The Promise

Chapter Six Love Is Never Wrong

“Thanks, babe, and again, don’t worry about comin’ tomorrow.”

It was the next morning. I was standing at Benny’s door, Asheeka out on the stoop. I was showered, ready to face the day, and letting her off shower duty.

“You sure?” she asked.

“I was good yesterday, better today,” I reminded her.

“Yeah,” she said. “Still, you need me, just call.”

My Asheeka. So awesome.

“What I need to do is buy you tickets to Usher the next time he’s in Chicago.”

Her eyes went huge. “Girl, you know it would not be good, that boy and me in the same building, even if that building is a stadium.”

What I knew was that Asheeka had a thing for a baby face. And a bigger thing for a man who could move.

“Right. In order to avoid Usher taking a restraining order out on you, I’ll find something else,” I told her.

This time her eyes went sweet before she replied, “I know it’d be a fool waste of time, tryin’ to talk you outta doin’ something. But I’m also gonna make it clear, you don’t have to do anything.”

“I do,” I returned.

“I know,” she whispered.

My Asheeka. So awesome.

I refrained from hugging her because that would probably make me cry and I’d just done my makeup.

She grinned at me. “You keep me in the know about what’s happenin’ with all that,” she ordered, jerking her chin to the hall behind me, meaning Benny.

“I get my phone back, I will,” I promised.

She kept grinning and said, “Later, babe.”

“Later, Asheeka.”

She aimed her eyes beyond me and shouted, “’Bye, Benny!”

“Later!” Ben’s deep voice shouted back from where he was in the kitchen.

She let out a little chuckle, shook her head once, and I watched her walk down to her Land Rover and get in. I closed the door when she was pulling out.

I turned, looked down the hall, straightened my shoulders, and walked that way.

Benny and I had to have a chat. One where I communicated some important things, he listened, and I got my way for a change.

This I’d decided in the shower.

This, I decided right then, was happening now.

I walked down the hall, turned into the kitchen, took two steps in, stopped, and planted my hands on my hips.

And there I saw that Ben was on a mission. I knew this because he had a donut clamped in his teeth, a travel mug in his hand, he was shoving his phone in his back pocket, and his car keys were sitting on the counter in front of where he was standing. His hair was wet because he’d showered in the hall bathroom. I’d heard him when I was getting ready.

“Ben,” I called.

He looked my way and finished with his phone, lifted his hand to the donut, took a bite, and said through a full mouth, “Yeah?”

“We gotta talk,” I told him.

He chewed and swallowed. “Yeah,” he agreed readily. “Ma’s got somethin’ on with Father Frances this morning, so while you were upstairs, I talked with Mrs. Zambino. She’s takin’ you to the alley today. League play. She says she and her girls’ll keep you company. I gotta get to the restaurant and do some shit. I’ll meet you back here.”

I knew my eyes were squinty when I declared, “I’m not goin’ to the bowling alley with old lady Zambino and her cronies.”

“Yeah, you are,” Ben replied before he took another bite of donut.

I shook my head so I wouldn’t get distracted from my mission, and stated, “Benny, we need to talk about what I wanna talk about.”

“Can’t. She’ll be here in five minutes and I gotta go. One of our suppliers is gonna be at the restaurant in twenty. I made the order. His shit is good, but he’s known to jack his clients around, so I gotta inspect it when it gets there so he doesn’t jack us around.”

Although normally I would find it fascinating, the inner workings of a popular pizzeria and how a supplier might “jack you around,” right then, I couldn’t get distracted by that either.

“I want my phone,” I announced, and Benny focused on me.

“Babe—” he started quietly.

“No,” I cut him off. “We have plans tonight. I made you that promise, I’m keeping that promise. I won’t take off. But I’m out of the hospital and I have a life. Friends who are probably wondering about me. A job I quit, where my notice period ended up as sick leave, but I have strings to tie up there, clients to contact. I also have a new job. They know I experienced a traumatic event, but now they probably think I’ve fallen off the face of the earth. I gotta check in, and to do it, I need my phone. I’d rather make my calls here. But, so as not to court the wrath of old lady Zambino, who probably now is excited about her opportunity to show off her skills at the lanes, I’ll make my calls from the bowling alley.”

Benny looked decidedly unhappy when I started talking about my new job.

But he shocked the shit out of me when he said, “It’s in the truck. I’ll go get it.”

