The Promise
Page 121

I felt for her. A good wingman was hard to find.
Still, I answered, “Yep.”
“Freakin’ awesome,” she said, not meaning it. “Now how’m I gonna get laid?”
“We could go carousin’ while I’m still here. You’ve got a coupla months.”
“What you doin’ Wednesday?” she asked instantly, and I grinned.
“Carousin’ with you,” I answered.
That was when she grinned.
Feb moving caught my eye and I looked down the bar to see that Tanner Layne was now taking a phone call.
He really was hot.
But Benny was so totally hotter.
This thought and the man’s age made my eyes go to Cheryl and I asked, “Tanner Layne have kids?”
“Yep, word is two boys.”
“One named Jasper?” I asked.
“No clue, seein’ as he hasn’t f**ked my brains out so we could get down to the pillow talk of sharin’ how many offspring we might bring to a Brady Bunch scenario.”
I smiled at what she said but kept eyeing Tanner Layne as I muttered, “I wonder if he’s Jasper’s father.” I said this as I hoped he was because those genes would undoubtedly be dominant and that would mean, once Cal lifted the ban, Keira would get a live one.
“Who’s Jasper?’ Cheryl asked, and I looked back at her.
“The boy Keira has a crush on.”
She jerked up her chin high on an “Ah.” Then she said, “I’ll find out,” and moseyed toward Feb.
I sipped my wine, and after a couple of minutes, Cheryl moseyed back.
“Jasper is the oldest,” she confirmed. “His other one, Tripp, is younger. Neither have been picked up doin’ stupid shit by Colt or anybody as far as Feb knows. But she’s willin’ to interrogate Colt about Jasper’s suitability for Keirry.”
“That’d be good, seein’ as Cal’s reluctant to give her the go-ahead to make her play with the kid because, according to Kate, he’s a high school player.”
“I’ll get Feb on it,” she said.
“Thanks,” I murmured, then we both went silent since Tanner Layne was throwing some bills on the bar and he was doing a chin lift to Feb.
He walked the length of the bar, eyes on me, and when he got close, his head tilted slightly to the side, his lips tipped up, and his eyes got lazy. Then he walked right on by and out the door.
I had to admit, my ni**les tingled a little, but then again, that was an automatic female response to a hot guy head tilt/lip tip.
I also had to admit it was nice to know I had it in me to be sitting on a barstool and get the hot guy head tilt/lip tip.
But mostly, it was just a pleasant thing to happen while I passed the time until I could phone Benny.
* * * * *
“You okay?”
This was Ben’s greeting that night at 12:45.
“Please tell me you’re close to a bed,” I replied, my voice sleepy and throaty. The first because I’d just woken up and called Benny. The second because I was multitasking so I’d already engaged my vibrator.
Ben’s voice was no longer concerned but something a whole lot better when he demanded, “Tell me you’re serious, cara.”
“I’m very serious, Benny.”
“How far gone are you?” he asked.
“You still got work to do, honey,” I answered.
“Fuck, baby,” he growled and there it was. That was all I had to hear. Benny got to work.
Luckily, that wasn’t all Benny gave me. He gave me a whole lot more and he did it until he heard me come. Then I set my vibrator away, rolled to my side, curled up, and in my throaty, quiet, post-orgasm voice, I gave him a lot more until I heard him come.
I was silent a moment for him to come down before I whispered, “I miss you, honey.”
“Comin’ to you this weekend.”
I blinked at my pillow. “What?”
“My turn.”
“So soon?” I asked, my heart leaping, hoping he would confirm that yes, he was coming back to me and soon.
“Done with this shit. I’m down there or you’re up here every weekend.”
Even though I loved that I idea, it worried me.
“That’s a lot for you at the restaurant.”
“Two months. They’ll cover me.”
I knew that was a sacrifice for Benny.
But it made me happy, and not just because I’d see him more, also because he wanted to see me more and he was a man willing to make that kind of sacrifice for me.
“Cheryl is gonna have to make do with a weekday wingman,” I muttered, thinking that’d work for her because she probably worked most weekends.
“What?” Ben asked.
“Nothin’,” I answered.
“Cheryl’s wingman?” he pushed, and I pressed my lips together because I had a feeling Ben was a man of the Colt and Cal variety. “Frankie,” he prompted in a warning, not throaty, sexy, post-orgasm voice, but in a growly, sexy, getting-pissed, post-orgasm voice.
Yep, Benny was a man of the Colt and Cal variety.
So I gave it up. “Cheryl asked me to be her wingman.”
“And you said yes?” Ben asked, like I told him Cheryl asked me to help her bomb the Canadian embassy.
“She needs to get laid,” I explained.
“Seen her, figure she can accomplish that feat on her own,” Ben returned.
“Every girl needs a good wingman, Benny,” I shot back, my voice not throaty, post-orgasm anymore either, mostly because I was kind of getting pissed.
“Maybe. It’s just that hers isn’t gonna be you,” Benny declared, and I stopped kind of getting pissed and just got that way.
“Why?”
“You and your ass, hair, legs, tits, and smile do not need to be out on your heels with f**kin’ Cheryl, gettin’ attention and gettin’ into trouble.”
“Benny Bianchi, do you think in a million years I’d do anything to jeopardize the promise of you?” I snapped.
I got silence from Benny for a moment before he asked quietly, “The promise of me?”
“Yes,” I hissed. “The promise of you.”
“Babe, I’m yours. How am I a promise?” he asked, tone now cautious, and my belly did a dip at the “I’m yours” business.
But still.
“Every day is a new promise, Ben,” I told him sharply. “Every night I go to sleep knowin’ it’s a promise, every day I wake knowin’ in some way it’s gonna be fulfilled. And repeat. For…hopefully…ever.”