Chapter 9
This time, we hit up the gourmet grilled cheese truck and gorged ourselves on yummy Oregon cheese. But we were responsible adults and got salads for the side instead of the mouthwatering loaded tots I saw most people leaving the truck with.
Since almost everyone was super excited about Shawn Reyes performing on the floating stage, there were more than enough available tables in the dining area.
Ben and I sat near Roscoe’s watchful eye in the beer line while a few guys who’d been standing next to us at Monica’s show took the other end of the table.
Kinda weird they followed us over, but whatever.
“Do you know, I just realized I don’t even know your last name?” I asked just before I took a big bite of my sandwich.
A guy at the end of the table choked and coughed loudly. I sent him a concerned look, but he waved a hand, indicating he was fine. I looked back at Ben and raised my eyebrows.
But he was still staring at the coughing guy…and it was starting to feel awkward. Why was he glaring at the guy?
“Ben?” I asked. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah.” He turned back to me and cleared his throat. “It’s Bellomo. My family’s Italian.”
“Your parents named you Ben Bellomo? That’s…a choice.” I couldn’t resist the urge to tease him. He was cute enough to pull it off. And he probably used a stage name.
Ben rolled his eyes. “Not officially. Ben is technically a nickname. It’s short for—”
“Benjamin,” I cut in. Everyone knew that. “I can see that. Benjamin Bellomo. Huh. And I can totally see the Italian in you. I should’ve guessed.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” He grinned back at me like he knew what I was going to say but wanted the praise.
So I zagged in a different direction. “You’re just so expressive and talkative.”
I was kidding. Getting the guy to talk about himself was like pulling teeth.
“Fuhgeddaboudit!” He pinched his fingers together and gestured with his hand.
I rolled my eyes. “Of course, you also have that swarthy olive skin and dark hair.” I leaned forward and lowered my voice, “And then there’s that big Italian sausage—”
“Look!” Ben shouted, cutting me off. “Here’s Roscoe with our beers.”
I sat back on my bench seat, my face flushing with heat. Widening my eyes at Ben, I winced.
Judging by the grin on his face, he found the whole thing hilarious.
I wasn’t going to look Roscoe in the face again. Ever.
Roscoe, discreet as always, plopped my beer down in front of me and Ben and then hustled to the other end of the long table, sitting with the choking guy. I assumed. I didn’t really look up to verify for myself.
“So…” Ben’s low voice came across the table and drew my eyes without even trying. “You killed it up there tonight, baby. You were awesome. How’d you know all their moves? I thought you said you haven’t seen Monica perform before?”
“I haven’t and uh, the answer is kinda embarrassing.”
“Look at me.”
The tender note in Ben’s voice made my heart lurch. After a breath, I lifted my face and stared into Ben’s eyes.
He shook his head slightly. “There’s literally nothing you could tell me that should embarrass you.”
I rolled my eyes.
“I’m serious.” His lips quirked like he was fighting a smile. “Unless of course you’re going to tell me that you have a Shawn Reyes poster on your bedroom wall. Then I’m out.”
My eyes widened, and I bit my lip. I might’ve had one in high school. I took it down years ago, but like hell would I admit as much now.
But Ben could read me like a book. He burst out laughing at whatever expression was on my face. “Seriously?” His sandwich landed on his cardboard boat with a plop before he bent to the side coughing and laughing. “Fuck me. I thought you had better taste than that.”
“Give me a break! I was in high school. And he’s cute.”
“Cute.” He shook his head. “The guy’s an ass.”
“You say that like you know for a fact.”
He lifted a shoulder and picked up his sandwich again.
Meanwhile I boggled. “Seriously? First Monica and now Shawn freaking Reyes? Who are you?”
More coughing came from the other end of the table followed by another glare from Ben and a muttered, “seriously?”
Finally, he shook his head and looked back at me. “I’m just a guy lucky enough to have caught you in a weak moment. And I’m not above exploiting it to my advantage.”
Then he sent me a heated look that had me clenching my thighs together and muffling a whimper. We were in public! And I was so wet again.
His expression turned cocky, like he knew what he’d just done to me. He was such a hot asshole.
I wanted to know where we were going to go from here. I mean, sure we had tomorrow—literally, because that was when the festival ended—but what happened next? Was this just a festival fling? Or did he want to see me again?
I cleared my throat and picked at my side salad. “You know I just realized I don’t even know where you’re based. Do you work in LA or New York? I mean, I’m assuming you’re not a local.”
“I, uh, you’re right; I’m not local. I guess you could say LA. I mean I have a place there. But I travel a lot…for work.”
I nodded. Suddenly my heart was feeling heavy. Even though he was based in LA, it didn’t sound like he was there a bunch. And if the offer with Monica worked out, I doubted I’d be in LA much, either.
So, this had to be a weekend fling.
Right?
I was silly for hoping it’d be more. For expecting him to want more.
I pushed my cardboard boat away with a sigh.
“Full?” Ben asked as he shoveled more salad in.
I nodded tightly and gave him a wan smile. “Just not used to being up this late, and definitely not eating this late. It’s been a surreal day.”
A sudden burst of noise made me swivel on my bench seat. “Looks like we officially missed Shawn Reyes’ show.”
“Not breaking my heart.” Ben scoffed.
“You want to get out of here? I’m not keen to see Spyglass Rules, and you already know my feelings about Reuben Bello.”