“Really?” I asked, my voice breathy due to the fact I was shocked as shit he gave in and did it so easily.

He stopped looking unhappy and looked something else entirely when he said gently, “Yeah, honey.” He put the donut in his teeth again, nabbed his keys, pushed them in his pocket, came to me, then took the donut out of his mouth before he wrapped his fingers around my hip and bent to me, going deep where he touched his mouth to my neck. He lifted to look in my eyes and whispered, “Be back.”

“Okay,” I whispered too.

He shoved the last of the donut in his mouth, disappeared out the door, and I stood there thinking how easy that was.

Maybe I should have asked for my phone the day before.

Or the day before that.

I was still thinking on this when Ben came back in with my purse. He didn’t bring it to me. He took it to the table, dumped it there, then he came to me.

He got close, and for some reason, I didn’t brace. I didn’t pull away. I didn’t move a muscle.

This meant that when he lifted a hand to curl it around the side of my neck and dipped his head, I was an open target.

It also meant that when the lip touch I was expecting became something else—his mouth opened, mine opened with it, and he was able to sweep his tongue inside—I was able to taste the miraculous flavor of donut and Benny.

My stomach dipped again.

Almost before it began, his lips and tongue were gone. Then his fingers were digging in my neck, his were eyes looking into mine, and he whispered, “Later, baby.”

“Later,” I whispered too.

His eyes smiled. His fingers squeezed. Then he let me go and moved out the door.

I stood in his kitchen, staring at the door, knowing that could be my life.

Ben, off to the restaurant to make sure some supplier didn’t jack him around after giving my neck a squeeze, me a sweep of his tongue that left the taste of him in my mouth, and I’d watch him go out the door after a “Later, baby,” which meant I’d get him back.

And I stood in Benny’s kitchen, staring at the door, knowing I wanted that life. Knowing I wanted it so bad, it was an ache. Knowing I’d wanted it since I was a little girl. Knowing I wanted it even more thinking I could have it with Benny.

But the pain came when I remembered I’d never have it.

On that thought, I heard the front door open and Mrs. Zambino shouting, “Francesca Concetti! Shake a leg! We gotta pick up Phyllis and I don’t wanna be late!”

I took in a deep breath.

Then I went to my purse, made sure my charger was in there because, Lord knew, after days with no charging I’d be screwed, and I did this shouting, “Coming, Mrs. Zambino!”

***

I sat in my chair at the alley and watched Mrs. Zambino make her approach and let her ball fly. The ball spun down the lane quickly, listing to one side, then crack! She hit the pin so hard, it slammed across the lane and she got the split.

I jumped out of my chair, arms up, mind ignoring the not-insignificant ping of pain that hit my wound, and shouted, “Go Zambino!”

As she and all her posse did when someone got a strike or spare, which was frequently, she turned and instantly started shaking her ass, hands lifted in front of her in jazz hands position, forearms swaying, mouth chanting, “Wowee, wowee, wowee.”

Her posse were all doing the same dance and chant as she moved through them, giving double high fives.

She came to me and her look of joy turned severe.

“Francesca, sit down,” she snapped.

“You rock,” I told her.

“I know,” she replied. “Now sit down. I do not need the entire Bianchi family blaming me for you having a setback due to my stellar performance at the bowling alley.”

I sat but kept my head tipped back and did it grinning at her.

She dropped gracefully into the seat next to me as I declared, “I’m taking up bowling as soon as I’m fully recovered so I can be you when I grow up.”

Her eyes did a scan of my head before she decreed, “You’ll need to learn to tame your hair and use blush as an accent rather than a war stripe if you wish that to become so.”

“I’m sorry, I’m still riding the high of your split,” I told her. “Even you being mean and cranky is not going to pollute that high.”

Her mouth twisted in an effort not to allow me to see her smile.

“I saw that!” I declared, lifting a hand and pointing a finger at her mouth.

She shooed my hand away and stood up, moving toward the seating area at the back of the alley, calling, “Give me my Pepsi-Cola, Loretta.”

As any bowling minion would do, Loretta handed over the queen’s drink.

I turned my eyes to the alley, still grinning, as my phone in my hand rang.

I had managed to get a call in to my old boss and assure him I’d be taking care of business. I’d also managed to get a call in to my new boss to let him know I was still alive and planning on being down in Indianapolis to take the job as soon as I was able. Finally, I had managed to text a number of friends to let them know I was good.

