his food, he sensed Benny walking in and his tail started wagging, even if his face didn’t come out of the bowl.

They’d walked Gus, come back, he ate her on the couch, then fucked her there. They took a shower, then he’d thrown on some clothes and went over to Mrs. Zambino’s to get Frankie’s stuff while she fed Gus. He did this because he didn’t want her out of his house. He didn’t want her dressed in anything but one of her nighties or one of his tees, and it was his birthday so Frankie gave him what he wanted.

Moving toward her, Benny decided he wanted something more so he took it, sliding a hand from her hip, around, down, and in. Under his tee, skin to skin, he glided it up her belly, her ribs, and cupped her breast.

She leaned back and pressed her head to his jaw, saying, “Although the challenge has been thrown, and I think I can best it, not sure how your cake will taste if I make it, you playin’ with me.”

“It’s shit, we got chocolate sauce,” he replied and heard her soft laugh.

He loved that laugh. He loved her in his tee in his kitchen making his birthday cake. He loved her in his kitchen doing anything.

He just loved Francesca Concetti.

She turned her head and tipped it back until she caught his eyes, but hers weren’t filled with humor.

They were filled with worry.

What the fuck?

“I know you were upset when I told you I couldn’t come. But you gave me a good surprise. I wanted to give you one too. It sucked to upset you, but—”

That was the fuck. She was worried she’d upset him.

He shut her up by dropping his head and brushing his lips against hers before he lifted away and whispered on a squeeze of her tit, “Baby, am I complaining?”

She pressed her lips together and shook her head.

“Love my people, love spending time with them, but you in that nightie waiting in my bed wet for me was the best surprise you could give me.”

“Good,” she said softly, then went on, “I wanted to stay the weekend, but there’s a lunch meeting tomorrow I can’t miss. Though, I can drive up after work so I can be at the family celebration Saturday night.”

He grinned at her. “I’ll take it.”

She grinned back and turned to her bowl. Ben slid his hand from her tit, engaged his other one, and wrapped both arms around her belly under his tee.

“How’d you get here from the airport?” he asked.

“Mrs. Zambino picked me up,” she answered. “But I have an airport pickup arranged in the morning so you don’t have to get up ungodly early to take me.”

“Cancel it.”

She twisted her neck to look at him. “Ben, I have to leave here at 4:30.”

“Cancel it, Frankie.”

She held his eyes a beat, saw in them that there was no use prolonging the discussion, nodded, and looked back down to what she was doing.

“Tomorrow, probably should haul my ass over there and see if Mrs. Zambino needs anything done on her house. Payback for her helpin’ you out.”

“That’d be a cool thing to do,” she said, measuring flour.

“Though, she probably doesn’t, seein’ as she doesn’t hesitate to haul her ass over here and ask me to fix shit when she does.”

Again she twisted her neck and looked at him. “She does?”

“Yep.”

“Do you do it?”

His brows drew together at what he thought was an asinine question. “Of course.”

Her face got soft and she whispered, “Pure Benny.”

“Just bein’ a good neighbor,” he pointed out.

“Just bein’ a good man,” she returned and her words and the look in her eyes that was part marvel, like she couldn’t quite believe he was real, part pride, and a lot of love made his arms give her an involuntary squeeze.

“Like it when you look at me that way,” he murmured.

“Get used to it,” she replied.

Fuck.

Frankie.

“Love you, baby,” he whispered.

“Love you back, Benny,” she said quietly.

He wanted to let that moment last. He wanted more for her to be done with the cake so she could give him another nightie. But she wasn’t done with the cake, she wanted to give him that, had gone out of her way to plan it, so he needed to let her give him that.

So he took them out of the moment by asking, “What kinda cake you bakin’ me?”

“Chocolate maraschino cherry,” she answered, and his chin jerked.

His favorite, bar none.

And no one had made it for him but his mother.

“Ma give you that recipe?”

“Yep.”

That wasn’t a surprise, it was a shock. Theresa Bianchi was like her husband (and then some) when it came to her cooking. Her secret family recipes were hers. She made them for the restaurant, but she didn’t share how to make them with anyone, even family.

