Page 12 of The False Start (Off the Bench)

Chapter Eight

LILA

I ignore the sinking in my gut, the idea that there was a possibility he would cancel up until this moment.

Dennis

Just touched down, be there soon.

But no luck. Dennis’s here.It’s stupid really.

I should be excited to see him.

I am excited to see him.

The little voice in my head says otherwise.

I wipe down the counters once more and survey my living room.

There’s nothing he can complain about. I’ve basically deep cleaned the entire place, even fluffed the throw pillows— Katie showed me the appropriate way to “chop” them, since I’ve apparently been doing it wrong for years. I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.

I grab a book off my shelf, trying and failing to focus on the words when all I can think about is how Cal looked at me last night, what might have been said if I hadn’t run away.

I can be a big girl and admit that’s what I was doing.

I flip through the cowboy romance book catatonically, eyes glossing over the pages without taking in a word of the ranch hand’s dirty talk until my phone rings.

I jump, grabbing it from the table in front of me and see Cal’s photo covering the screen.

“Hello?” I ask quietly, chewing on my bottom lip.

“Lila, are you okay?” Cal asks. “You’ve been ignoring my texts.” I had ignored all three of his messages apologizing and asking to talk about last night.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” I pace around my living room, exercising some of my nervous energy.

“That’s not an answer.”

“I’m fine, Cal. I’m just busy.”

He sighs on the other end of the line. “Anything I can help with?”

I shudder, thinking of him being anywhere near Dennis right now.

“No, it’s fine. I’m almost done anyway.”

“Done with what?”

“Nothing. I’m just cleaning.” I put the pillow I just picked up back in its spot.

“Oh, nice.” He pauses. “Listen, Lila, I think we really need to talk –”

A knock sounds at my door.

“Cal, I have to go. He’s here. Can we please talk later?”

“Who’s there?”

“I have to go, I’m sorry.” I hang up and open the door to find Dennis already typing away on his phone. His grey vest ever present over a pressed white button-up and dark jeans.

“Hey babe.” He looks up at me, sliding his phone into his front pocket.

“Who was that?”

“Who was what?” I ask, my smile brittle.

“I heard you talking to someone.” He glances around like he expects someone else to be in the kitchen.

I shrug and throw my arms around him instead.

He pulls me in close, and I squeeze my eyes shut, ignoring how wrong it now feels. He lets go and starts meandering through my apartment. “Are you still using that housekeeping service I sent you?”

I grind my teeth together. “Yes, she comes on Sunday.”

“That explains it then.”

“I did try to straighten up this morning,” I mumble.

“Aw, sweetie, I know. You just aren’t made for domestic life.” He laughs, but there’s nothing warm about it.

Here we go again. “There’s nothing wrong with wanting to work,” I snap.

He holds up both hands in surrender. “I never said there was. Why are you so defensive?”

I take a deep breath and slowly let it out. “No reason. It’s just been a long couple weeks.”

He strides through my living room, dropping his suitcase on my white comforter, and I flinch. Something about luggage is so dirty, and to put it on a bed? No thank you.

“Can you put your bag on the floor? I just washed the comforter.”

He rolls his eyes but moves it to the floor at the foot of the bed.

I sit down gingerly on the bedspread as he unzips the bag.

“So what did you want to do this weekend?” I ask.

He shrugs, pulling out his phone again. “Is there anything happening?”

“Like what?”

Another shrug as he taps away on his phone, clearly only half listening.

“We could always do one of the museums or Chinatown?”

“That’s fine.”

“Okay, why don’t we do Chinatown tonight then? I could invite Katie?—”

“No.”

“What do you mean ‘no’?”

He slides his phone into his back pocket and stands up, taking my hands in his.

“Let’s do something just the two of us.”

“Okay, like what?”

“Why don’t I take you out? You have something nice to wear, right?”

I glance at my closet, the various blouses hung up by color. “How nice?”

He grins, and my stomach flutters. This is the Dennis that made me fall in love all those years ago.

I stare at myself in front of the floor length mirror, the ice-blue satin setting off my olive skin nicely.

The mock-neck halter meets at the back of my neck, and the fabric drapes down the sides of my torso, leaving my back mostly bare.

A slit up to the thigh, paired with strappy heels, shows off my legs.

The door opens to my bedroom, and Dennis pokes his head in.

“You look gorgeous, babe,” he says, eyes drinking me as he strides toward me and presses a kiss to my temple. He’s wearing a tailored navy suit sans tie with a crisp white button-down. In other words, he looks fantastic. Every man looks good in a suit.

I smile at him—we stand almost eye to eye with my heels—and press a kiss to his lips. It feels almost like we’re back to being us.

“Are you going to tell me where we’re going yet?”