Then I got sucked in by the bowling.

I lifted my phone, looked down at it, and saw a number I didn’t recognize. Since it could be something important about a work thing (old or new), I took the call and put it to my ear.

“This is Frankie Concetti.”

“Babe.”

It was Benny.

My stomach dipped again, a major whoosh, and he hadn’t even kissed me.

“Having a good time?” he asked.

“Mrs. Zambino just nailed the split,” I shared.

“Impressive,” he murmured, humor in his deep and easy voice.

God, he was killing me.

“Supplier didn’t jack us around,” he told me. “Got what I needed to get done done, so I can come and get you.”

“No,” I told him. “I wanna stay ’til the bitter end. Zambino’s posse is kicking ass and taking names, but they do this dance and chant every time they get a strike or spare. I wanna see how they rub it in when they beat the shit outta their opponents.”

His voice was full of laughter this time when he said, “So the answer to my earlier question is, yeah. You’re havin’ a good time.”

I didn’t confirm that because I didn’t want to admit to it for a variety of reasons.

He knew one of those reasons because he muttered, “Crazy-stubborn.”

Whatever.

“Get your calls made?” he asked.

“If I say yes, when I get home, are you gonna confiscate my phone again?”

“No.”

“Then yeah.”

That just got me his laughter.

I sighed and listened to it, enjoying every second.

He quit doing it, and the minute he did, he tore me out of the uncertain world I was letting myself live in and catapulted me into the pit of hell I’d been courting since that day, weeks after Vinnie died, when Ben and I got drunk and I made a crazy, stupid, inebriated, slut move on him.

“Made a reservation at Giuseppe’s. Seven.”

Hearing his words, I sucked in a painful breath.

Giuseppe’s was like Vinnie’s Pizzeria. You had to know it was there to know it was there. It was a neighborhood hangout and they liked it that way. That didn’t mean they didn’t accept whatever business came their way and the growth that came with that. They just were about doing what they did and doing it well, focusing solely on that and rewarding those who understood the meaning of word of mouth.

It was garden level off an alley. They had no parking. They had no listing in the phonebook. You could show up and hope you got a table, or you could be lucky enough to have Giuseppe’s granddaughter, Elena, who now ran the restaurant, give you her phone number so you could make a reservation.

I had no idea with the prevalence of the Internet if social media cottoned on and she had a Yelp listing that had seven thousand five-star reviews. Though, their listing probably only had three thousand five hundred reviews, seeing as half the people who knew about Giuseppe’s wanted to keep it a secret, in hopes that when they went there, they could get a table. But it was so awesome the other half wouldn’t be able to keep their traps shut about it.

This was because it was Italian dining at its finest. The restaurant was dark. The tables small. The décor mostly rich reds. The mood romantic. You went there for Valentine’s Day. You went there to ask your woman to marry you. You went there to tell your man you were carrying his child. You did not take your children there, not ever, but you passed the knowledge of that restaurant on to them like a treasured family secret, so one day, they’d ask their women to marry them there or tell their man they were having his baby there.

It was the perfect place for a first date if the guy really liked you and didn’t mind you knowing it. It was the kind of place where a guy took you on a first date, you sat across from him, and you instantly decided to spend the rest of your life with him.

But for me, it was a disaster.

Vinnie had taken me to White Castle on our first date. He thought that was funny, and being young and into him, I’d thought it was the same, with the addition of goofy and sweet.

Benny was taking me to Giuseppe’s. He was not playing games.

“Frankie?” Ben called.

I looked at my lap and started deep breathing.

“Honey, you there?” Ben asked.

“I…uh, yeah,” I pushed out. “I’m here.”

“You okay?”

“Yeah. Fine.”

“You good for Giuseppe’s?”

No. Never. Never, ever, ever.

“Sounds awesome,” I told him.

He was silent before he said, “You’re not okay.”

“When Mrs. Zambino got her split, I jumped up and had some pain. I’m still kind of recovering.”

I felt guilt for telling him this because, even though the first part was true, the second part was a lie and that was the part that would make him worry.

“Jesus, that must have been some split,” Benny muttered.

“It was.” At least that was the truth.

“Take it easy, baby. We got a big night.”

Yes, we did.

Because this ended tonight.

“Yeah,” I said.

“I’ll let you go. You’re enjoyin’ yourself. Don’t want you to miss the action.”

More good from Benny.