So he muttered, “Holy fuck.”

“I know,” she turned back to the counter. “She gave it right up, no begging, no bribery, no markers owed. Freaked me out.”

Benny liked what this said.

Years ago, Connie had asked for that same recipe and his ma hadn’t given it up. It disappointed Connie not to be able to give him what he liked on his birthday, direct from her, not getting it from his ma. But Connie was the kind of woman who didn’t put up a fight. She hid her disappointment and never asked again.

Frankie asked for it, Ma handed it right over.

“She loves you,” Ben noted quietly.

He watched her profile smile. “Yeah.”

“She loves you for me.”

Her smile stayed in place, but her face again got soft. “Yeah.”

He dipped his head, used his chin to move her mass of hair away from her neck, and kissed her there.

Lifting his mouth to her ear, he said, “You makin’ chocolate maraschino cherry cake, I’ll want it to be good so I’ll play with you after it’s done.”

She turned her head and caught his eyes, saying, “Deal.”

He bent in, touched his mouth to hers, and copped a feel as he let her go.

“Got the groceries put away?” he asked, scanning the floor for Gus, not finding him, thus moving to the door to look down the hall. And there he was, dragging one of Ben’s running shoes by the string across the foyer.

“Yeah, you just relax. Today I do all the work.”

That wasn’t strictly true, but she was only letting him do the work he liked to do.

He moved down the hall and saved his shoe from Gus by tossing it on the dining room table which, again, was covered in shit, but more of it since he piled everything that had to be out of Gus’s way there, and everything that needed to be out of Gus’s way was everything.

He carried the dog under his arm to the kitchen, held him while he warmed Frankie’s coffee, warmed his own, and then sat with their puppy at the kitchen table.

Gus didn’t need a shoe if Gus had Ben’s chest, neck, jaw, and hands, so Benny leaned back, stretched out, and gave them to him.

“This weekend, I’m tackling the dining room.”

This announcement was made by Frankie, and Ben’s eyes went from the dog on his chest to his woman.

“Come again?’

“No, the office. I think I should start there because half the shit in the dining room will end up there anyway,” she went on.

“Uh…come again?” Benny repeated.

She looked over her shoulder at him, stirring the batter in the bowl. “We’ll have to go get some hanging files, maybe a small filing cabinet or some shelves to put expanding files. Your pick, but it has to be something other than different piles all over every surface and the floor.”

“What are you talkin’ about, Frankie?”

She turned to the prepared tin and started pouring in batter.

“You have a big house and use only four rooms because the rest of them are junk rooms. And half the crap I’ve seen in them are just that, junk. So I’m startin’ with the office, movin’ to the dining room, then the den, and the junk drawers in here.” She stopped pouring and threw out a hand to indicate the kitchen. She started pouring again and kept talking. “When you were at work last time when I was home, I ventured into your basement. I took one look and escaped before anything attacked me. That has to be seen to too. There might be squatters down there.”

Ben grinned and caught Gus trying to take a flying leap off his chest to the floor, then bent and put him on the floor, saying, “I don’t have squatters down there.”

She put the bowl on the counter and asked, “When’s the last time someone’s been down there? 1977?”

He wasn’t going to tell her but that could well be. He looked at it when he viewed the house, and the place was packed to the rafters, but he couldn’t say he’d been down there since, even to check to see if the shit was removed before he moved in. Mostly because he didn’t need that space so he didn’t bother.

“That’s your project,” Frankie continued. “Clean that up. The Little League stuff can go down there opening up a bedroom for a guestroom.”

“Don’t need a guestroom.”

“Uh…yeah you do,” she informed him. “Vi and Cal and the girls might be up and want to stay. Which means you should probably have a futon or something in the office.”

“I’m not makin’ a guestroom on the off chance Vi and Cal come up and need a place to crash. Mostly ’cause Ma would lose her mind if they crashed here and not with her.”

She’d been putting the tin in the oven. When he was done talking, she closed the door, turned to him, and put her hands on her hips.

“What about when Enzo comes to town? Or my brother, Dino, and his family?”

These words made Ben go still and stare at her.

“We need a guestroom,” she declared.

Fucking shit.