“Nope. It’s a surprise.”

I mentally scroll through the nicer restaurants in town, contemplating which ones have dress codes.

“The car will be here in two minutes,” he says before heading toward the living room.

I grab my Chanel bag, a gift to myself with my bonus last year, and follow him out into the living room.

The car ride is tense as Dennis takes not one but three work calls, each progressively more frantic until we pull up outside RPM Italian.

My heart sinks as I stare at the restaurant. The food may be good, but this is where we were when Dennis told me he was moving to New York, and I haven’t been back since.

He gets out first, heading to the door without waiting for me, still talking to his client on the phone. I sigh, thanking the driver before stepping out onto the crowded street and heading into the low lighting of the restaurant.

We’re seated right away, he’s still on the phone when the server comes for our drink orders.

“I’ll have a?—”

Dennis holds up a finger, cutting me off.

“Simmons,” he says, “I know. I’ll handle it tonight, I promise, but I’m just sitting down to dinner and my girl is giving me the death stare.

” He winks at me and laughs. “Yes, I know how they are. Right, well I’ll call you first thing tomorrow with an update.

” He hangs up and sets his phone face down on the table, and I ignore the instinct to grind my teeth at his comments.

“Sorry about that. You know how annoying clients are.”

“Can I get you something to drink, sir?” the waitress asks, the smallest bit of impatience showing through.

“We’ll get a bottle of the ’99 Merlot.”

I smile at her. It’s fine with me, though not what I originally intended to order. Dennis’s a bit of a wine snob, and honestly, if it’s wine I’ll probably drink it, so whatever he wants is fine.

Once she’s left the table, I ask, “Is everything going okay with work?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?” he snaps.

I stare at him, taken slightly aback by the harsh tone.

“Sorry,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “This one client has been on my ass for weeks now, and it’s getting to me.”

“I’m sorry, anything I can do to help?”

The corners of his mouth pull up in the smile that used to sweep me off my feet, and his voice drops an octave as he leans in close. “I can think of one or two things.” I shiver at his breath caressing the shell of my ear as his hand comes to grip my exposed knee under the table.

My face heats, and I can feel his eyes on me.

“Would you like to try it, sir?” The server is back with the bottle of wine, two glasses in hand.

“Please.” Dennis sits up, pulling his hand back to his own lap and leaving my leg feeling cold without his touch. Some part of me sings at his interest, remembering how hungrily he touched me in those early months. The part I’m doing my best to ignore is squirming at the wrongness.

He okays the wine, and the server pours it into my glass and then his, leaving the half-empty bottle on the table. I quickly gulp down half of it, even as he eyes me disapprovingly across the table.

The wine is good. I can tell that much, and I feel a teeny tiny bit bad for chugging it, but the social lubricant is what I need right now, independent of flavor.

“Do you want oysters?” he asks with a smirk.

My answering grin is all he needs. On our first date, we got drunk on champagne and ate our way through several dozen oysters.

We made it our mission in the first few years of dating to always get oysters when we went out, even if we were someplace that you really shouldn’t order raw seafood from.

But after only two bouts of food poisoning in all those tastings, the tradition lives on tonight.

He places our order and refills my wine, holding his glass up in salute.

“To us.”

I clink my glass to his and can’t help the smile that spreads across my face. This is what I wish Katie saw.

Dinner goes well, all things considered. Dennis only took one work call, and it wasn’t until dessert. A black car pulls up out front, and he waves me toward it, holding the door as I slide across the backseat, my dress catching on the seatbelt buckles.

His phone rings again, and he answers it, shooting me an apologetic glance, his hand coming to rest on my knee to placate me.

I’m pleasantly full after a filet and half a dozen oysters—not to mention slightly tipsy after slightly more than half a bottle of wine.

His fingers draw small circles against my inner thigh, and I fight the urge to shiver, the combination of wine and shellfish aphrodisiacs heating my core.

He pulls on my leg, inching his hand higher as he spreads my thighs.

The smirk on his face says he knows what he’s doing, even as his words are focused on his phone call.

I fight back a moan as his pinky skims the lace of my thong, and he withdraws his hand, leaving me near panting in the seat next to him.

He’s still on the call as we pull up outside my apartment, part of me assuming he’ll hang up once we’re there, but he doesn’t.

He merely opens the door after I scan in, palming my ass as I pass by him.

The minute we step inside my apartment he ends the call, shutting the door behind him.

“Come here,” he growls at me, pulling me toward him as his mouth slants over mine.

He kisses me hungrily, swallowing every sound that escapes me. It’s been months since we’ve been together, and the toys don’t always cut it. His body around mine is what I’ve been craving. Needing.

He kneads my ass as he backs us toward my bedroom.