I closed my eyes but said, “Yeah. See you later.”

“Later, cara.”

I listened to him disconnect, feeling the disconnection of our phone call like a physical thing, foreshadowing of things to come, and that ache in me deepened.

I had approximately a second to feel this before I felt a hand wrap strong under my jaw and my chin was tipped up.

I opened my eyes and looked into the dark brown ones of Mrs. Zambino.

“You went white as a sheet,” she said quietly, the rolling of the balls and crashing of the pins sounding all around us.

I didn’t reply.

She held my jaw in her hand and peered deep in my eyes.

Then she asked, “That Benito on the phone?”

“Yes,” I whispered.

She nodded once and didn’t take her hand from my jaw as she said, “You got an old woman livin’ across the street. You need wisdom, Francesca Concetti, you make your way over. I’ll give it to you.”

Then she let me go and went to the ball return.

I swallowed before I took in an unsteady breath.

I needed wisdom, anyone needed wisdom.

But no way I was walking across the street to get Mrs. Zambino’s version of it.

Needless to say, the rest of my time with old lady Zambino and her crew was not as enjoyable as the start of it was.

When it was over, she dropped Phyllis first and then pointed her Caddy toward home. She had chatted with Phyllis, but when we were alone, the car was deathly quiet as it glided through the streets of Chicago in the neighborhood I called home growing up.

Which brought to mind that Benny bought a house in our ’hood.

Family man, staying close, relishing history.

God didn’t hate me. He despised me.

She stopped outside Benny’s house, the car idling, and I turned to her. “Thanks for lookin’ out for me, Mrs. Zambino.”

She stared intently in my eyes and nodded.

I turned to the door, put my hand on the handle, and mumbled, “See you later.”

I didn’t get the door open.

I turned back when Mrs. Zambino wrapped her silver-tipped, taloned fingers around my knee.

I caught her eyes and she launched right in, speaking softly.

“My Alonzo, rest his soul…” She did the sign of the holy cross with her free hand and kept speaking, “God tested him, givin’ him three girls. A house with him and four women. Then all his girls had nothin’ but girls. House full a’ women, my babies were around. Did his head in.”

She stopped talking and I said nothing because I didn’t know where this was going.

“He loved every minute of it,” she whispered.

The forlorn tone of her voice made my breath catch and reminded me that Al Zambino died only two years ago.

She kept going.

“My Al used to say that if he was a younger man, he’d make Enzo Concetti see sense—all the beauty he created, all that beauty he neglected.”

And that made my breath turn harsh.

“‘Nothin’ more precious,’ Al would say, ‘than your baby girl.’”

“Mrs. Zambino,” I whispered.

“Broke his heart knowin’ you and your sisters looked in the mirror and saw what your father taught you to see. Not what’s there. What a good man who was a good father would teach you to see.”

My breath still harsh, my heart started pumping fast.

“I—”

I stopped talking when, suddenly, her hand darted out and she grasped hold of my jaw again, jerking it her way, firm but gentle.

“You’re a good girl, Frankie Concetti,” she declared.

I felt tears sting my eyes.

“Good girls earn good things.” She let my jaw go, her eyes going beyond me toward Benny’s house, then coming back to me. “Let yourself have good things.”

“It’s not right,” I told her quietly.

“Know one thing on God’s beautiful earth, and that is” —she leaned into me— “love is never wrong.”

I shook my head.

She held my gaze. “You find yourself open to accepting wisdom, Francesca, got an old lady across the street who’ll give you some.”

I pressed my lips together.

Her eyes again went beyond me before they came back. “Benny’s waitin’.”

I turned my head and looked up to Benny’s house to see him standing on his stoop, arms crossed on his chest, uniform of tee and jeans on, but this time his tee was navy.

I looked back to Mrs. Zambino. “Thanks for today.”

“More league play tomorrow, you feel like another day of bein’ dazzled.”

I grinned at her.

She stared pointedly at my door.

I got out and barely had the door closed when her Caddy started cruising down the street on its way for her to park it in her garage off the alley.

Benny watched me make my way to him and didn’t move until I was one step away.

But he only dropped his arms to plant his hands on his hips as I joined him at the top of his stoop.

“What was that about?” he asked, his eyes flicking to the road before coming back to me.

I stared up at him. He was tall. He was beautiful. He was a good son. A good brother. A good guy. He’d be a good husband and an amazing father.