Ben rubbed his hand over his face. “Right. I uh, kinda need to stay for the last show.”
I winced. “You’re a fan. And here I’ve been talking shit all night. Sorry. And of course we can go see his show. You went to Monica Moore for me. I’ll see Reuben Bello with you.”
A different guy coughed loudly at the end of the table. Concerned, I turned and found Roscoe glaring at Ben. His eyes darted to me before he looked away, shaking his head. Clearly, Roscoe didn’t agree with Ben about something. Maybe he wasn’t a Reuben Bello fan either.
I turned back to Ben and raised my eyebrows. I didn’t care what Roscoe thought. If Ben wanted to see Reuben’s show, we were going.
I shrugged. “Maybe it’ll be fun. You could probably convince me to like his music. Maybe.”
A muscle flexed in Ben’s jaw. Then he nodded resolutely. “Okay. But uh, he’s playing on the floating stage. And we’re going to have to watch from the wings.” He shrugged like it was no big thing. “I know a guy.”
“Oh, he knows a guy all right,” Roscoe bit out from the other end of the table.
I widened my eyes at Ben. I didn’t know what was going on. Nodding weakly, I tried to sound excited. “Sounds like fun.”
“Yeah.” Ben smiled wanly at me. “Fun,” he echoed.
“Hey Ben,” Roscoe called from the side. “We gotta start heading over.”
I didn’t have to look to see the disapproval on Roscoe’s face; it was clear in his tone. Whether it was the concert or me, I couldn’t tell. But he was clearly pissed.
And so was Ben, judging from the steel in his expression. He nodded tightly. “Let’s go.”
“Okay.” I stood up, grabbed our trays and trash, and then searched the tent for a trashcan that wasn’t overflowing.
When I came back to the table, Ben was standing next to a shorter man in his forties wearing a suit and a devilish smile that looked oddly familiar.
“…doesn’t know. Try to be normal for once in your fucking life,” Ben bit out to the guy before turning to me with a forced smile. “Emma, this is my father, Jacob. Jacob, this is my girl, Emma.”
“Your dad. Right. Nice to meet you, sir.” I held out my hand.
Jacob sent me a look that had everything inside me curling up for a moment. This was Ben’s dad? Ick.
Jacob shook my hand, and I let go the second it wouldn’t be obvious I was uncomfortable.
Turning to Ben, I forced a smile, even though I could still feel Jacob’s gaze on my body. “Shouldn’t we be heading…”
I just wanted to get away from him. Here. Whatever.
“Yup,” Jacob replied even though my question was for Ben. “They have the piers all set up and are waiting for us.”
“Right. Let’s go then.” Despite telling me he wanted to see Reuben Bello’s show, Ben sounded like this was the last thing he wanted to do.
I wanted to ask him what was going on, but a bunch of burly guys surrounded us, and Ben grabbed my hand, pulling me close, and then we moved as a group toward the piers leading to the floating stage.
* * *
If I thought this day was surreal before, I’d had no clue of what was to come.
As we walked over the floating docks toward the floating stage, my heart thundered in my ears. Somehow this felt so much bigger than getting pulled on stage with Monica Moore.
Ten huge guys, including Roscoe and Ben’s dad, had escorted us through the festival to the pier. People craned their necks to get looks of us, certain there was someone in the middle of the scrum. Honestly, I was starting to wonder myself.
What the heck was going on?
And the attention didn’t let up once we’d stepped across the bouncing, floating docks to the stage. Twice as many people gathered around Ben, wanting his attention. One woman fussed over his clothing, tugging off his hood and hat, as she muttered something about prima donnas.
Ben had to let go of my hand so he could pull off his shirt to put on the one she shoved at him.
“Would’ve been so much easier if you just met me in the trailer like usual. Do you want to keep the glasses? And what hat do you want to wear?” She fanned out three in her hands, all branded with a huge BC in a star.
Ben grabbed one and pulled it on backwards.
“You’re good with the shoes?” she asked.
Ben shrugged. “They’ve worked all day, Claire. I’m good.”
She turned away, muttering.
A guy pulled Ben away with talks of sound levels. But before he left, Ben turned to me.
“I know this is a lot. And I swear we’ll talk after. Just…” He sighed as emotions flashed in his expressive eyes. “Just don’t go anywhere, okay? Promise me.”
I had to laugh. “I can’t, Ben. They’re taking away the docks.”
I gestured to the path we’d taken here that had been untied from the stage while guys pulled it back to the fixed pier, making one wide pier.
And removing our only exit.
“Good. I like the idea of you trapped here with me.”
“Pretty sure that’s what the Beast said to Belle.” I narrowed my eyes at him, trying to bring some levity to this bizarre moment.
“Works for me.” His arms came around me, pulling me to him until our hips kissed. “Because what I feel for you can definitely be described as beastly.”
Then he kissed me with all this ferocious need and desire that had me sagging in his arms. But all too soon, he pulled away and rested his forehead against mine.
“Just don’t jump to any conclusions, okay? I know I should’ve—”
“B!” someone shouted behind him. “B, we need you!”
“Fuck.” He closed his eyes again before pressing a gentle kiss to my brow. “Stick with Roscoe. He’s under orders to keep you in sight at all times. No swimming tonight, okay?”
“Sure, Ben.”
Then he walked away with a guy in a headset, leaving me standing at the side of the stage all alone.