She said we.

She looked to the floor, saw Gus was dragging the rug in front of the sink to an alternate location he preferred, and walked to him, bending, picking him up, and cuddling him close as she used her bare toes to move the rug back, and she did this all while talking.

“So I’ll tackle the office first. And you need a computer with Internet, Benny. You may wish to be choosy about how you communicate in this modern age, embracing only your cell phone, but you’re missing out on easily accessible game times, movie times, up-to-date weather, my flight statuses, so we’ll have to get on that.” She leveled her eyes on him and didn’t shut up. “I’m not saying you get a computer and immediately start your Facebook profile. I figure, if you tried to type in your profile information on Facebook, your fingers will catch fire. I’m just sayin’, in this day and age, a house isn’t a home without a computer.”

A house isn’t a home.

Jesus.

Jesus.

Frankie kept bossing.

“You do the basement. But while I’m sorting stuff, I’ll need you around to ask questions if I find something I don’t know if I should toss or keep.”

She finished this, moving Gus close to her face to give him a snuggle, and the puppy showed his appreciation by licking her jaw.

Benny’s voice sounded gruff when he asked, “Where’m I gonna be?”

She looked at him. “What?”

“You said you’d need me around. Where would I be?”

“I don’t know, pullin’ a man stunt and disappearing when shit work needs to get done you don’t want to do, as evidenced by the fact you’ve lived in his house for a long freakin’ time and you haven’t done it.”

“What are we doin’ here, baby?” he asked quietly, and her brows shot together.

“Talkin’ about makin’ your house a home, Benny.”

Fucking shit.

“For me or for you and me?” he pressed, and her face went blank.

That was when he knew she had no idea what it meant, all she was saying.

He had an idea of what it meant. He just hoped like fuck he was right.

So he kept pushing.

“You movin in with me?”

Her voice was breathy and her hold on Gus was close when she replied with a question.

“You askin’ me?”

“Take you today, you could swing it,” he answered.

“Benny,” she whispered, face soft, eyes now just holding marvel and love.

A lot of love.

Christ, she was all the way across the kitchen and she had so much love shining out of her eyes, he felt it warm every inch of his body.

He took that as a yes.

And there it was. His birthday just kept getting better.

“You gonna be able to swing that?” he asked.

“I…I have a lease.”

“When’s it run out?”

“October.”

“Then you move in in October,” he declared.

“Ben, I work in Indianapolis,” she said quietly.

“You travel half the time, they got no problem with you workin’ from here. Ask ’em if you can have a home office in Chicago and conference in for meetings. You in my bed, my house, got no problem with clearing out that basement, gettin’ a computer with Internet, and givin’ you a guestroom so your fucked-up family can stay, drive us crazy, and we can celebrate when they get the fuck out.”

She stared at him but said nothing.

“You think they’ll go for that?” he asked.

“I think, come my one-year anniversary, which is the same month my lease runs out, if they don’t, then I’ll quit and find a job in Chicago.”

Jesus.

Jesus.

“Come here, Frankie,” he growled.

“No. I do, you’re gonna get busy with me and the cake will burn.”

“Come here, cara.”

“No, I can tell by your face you’re happy and I’m super happy and all that happy is gonna translate into ruined birthday cake.”

“Baby. Put the dog down and come…here.”

She bent to put Gus on the floor and came to him. When she got close, he guided her ass in his lap and rounded her with his arms. As he did this, Frankie wrapped hers around his shoulders.

When he had her where he wanted her, he said softly, “Best birthday ever.”

Beauty saturated her features, more than he’d ever seen from her, and he’d spent decades seeing a lot of beauty from Francesca Concetti.

“My awesome Benny,” she replied in a whisper, her arms tightening, one hand finding his neck and curling around, but her body melted into his.

“You’ve made me happy, tesorina.”

“I’m glad.”

“Kiss me, Frankie.”

“Okay, Benny.”

She put her lips to his, but it was Benny who took her mouth, leaning into her, bending her back, and drinking deep, one of his hands going down, then up her shirt and down again in her panties to cup her bare ass, both her hands diving into his hair.