I wanted a shot at that.

I couldn’t have it.

“We need to talk,” I announced.

His eyes narrowed on my face and I watched them take in what was there and process it. I knew it when his entire face gentled.

Oh yes. I wanted a shot at that.

“Baby—” he started.

“Now,” I cut him off.

He studied me for long seconds before he nodded, moved to the door, and threw it open for me.

I walked in, went directly to the living room, and tossed my purse on the couch.

As I was doing that, I heard the door closing, and when I looked that way, Ben was in the room with me.

I had to do this now. I had to get this out.

Then I had to get gone.

“I loved your brother,” I declared, and his body jerked to a halt, his eyes leveling on me, his sudden intensity filling the room.

“I know that,” he said slowly.

“No, Ben, I loved your brother,” I stressed.

“I know that, Frankie,” he replied.

“When I was with him, I did not think of you this way,” I shared, lifting a hand and waving it between him and me. “Not ever.”

“Okay,” he said as a prompt when I quit talking.

“When he died, it broke me.”

He closed his eyes on a wince, opened them, and focused on me again.

“I know, baby,” he said quietly.

“It broke me because I loved him. It broke me because I missed him. It broke me because I wasn’t the kind of woman who was strong enough to stop him from throwing his life away.”

Ben’s voice was still quiet but firm when he stated, “You are not responsible for Vinnie’s death.”

“No?” I asked.

“No,” he answered.

“You sure you don’t think that?” I pushed.

Understanding flowed through his face. He took a step toward me but stopped and said, “I deserved that.”

I shook my head. “I’m not punishing you, Ben, honestly. I believe you when you say you don’t think that anymore. But, just to say, I still do.”

“Frankie, Vinnie bought what happened to him.”

“A woman is supposed to have her man’s back,” I retorted.

“Not when her man turns his back on his woman,” he returned.

His words hit me like a bullet (and I knew that feeling) and I clamped my mouth shut.

“He did that shit to you and you know it,” Benny stated.

I looked to the side.

“He did that shit to you, you knew it, and you were done with it,” Benny went on.

I looked to him.

“Weren’t you?” he pushed.

“Yes,” I whispered, then admitted my horrible secret, “I was giving up on him.”

This time Ben shook his head. “Cara, he took away everything so there wasn’t anything to give up.”

His words hit me again, hard, and I drew in a sharp breath like I’d sustained a blow.

“You got a point with this talk?” he asked.

“This is between us,” I explained. “It always will be.”

“How?” Benny asked before he reminded me, “He’s dead.”

“I loved your brother, Benny,” I repeated.

“Yeah. You did. He was lovable. He was a good guy. He loved you too. Fuckin’ besotted. I was glad my brother had that. Then I was fuckin’ pissed he shit all over it.”

And still more goodness from Benny.

I couldn’t take it.

“This can never work between us,” I declared.

“Why?” he asked.

“Because people will see us at Giuseppe’s and they’ll think, ‘There she is, Frankie Concetti. Dating her dead boyfriend’s brother. Latching onto another Bianchi.’”

“Anyone thinks that shit can kiss your ass, and while they’re at it, they can kiss mine.”

He had an answer for everything, but I was losing it, so I leaned in and shouted, “It isn’t right!”

He leaned forward to, his voice rising, and threw out both arms as he asked, “What about the last four days hasn’t been right, Frankie? Tell me. What hasn’t been right? You gigglin’ at Pop bein’ Pop and me bein’ me? You sharin’ words of wisdom with one of Cal’s girls? You in my bed handin’ me shit I like, then cuddlin’ up to me to watch TV? You eatin’ my pie and lovin’ every fuckin’ bite? You sittin’ at the kitchen table havin’ lunch with my ma? Pop havin’ your back when your bitch of a sister comes callin’? What about any of that isn’t right?”

That was when I lost it.

“I don’t want you to ever think I’m with you for any reason other than you’re Benny!” I yelled. “Not ever, Ben. Not ever. You don’t deserve that. You don’t deserve ever to think something like that!”

As I was yelling, his torso jerked back, even as his chin did it into his neck.

When I was done yelling, he whispered, “What the fuck?”

“You’re right,” I snapped, throwing out a hand. “I came onto you after Vinnie died. You kissed me, but I made the first move.”

“I know that, baby,” he replied, still whispering.

“It was a slutty thing to do.”

“You were drunk.”

