Chapter 7 #2
I’m immediately hit with the smell of coffee and warm pastries.
The sweet, nutty aroma of freshly baked bread fills my senses, and it makes my mouth water.
Guess it’s going to be coffee, conversation, and one of those delectable pastries behind the glass.
Looking around, it’s not hard to spot him among the crowd of patrons.
“Fuck me,” I whisper, taking in Bennett’s appearance.
He’s dressed in jeans and a plain black T-shirt stretched across his broad chest with a baseball hat on backwards.
If I hadn’t seen what he looked like on his knees, I would say this is the hottest thing I’ve ever seen, but I don’t know if anything can beat my pool house view.
No, Sloane, stop it. I cannot think about that right now.
This is just another assignment. That’s it…
But fuck, the look on his face when he started to—No.
Fuck, I’m so screwed. “This is going to be a long night.”
“Hey, there you are,” Bennett says when he spots me. He tucks his phone into his back pocket and beckons me over. “You find it okay?”
“I got lost a few times but finally happened to stumble upon it by the fourth lap around the block,” I say, and his eyes widen a little more with every word. I laugh. “I’m kidding, I come here all the time. I live a few blocks north of here.”
Bennett breathes out, and the genuine smile that crosses his lips begins to melt my resolve. “Good, then you can tell me what’s good here.”
“What do you like?” I ask, stepping into the short line.
“How’s the drip?” He laughs when I scrunch my nose. “What? I usually only drink black coffee.”
“Please tell me you’re not one of those pretentious coffee snobs who think they’re better than everyone because they only drink black coffee.” He doesn’t answer, and I smack his arm with the back of my hand. “Bennett James!”
The girl behind the counter isn’t one I’ve seen before, but she seems to recognize him instantly. Her lips curve upward, and a new twinkle shines in her eyes. That definitely wasn’t there with the last customer. “What can I get you?” she asks, one-hundred-percent of her focus on him.
Great…Something tells me my coffee is going to come out wrong today.
“I’ll do a dark roast and a…Red, White, and Brew Latte for the lady, please.”
Did he just order for me? He doesn’t even know what I like. Granted, that’s the exact drink I was looking at, but still.
Only when he mentions me does the barista finally look my way. Her eyes trail down the length of my body and back until she meets my gaze. Her lips purse before she turns back to him with a dazzling smile. “Do you want room for anything extra in that?”
“No, thank you, Logan,” he says, reading her name off the tag pinned to her apron. She giggles, punching in something else on the screen as he reaches into his back pocket.
“It’s on the house today,” she says, zeroing out the total.
“Logan, no. Let me—”
“Please, it’s the least I can do. Call it a birthday present.
” Birthday? Today is his…birthday? Logan scribbles something on the top of the to-go cup before filling it with the drip coffee behind her.
She shoves the steaming to-go cup into his hand, and I notice what she scribbled across the top is much longer than W-O-L-F. Bennett notices, too.
When he lifts it to get a better look, I can finally make out the beginning: 6-1-7. It’s her phone number. You’ve got to be kidding. Does she not see me standing here?
“And if you’re up for some real fun later, give me a call,” Logan says with a wink.
Okay, I’ve had enough. What does she—
Bennett chuckles softly, planting his hand firmly on my lower back. “Thanks, Logan, but I have all the help I need. We’ll be right over there when that latte is finished.”
I can’t hold back my smirk when her eyes meet mine, a fury burning inside them, before he guides me away from the counter. There’s a table tucked away in the front corner, and he pulls out the chair beside the window, letting me sit before taking the one across from me.
Seconds later, Abby—one of the normal baristas—drops off my latte. “Sloane! I didn’t know this was for you. I’m sorry. Logan is new.”
“She’s very…friendly,” I say. “To him, at least.”
Abby glances back at the register, where her newest employee quickly averts her gaze, pretending to have been fiddling with the cups beside her the whole time. She sighs, shaking her head when she turns back to me. “I’ll talk to her. I have to get back, but next round is on me, okay?”
“Had I known they give free coffee so often, I would’ve started coming here before now,” Bennett says when she walks away. He takes the lid off his cup and sets it down on the table. Bringing the rim closer to his face, he breathes in the aroma and takes a long sip.
The Red, White, and Brew Latte is not in a to-go cup, and it’s the kind of thing you’d expect to see on an influencer’s social media.
The white rosetta on top is mostly surrounded by a deep red, with a layer of blue at the bottom, and thematic sprinkles dusted around the edges.
“You didn’t tell me it was your birthday,” I say, bringing my own coffee to my lips.
The sweet, creamy coffee coats my tongue, and immediately, I recognize it as a white chocolate mocha.
Hints of vanilla, caramel, and chocolate blend seamlessly with the espresso, creating one of my favorite caffeinated beverages.
But I never told him I liked white mochas, did I?
Bennett shrugs. “It’s not.”
“But she just said—”
“My birthday was on Sunday.”
Sunday? As in the day after the big party his parents just hosted? As in the Fourth of July?