He broke the kiss but didn’t move far away and waited for her eyes to slowly open, giving him crazy-beauty before he said, “Love you, Francesca.”

“Love you too, honey.”

He grinned, held her closer, but ordered, “Now go make frosting.”

She rolled her eyes, but she also pushed up, he went with her, and she climbed out of his lap.

After that, Gus under her feet, tripping her up, and her not minding, Frankie made frosting.

***

“Okay,” Frankie said, skip-walking into his bedroom that night.

It was after the dinner she’d made him (roast beef tenderloin, boiled new potatoes, asparagus coated in oil and toasted sesame seeds, and rolls Mrs. Zambino bought the day before from the bakery). It was after cake. It was after he told her he wanted her ass upstairs because he wanted to see another nightie. She showed him and wore it for about five minutes before he took it off so she could sit on his face and he could have his mouth on her while she used hers on him.

She’d put the nightie back on (red satin with a sheer panel around the hem and matching panties that had sheer at the ass, sweet but nowhere as sweet as the plum one) and gone back downstairs to grab his presents from where she’d hid them.

Now she was back, hands behind her, hiding the presents from view.

She hopped on the bed, walked on her knees to him, and flopped down to a hip before one arm came out and she slapped a mostly square, thin, large wrapped package on his chest.

“That one’s the goofy one,” she declared. “You get the good stuff second.”

He’d already had the good stuff.

She knew that so he didn’t tell her. He just opened the present and he did it with her talking.

“The first one may be goofy, but it was way harder to find. I had to order it off the Internet since they don’t sell them this time of year. I also had to find one you’d like, but they kinda don’t make those things for guys. Or, not guys like you. Still, it isn’t about tits and ass or muscle cars, which would be something I wouldn’t want to look at, but it isn’t too girlie, which is something you would toss in the trash, so I think I did all right.”

The paper off, he turned it in his hands and saw a calendar for that year, its theme: photos of Lake Michigan.

There was no cellophane on it. It had been opened.

Ben held it in his hands, stared at it, and stopped breathing.

“See? Totally goofy,” she stated, not sensing the change his mood was making in the room, just reaching out to pull the calendar from his hand and babbling. “Yours is, like, ten years old. Crazy. So it’s kind of a joke but kind of not.” She started flipping through and found what she wanted, showing him a month that had her writing in the little squares and flipping to the next, which had more of her writing. “See, I wrote all the birthdays in: Man, Sela, Vinnie Senior, Theresa, Carm, Ken, and the kids. I put Vi and Cal and all the girls in there, and Manny and Sela’s wedding date.”

Benny’s eyes looked at the calendar and his heart started jackhammering.

“And here,” she said, flipping back. “I put all my travel schedule in that I have set, all the times and flight numbers and hotel stuff and everything. You can write in the stuff that comes up.”

She stopped yapping, finally looked at him, and when she did, she went visibly still.

They stared at each other a couple of beats before she said hesitantly, totally not reading him, “The other present is a lot better, Benny.”

“Only one thing I want in my life,” he declared.

“Wh-what?” she stammered.

“All my life, didn’t have big hopes and dreams. Only one thing I wanted.”

“I…” She swallowed, kept her eyes locked to him, and asked, “What was that, honey?”

“A life that meant I’d have a calendar on my kitchen wall filled in with birthdays and anniversaries and parties and practices and special occasions. All the shit that makes a good life scribbled in the blocks printed on glossy paper hangin’ on a wall.”

Her eyes grew bright and her breath grew shallow.

“You gonna give that to me?” he asked.

“Yes, Benny,” she responded instantly.

Instantly.

Yeah.

She was going to give that to him.

And he was going to give it to her.

The…best…fucking…birthday…ever.

“No lip, no shit, come here right now, Frankie,” he ordered.

She tossed the calendar aside to land on the bed and she came to him immediately.

And Ben crushed her in his arms, rolled her to her back, and found reason again to get rid of her nightie.

In the end, she slept beside him in a hot pink one with black lace.

Her second present was an expensive, handsome watch that had an inscription on the back that said, For Benny, Love Frankie.

It was fucking kick-ass.

But it wasn’t better than the calendar.

Not by a long shot.