“It was slutty.”

“Francesca, you were plastered, outta your mind, totally blotto. So was I. You lost your man, I lost my brother, you’re a woman, I’m a guy, and shit happened seven years ago. It wasn’t right. We both fucked up. We both knew it. And now it’s over.”

“That’s it?” I clipped.

“That’s it,” he returned immediately.

“And you don’t think I’m a slut.”

His body went solid and my heart squeezed hard.

“You think I’m a slut,” I whispered.

“No,” he bit out.

“You do. I can read it, Benny Bianchi. It’s written all over you.”

“Babe—”

I shook my head, looking toward the door, demanding, “Take me home.”

“Babe—”

I looked to him and shrieked, “Take me home, Benny!”

“Frankie, baby. Fuck. I know Vinnie took your virginity.”

I took two steps back and stared.

He watched my feet move and his eyes cut to my face. “Yeah. This would be the awkward, uncomfortable shit we’ll be needin’ to get through.” He lifted a hand, tore it through his fabulous hair, looking to the side and finishing on a mutter, “All a’ this shit.”

“Vinnie told you that?” I whispered, and Benny looked back to me.

“Yeah,” he ground out.

“Oh my God,” I breathed.

“Loved him. He was a good guy until he turned bad. But he had a big fuckin’ mouth.”

“Oh my God,” I repeated.

I wanted to die. I wanted to rewind to the forest and not make it out.

Vinnie talked about me, as in about me.

To Benny!

“Frankie—”

“How much do you know?” I asked.

“Babe—”

I leaned toward him. “How much do you know, Benny Bianchi?”

He answered in a way that seemed he was forcing the words to come out, “I know I got some work to do to get you to enjoy goin’ down on me.”

I looked to the ceiling and cried, “Oh my God!”

“Babe, come here.”

I looked to him and shook my head. “No. Take me home.”

“Frankie, come here.”

“This is humiliating,” I hissed.

“What this is, is me tellin’ you I know you’re not a slut. You weren’t then, you could never be. It isn’t in you, babe. Fuck, you were twenty-one when you gave it up the first time and you haven’t had a man since.”

“How do you know that?” I snapped.

“Babe, I was into you. I’m still into you. I never stopped bein’ into you. I paid attention.”

Even though I liked that, a whole lot, I was too mortified to allow that good feeling to penetrate so I just glared at him.

“I’m right, aren’t I?” he pushed.

I just kept glaring at him.

“I’m right,” he muttered.

“Take me home,” I demanded.

“Frankie—”

“Honestly,” I bit out. “Do you think we can get beyond this? You knowin’ your brother was the only one?”

“It didn’t even occur to me when I had my hand on your ass and my tongue in your mouth yesterday. And do not go where you’re goin’, Frankie, because Vinnie didn’t cross your mind either.”

I shut my mouth that I’d opened in order to retort in precisely the way Benny knew I would because Vinnie didn’t. He didn’t cross my mind. Not until Benny started talking about him.

That was all about Benny and what Benny was doing to me.

“All right then, how about this?” I threw out. “I’m not a big fan of blowjobs.”

“Then, no offense to my dead brother, he didn’t teach you right.”

I threw up my hands. “Do you not find this entire conversation bizarre?”

“Babe, seriously, I get you naked, I’ll get you to the point where you latch on and be so into what you’re doin’, you’ll come before I can pull you off and bury myself inside you.”

“Arrrrrr!” I screamed, mostly because, all of sudden, I had an overwhelming desire to give Benny a blowjob.

Crazy!

Just as suddenly, I was in his arms.

I jerked my body, but his arms went tight.

“Calm,” he growled.

I went still and glared up at him.

“You are not a slut.” He kept growling.

I kept glaring up at him.

“And I don’t give a fuck what anyone thinks about us if they see us together. They judge, they gotta answer to God for that, not me or you.”

I just kept glaring at him.

Benny withstood it for some time before he asked, “You have lunch?”

“Old lady Zambino treated her entire crew to Coney dogs from the concession stand in celebration of their resounding win.”

“Too bad. I was gonna haul our asses to Lincoln’s for a sub.”

At this offer, my shoulders went straight and I shared, “I’m still peckish.”

“A sub on top of a Coney dog is gonna fuck with your Giuseppe’s experience.”

“Nothing fucks with a Giuseppe’s experience.”

Benny grinned.

Then he asked, “You done freakin’ out?”