“Your parents didn’t even mention it on Saturday! Please tell me they didn’t forget—”
“Sloane, it’s okay.” He laughs. “We haven’t done anything like that since I was a teenager. I don’t like to. I’d much rather stay in and chill or go out for a nice dinner with my friends than go through the whole dog and pony show.”
“That’s why your friends came out this weekend,” I say. “Doesn’t it ever get weird?”
“What do you mean?” Bennett sits back in his chair, arms crossed, and the gesture tugs the black fabric tight against his chest. I’m suddenly very aware of the size of his arms. His solid muscles are expertly sculpted from hours spent at the gym, and a few veins in his left arm stick out.
Clearing my throat, I force my gaze back up to his face. “Well, you’re basically the fifth wheel of the group.”
“That’s one way to look at it, I guess, but we don’t spend as much time together as you might think. Everyone goes their separate ways on Monday nights after the show, and unless we need a training partner, we usually don’t see each other until Thursday afternoons.”
“I don’t know how you guys do it. Being gone so much, I mean.”
“We love it. Well, I love it. This job—wrestling—is the only thing I ever really wanted to do. And this life…it’s not for everyone. You miss out on a lot—birthdays, baptisms, anniversaries, some holidays—but in the end, it’s worth it.”
“Do you really believe that, or is that what Amos and the people at corporate tell you to say?” I ask, but he doesn’t get a chance to answer before his phone rings.
Brooks stretches across the top of the screen above a photo of Bennett, Brooks, and Brody standing in the ring.
They each hold a belt above their head, skin flushed and sweaty after a fight. “Do you need to get that?”
Bennett clicks the side button to silence the call and flips the phone face down on the table. He looks up and smiles. “Nope. He can wait. I have more important things to do.”
The sentiment warms me, and all thoughts of Amos drift from my mind.
We chat about the rest of our weekends, our favorite things to do in the city, and my “freelancing” work until nearly 7 p.m., when Abby reminds us they’ll be closing in a few minutes.
I hadn’t even realized we’d been sitting there for so long, almost three hours, and I’m surprised how sorry I am to have to say goodbye.
“You said you live around here?” Bennett asks, holding the door open.
“About six blocks north.” A wall of humidity smacks me in the face when I walk outside, the air suffocating. I shrug out of my jacket and let it hang over my folded arms, looking up at the sky, which is much grayer than it was when I first arrived. Shit, is it going to rain?
“How about some company on the walk home?”
“It’s going to take a lot more than getting me a free coffee with your dashing good looks and offering to walk me home to get an invitation upstairs, Bennett James.”
He laughs, readjusting the baseball hat, and I can’t help but smile in return. “A guy can’t want to make sure you get home safe?”
Well, shit. Who am I to argue with that?
“No funny business,” I say.
Bennett makes an X-motion over his chest. “Cross my heart.”
The walk to my place is quiet, mostly, but the silence isn’t uncomfortable.
Quite the opposite, actually. I don’t even realize how close we’ve gotten to each other until I accidentally knock into his side, and instead of putting space between us, his hand envelops mine and doesn’t let go.
He threads our fingers, and his thumb lightly caresses my skin.
Turning onto my street, I get the feeling I should say something, but what?
A low grumble echoes above as we come to a stop in front of the red double doors of my building. Thank God, maybe the rain will help relieve some of this damn humidity.
“Thanks for the company,” I say, tucking my hair behind my ear.
He crosses his arms. “Sorry, I wasn’t much for conversation on the walk.”
“You don’t always need words to have a conversation.”
Bennett smiles and takes a step forward, pushing another strand of hair behind my ear.
His fingers linger on my jaw, his eyes locked on mine, as he moves in slowly.
When his mouth covers mine, it’s soft and slow.
Much different than the kiss we shared on Saturday night when he seemed so sure of himself.
This is hesitant and nervous, but slowly his mouth molds against mine in a confident kiss.
It’s warm and inviting, drawing me in close.
Whether instinct or impulse, I take a step back toward the door, bringing him with me.
“No funny business,” he mumbles against my lips, and retreats. You’ve got to be kidding me…Clearing his throat, he stuffs his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. “Goodnight, Sloane.”
I breathe out but can’t fight my smile. “Goodnight, Bennett.”
He turns on his heel back the way we came, glancing up at the sky when another rumble of thunder echoes overhead.
I can only hope the weather holds out until he’s at least in a cab back to his hotel.
Or did he drive? Shit, is he walking all the way back to the coffee shop to find his car?
That’s at least ten minutes. If it starts raining, he’ll be soaked to the bone.
Am I really about to let him walk away again without knowing if I’ll see him?
He could leave right now, and I could never hear from him again.
If that happens, I’m screwed. Right back to square one, with nothing new to offer this fucking story.
Barry will be happy it’s done, but not impressed, and I’ll be stuck writing about the WAGs of Boston for the rest of my career.
Pulse won’t care about some puff piece about a wrestling mogul with skeletons in his closet that no one wants to talk about.
They will care about an article that uncovers those skeletons and exposes him, tearing down the carefully constructed image he’s created.
“Wait, Sloane!” The sound catches me off guard. It’s him. Bennett jogs down the sidewalk straight to me. “What, uh…What are you doing on Monday?”