I absolutely was not.

This realization made me slump in his arms.

I aimed my eyes at his shoulder, saying, “All of this is weird.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, and I looked back to him. “It’s weird. It’s awkward. It sucks. It reminds me I shoulda asked you out when I wanted to ask you out my senior year but didn’t because it was known wide you didn’t put out. But now we’re here. We’ll get past it. And at least it’s at a time when I’m sure I can convince you to put out and give you a whole lot better than I could have when I was seventeen.”

I blinked at him.

Then I asked breathily, “You wanted to ask me out when we were in high school?”

“Babe, you’re crazy-beautiful and got great tits, great legs, a great ass, and an unbelievable smile, and you had all a’ that back then too. So yeah. Fuck yeah. Every guy in high school wanted a piece of you.”

Oh my God.

I’d had three dates in high school.

Three!

And none of them good.

I felt my brows draw together. “Then why didn’t they ask me?”

“Because, Frankie, baby, you didn’t put out.”

It was then I felt my blood start to get hot.

“Was that the only prerequisite for a girl to get a date?”

“Pretty much. Outside of her needin’ to be hot. But you had that.”

“That’s disgusting,” I hissed.

“Frankie,” he said, and my name rumbled with the laughter that was shaking his body against mine. “That was eighteen years ago, in a time when I thought with my dick.”

My brows shot up. “You don’t anymore?”

“Okay, it was in a time when I thought with my dick ninety-nine percent of the time, rather than now, when I think with my dick only fifty percent of the time, or anytime I’m around you.”

“That’s disgusting too.”

“It was meant to be a compliment.”

“It failed.”

“Babe,” he said, his arms giving me a squeeze. “You are not shitting me that you don’t like the idea of me bein’ all about my dick and where I wanna put it when I’m with you.”

I was looking forward to a time when I could throw something at him without tearing open my wound when he pissed me off.

Like when he was right and he went about being right in a crude way that I found annoyingly arousing.

“I think I need a nap,” I declared.

His arms got super tight when he burst out laughing.

I watched, up close and personal, and hated myself for enjoying every second.

His laughter died down to chuckles, his hand at my side moved to stroke me there, and he again focused on me to ask, “Right. Now, are you done freakin’ out?”

I stopped being pissed. I stopped being anything.

But one thing.

And I shared with Benny what that was.

“This scares me, Ben.”

He dipped his head so his face was an inch from mine and replied, “I get that, honey.”

“I don’t know how to get over that,” I admitted.

“You wanna get over it?” he asked.

That was a loaded question I was not going to answer out loud so I kept my mouth shut.

“Okay, I’ll give you that play, cara,” Benny said when I did. “But, just sayin’, you makin’ your previous statement already gives me my answer.”

And, again, he was right.

“So,” he continued, “how ’bout this? Stick with me.”

I shook my head. “I’m moving to Indianapolis.”

At that, he shook his head. “Day to day, babe, not future. Not anything but the next day, fuck, the next minute, each minute into the next. Stick with me while we work it out. If it goes wrong, it does. If I can’t guide you through, I’ll eat that. But, I’ll warn you, I’ll be breakin’ my back to make sure neither of those happen.”

God, more goodness coming from Benny.

“There are a lot of obstacles,” I pointed out.

“Francesca, no one ever got a gold medal for sittin’ on their ass and doin’ nothin’. You work at somethin’, you work at it hard, you believe in it, you want it, you go after it, you get it—that’s when you get your prize.”

Now wisdom coming from Benny.

I couldn’t take it so I dropped my chin to rest my forehead against his chest.

The hand he was using to stroke my side curled around and his other hand slid up to wrap around the back of my neck as he asked into my hair, “You really need a nap?”

“Were you really gonna take me to Lincoln’s?”

“Yeah.”

“Then I don’t need a nap.”

His hand at the back of my neck gave me a squeeze so I lifted my head.

When I did, Benny, who I was learning did not waste opportunities, dipped his and took my mouth. He got tongue action. It was more than a sweep this time. It was a deep drink.

I loved it. Every second. And I ended it with my arms wrapped around him.

“Stick with me?” he whispered, his lips still against mine.

“Yeah.”

I felt his mouth smile.

I closed my eyes.

Then I felt his mouth touch my forehead.

After that, he let me go, grabbed my hand, pulled me toward the door, and said, “Let’s go get subs.”